It wasn’t ironic so much as completely, uncannily, hilariously appropriate, as it had turned out, but it wasn’t like she could explain that.
It was a weird question, but at least it gave her an opportunity.
“It’s not ironic,” she said carefully, “but it’s kind of a big coincidence. Can I tell you something I didn’t tell Detective Wynette?”
Colby had that jackpot! look on his face again, for some reason. “Sure. You can tell me whatever you want.”
Right. Here goes nothing. Say goodbye to Deputy US Marshal Hottie being your number one fan.
“Detective Wynette told me Eli Hebbert was wanted for murder. Do you know if the way he killed someone, um, involved a dog? An attack dog?”
Every muscle in Colby’s body seemed to freeze. When he spoke, it sounded like he was being just as careful as she was.
“It doesn’t look like it, but I haven’t gone through his whole file yet. Is there a reason why you think that could be a possibility?”
Aria took a deep breath. “He had a... big dog with him. In the woods.”
And of course, the second the words left her mouth, she realized that she could have just said, completely plausibly, that Eli Hebbert had bragged about owning an attack dog. She could have even told that to the police without raising any eyebrows.
Colby said, “How big of a dog are we talking about?”
“Big.”
Great, that’s helpful.
Thanks to her job, she was actually more familiar with wolves than she was with dogs, but she tried to remember what breeds would be in the same ballpark.
“Like a German Shepherd or a Siberian husky, maybe? Or a Great Dane?”
None of those breeds looked even remotely alike.
She rushed to add, “I don’t know dogs that well, actually. I’ve got a better sense for wolves, but, you know, obviously it wasn’t a wolf. Because that would just be crazy.”
She tried to inject a note of conviction in her voice: Wolves, right? How wacky! No one would ever be walking around the woods with one of those! Let alone turning into one! How weird would it be if I actually believed that?
“So you would describe the dog—the dog that Eli Hebbert had—as, ah, wolfish?”
Aria nodded. Very wolfish. Well, mostly wolf, not so much -ish.
“It was huge,” she said.
“That explains it,” Colby said, almost under his breath.
“Explains what?”
“Why I—never mind.” He fixed his gaze on her. “It scared you?”
She didn’t have to lie about that. “Very much.”
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Colby said. His voice crackled with pure intensity. “I’m going to catch him, and anyone who might help him, and I’m going to make sure that you and your family are safe. I promise, Aria.”
It was funny. Aria lived in a world of publishing deadlines, Easy-Bake Ovens, and family dinners. It was a good life, but it was an ordinary one. But something about Colby Acton made her feel like her whole life had just swerved decisively and permanently out of its good-but-mundane routine. He made her feel extraordinary.
But with those dark blue eyes of his, he probably made every woman he spoke to come away feeling like that.
Aria made herself focus on the hard, practical issues—like, for example, getting rid of a werewolf on her tail.
“How are you going to find him? Not to backseat Marshal you.”