Page 148 of Things We Hide from the Light

That was when I saw the caller ID.

I almost let it go to voicemail before deciding that was the coward’s way out.

“I assume you found your way out of my apartment,” I said by way of a greeting.

“Why the hell am I hearing about you and Dilton from a U.S. marshal and my dumbass brother instead of you?” Nash demanded.

“First of all, I’d like verification that you did leave my place. Second, when exactly did we have time for a conversation last night? Third—and this is the most important one, so pay attention—what business is it of yours?”

“We spent the night together, Angelina.” His voice went gravelly on my name and I pointedly ignored the delicious shiver that rolled up my spine. “That’s plenty of time for you to say ‘Hey, Nash. I was accosted in public by the asshole you suspended.’”

His impression of me was terrible.

“And then what? You’d have said ‘Don’t you worry, little lady. I’ll make sure you’re never alone so the big, drunk wolf can’t be a dick to you’? Also, I don’t remember it fostering a chatty atmosphere when you showed up mid panic attack at my door.”

“Dilton is my problem, not yours. If he’s trying to make it yours, I need to know.”

That at least made sense. “Fine.”

My agreement temporarily shut him down. “Well, okay then. Now, I heard that he approached you, then you threw him through a plate glass window,” he said, sounding amused.

I snorted at that one. “Really? Because I heard I dunked him in a vat of fryer oil.”

“But what I’m most interested in is he approached you and started running his mouth. Why and about what?”

“I made eye contact with him. He was drunk and disorderly and getting rammy so I looked at him until he looked at me back.”

“Need I remind you that with great female power comes great female responsibility?”

I rolled my eyes. “I wasn’t trying to become a target or start shit, Chief. I was just trying to distract him from riling up the staff. Max definitely would have deep-fried his ass last night.”

“Still don’t like it, but fair enough.”

“How generous of you.”

“Tell me what he said to you.”

“He asked if I was your bitch and then gave me a message to give to you. Said it was time to take you down a peg or two. I, of course, insulted his intelligence.”

“Of course,” Nash said dryly.

“Then he tried to pretend he was a cop who could take me downtown until I found my manners. I may have mentioned that I knew he didn’t have a badge anymore and wondered how you’d feel about him impersonating a police officer. Then he insultedme and the women of Knockemout, and just when things were getting interesting, as in fried food being thrown, a bystander and Nolan stepped in.”

There was a stony silence on Nash’s end.

“You still there, hotshot?”

“Yeah,” he said finally.

I didn’t know it was possible to pack so much anger into one tiny syllable.

I rocked my head back against the seat. “It was fine, Nash. He was never going to get physical. Not in there. Not with me. He was drunk and stupid but not drunk and stupid enough to forget that a physical altercation with a woman in a public place would be the end of him.”

There was more silence.

“Nash? Are you stabbing that spot between your eyebrows right now?”

“No,” he lied, sounding a little sheepish.