Heart's Price (MxM)

Chapter 22

When I call Dane the following day and tell him of my near miss, he asks almost the same questions Ambrose did: what did I see, and am I sure the driver meant to hit me.

The first answer is the same—being, 'not much'—but the second has changed.

With the fear and excitement long faded, I'm far less certain than I was.

"I don't know," I say, scuffing at the dry lawn with my foot.

I'm outside, and under the bright sun my tale of creepy feelings and vehicular assassins seems even less plausible. Maybe Ambrose is right, and it was just your everyday, average asshole in a hurry.

"It was dark, and I was wearing dark clothes. Maybe they didn't even see me."

"Maybe," Dane agrees, "but I know you, Noah. You're level-headed, and you don't make shit up. If you think someone was stalking you, and that someone tried to run you down, I believe it. But it's possible the two are unrelated."

"What do you mean?" I shift my phone from one hand to the other and kick Dougal's tennis ball away. He pounces on it and brings it back, dropping it at my feet.

"Well, the way you tell it, it sounds like two separate things: someone followed you by the lake, and someone else tried to hit you with their car. One or both could be related to the case. One or both could also be... something else.

"Like what?"

He hesitates a beat and goes on with a careful tone. "Look, I don't want to press you on shit you don't want to talk about, Noah, but I have to ask. Is there any reason someone might have followed you here? Any reason someone might want you dead?"

I kick Dougal's ball away again and—again—he brings it back. He really isn't supposed to run yet, with his injuries still healing, but he's one of those dogs who will drop dead of exhaustion before he has enough of chasing a ball. It's cute, but annoying.

"Noah?" Dane prompts when the silence gets too long.

Of course I'd thought of Thom. He'd basically told me to die, after all. At the time I'd thought it was just an expression of his loathing for me—or of himself for having fucked me—but now I'm not sure. Maybe he really expected me to take his advice and kill myself, and because I hadn't, now he meant to finish the job.

I couldn't imagine why, though. He'd gotten everything he wanted. He'd won. Moreover, he wasn't a violent man. I wasn't so naive as to think he wasn't capable of murder—given the right set of circumstances, nearly everyone is—but I didn't think it was something he'd do except as a matter of utmost last resort.

More importantly, if I admitted that Thom might want me dead, then Dane would want to know why, and I'd have to tell him... something. I didn't want to lie, but I wasn't ready for him to know the truth.

"No," I say at last. "There's no one."

Dane makes a noncommittal noise, obviously unconvinced, but he doesn't press. "Alright. But if you think of anything, tell me. And call me right away if something like this happens again. I wish you'd called last night—I would've come over and... sniffed around, if you know what I mean."

He must be out in public somewhere, or else he'd be more direct.

"Where are you?" I ask. "Are you, er... working the case?"

He huffs a breath. "Not exactly. I just needed to get out of the house a bit. Julian's... I don't know. He's been a bit odd lately... I can't quite explain it."

"Is he alright?" I ask, worried the poison might've had some lingering effect after all.

"I dunno," Dane grunts. "He's all... shiny and fuck. Must be a fae thing. I dunno," he says again, and sighs.