Page 27 of The Sin Eater (Carnival of Mysteries #27)

“Fuck.” I rake a hand through my hair, wondering what our next steps should be.

Based on Ezra’s description of maybe forest and possible mud, yes .

They respond that it’d be a lot easier if we had a name, which makes me laugh. “Don’t need a master’s in library science to figure that one out.” I thank them again and promise to send along any additional information that comes my way.

Do , they say. Now I’m curious .

“Me too,” I mutter.

My shift is almost over and Zach should have been back already. I give his hospital-issue phone a call, with no response. “Great. He probably had a heart attack in a bathroom.”

“Do you need me to go look for someone?”

The suddenness makes me jump. It’s Ezra, who has somehow snuck up on me. His puffy coat is splattered with rain and his hair is down and tucked behind his ears.

“Uh, no.” I’m the one who should go look, although I can’t technically leave the desk empty. “What are you—”

Wordlessly, he sets a small pink and white box on the desk. “Cupcake Royale?” I grin. How could I not? “Did you get me a cupcake?”

He shrugs, color rising in his cheeks. This close, he smells less like cigarettes and more like that sugary lollipop that’s stuck between his lips. “You brought me the nectar of the gods this morning. Thank you.” His voice gets husky. “And I’m sorry I was an asshole.”

I bite back a knee-jerk, Who are you and what have you done with Ezra? and simply say, “No worries. That prayer thing takes a lot out of you.”

Tucking a strand of hair more securely behind his ear, he huffs a laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

We’re grinning at each other like a couple of dorks when Zach gets back. He’s followed soon by Tolliver, our night shift guy. Ezra takes a step away from the desk, but before he leaves entirely, he gives me a long look. “Dinner?”

“It’ll take me half an hour or so to sign out. Where should I meet you?”

“Pizza okay?”

“Sure.”

He names an unfussy pizza place about a block north of the hospital.

“Save me a seat,” I say, and he takes off.

I skate through the rest of my shift, leaving Zach to do the heavy lifting. Seniority sucks sometimes. Wishing I had a pair of jeans to change into—even scrub pants would be better than these fashion disasters—I take my cupcake and leave work behind.

Ezra’s got us a table at Palermo’s. There aren’t many other customers, though there’s a steady stream of food delivery service drivers coming in and out. Ezra’s ordered himself a soda but I go for a beer. It’s been a long day.

The place has a casually modern vibe, all old wood and chrome, and smells like garlic and smoke from the pizza oven. I get settled, we order pizza to go with our beverages, and Ezra smiles, a shade less cocky than his normal. “You said something about finding the woman.”

“Oh, yeah.” I rub the back of my neck. My train of thought is derailed by a glance at his lips and the memory of how soft they could be.

Taking a deep breath, I drag my mind out of the gutter and attempt to answer him.

“Not me personally. My friend Mo—well, Dorinda’s friend Mo—is a librarian, and they volunteered to do some research for us.

Yesterday they found a missing person who was the right gender and the right time frame, but it’s not our girl. ”

“She’s sure?”

“Yeah, they dug deeper today and found information that made it plain they had the wrong person.”

He deflates, shaking his head. “Bummer.”

“They couldn’t find any missing persons reports that matched, either.”

“Well, damn.” He fumbles with his phone. “You remember that guy from the Brew? Jett’s friend, Micah?”

I nod, not sure how he’s going to connect these dots. He swipes his phone screen and starts typing. “He said he might know someone who can help us.” Ezra glances at me. “Best guess is his method isn’t something the cops would necessarily know about or recognize.”

Coming from a guy who routinely prays over corpses, I don’t know how to respond to that. “Cool?”

That makes him laugh. “It’ll be fine. Jett wouldn’t get us hooked up with anything too crazy.”

That too leaves just enough wiggle room to make me nervous. The waiter interrupts us with our pizza, a Palermo special that has every kind of meat plus black olives under a blanket of mozzarella.

Conversation fades as we dig in. I’m finishing my first piece of cheesy, meaty goodness when Ezra’s phone pings.

He reads the message and types something in response.

After he finishes, he sets his phone back down and reaches for his pizza, leaving me to prompt him with a “Well?” that’s sharper than I mean it to be.

“He’s going to text his friend and get back to me.”

Leaving it at that, I focus on my pizza and beer.

Ezra stops after two pieces and switches from soda to water.

After three pieces and a second beer, I’m very full, relaxed, warm, and starting to feel the buzz between us.

In a move that’s bolder than my usual, I reach over and rest my hand on his. “So... “

“Don’t,” he murmurs, sliding his hand away.

“Why? You were fine with me touching you the other night.” Did I do something wrong? Should I take charge again? What the hell has changed?

“I told you, I can’t. Not yet.” He says it flatly, with no room for debate. The frisson of energy between us fades to an ember. “Please?”

That please makes my eyes bulge. Fuck this . I should walk away before things get any more complicated.

He must read my expression correctly. “Come on now. Gimme a couple of nights and”—he flicks his lip with the tip of his tongue—”I’ll make it up to you.”

I make a sound that’s half laugh, half groan. “Sure, dude. Whatever you say.”

“Frustration makes the dick grow harder.”

I laugh outright at that. “You did not just say that.”

“Oh, yes, I did.” He leans back in his chair, a lock of hair conveniently hiding one of his eyes. “You’ll see, big D, and it’ll be worth the wait.”

Still laughing, and horny as hell, I dig out my wallet and toss my bank card on the table.

“I got this,” he says and slides the card in my direction.

“We should share the cupcake, then.”

“Nah, split it with your sister. She could use some sweetening up.”

“Ezra.” Between the laughter and the hard-on, I forget for a minute to worry about whatever it is he’s hiding. Later, when I’m home in bed, it comes back to me.

What was he really doing in the morgue last night, and what’s with the hot-and-cold when it comes to sex?

And could those two things be connected, or am I just paranoid?