Page 64 of The Darkest Chase

Talia, with her long red hair tangled in his brutish fingers, innocent prey being dragged into his spiderhole—

Fucking stop. Answer her.

Are you safe? I send back. How urgent? I’m on patrol for a few more hours.

While I wait for an answer, I gaze over the street.

I’m parked down one of the cobblestone lanes of the shopping district that branches off the central square like spokes from a wheel.

It’s quiet this time of day.

The morning rush has come and gone. Everyone’s got their kids bundled up and off to school. The stay-at-home moms are already back home doing the morning cleaning and won’t be out running errands until afternoon, squeezing them in between Pilates and grabbing their rug rats. Their working spouses are in their offices and workshops, busy hands filling the hours until they can come home.

Redhaven has a predictable rhythm, patterns people always follow.

Anything that breaks that rhythm always catches my eye.

This morning, though, the only thing out of sync is me.

I shouldn’t be this worried over Talia Grey when she’s talking to me. If she was truly in danger, she’d come out and say it.

You’d almost think I’m obsessed.

Or worse, growing a conscience. Thankfully, no crows yet today.

But I look down instantly as my phone vibrates with a new text.

Talia: I’m safe. He didn’t do anything but leer at me. I didn’t get much intel out of him, but I might have another lead you can follow. And I took some photos for the project, if you want to look through them for anything interesting. But it can wait until you’re off shift! <3

Intel. I almost smile.

Isn’t she picking up the lingo fast.

Red Grounds at 4:30? I send back.

Talia: Your treat?

You think I’d dream of asking my informant to pay for herself? Get over yourself, Shortcake.

She just sends back a laughing emoji and a bubbling cluster of hearts.

Goddamn.

I can almost see the way she smiles—shyly at first, then slow, before it spreads big and bright while laughter glitters in her eyes and she ducks her head, tucking her fiery hair behind one ear.

I really need to stop that shit and focus on the job.

Not that there’s much to focus on.

The afternoon passes normally enough. I recognize every face that passes, pushing a stroller or lugging a reusable tote bag.

There’s Ophelia Faircross, stepping out for lunch on the arm of our captain, Grant. I almost never see the captain smile, but he’s got this slow, content grin shining out of his thick beard as he offers her his arm.

Past the closing door of the Sanderson family shop, Nobody’s Bees-ness, I can just glimpse her sister Rosalind behind the counter. She’s looking much healthier after her stint in rehab to shake the bad habits Aleksander Arrendell encouraged.

Was Xavier the family supplier, too? I really wonder.

Fuck, everyone in this town looks happy.