Myles stands with me in his arms and strides into one of the stacks, away from the listening ears surrounding us. If I’m not mistaken, he’s also moving us in a subtle rocking motion. But he’s still breathing fast, the warm bursts pelting the side of my head. “Believe me, I just want you lying down in a bed somewhere with ice on your head, but I need information now, Taylor. Someone hurt you.”
“Right. I know. Okay.” I swallow. “It never made sense to me that Oscar Stanley, a retired postman, could afford so many vacation homes. Obviously he might have received an inheritance or otherwise, but a partner made more sense. So I came to check the property records and I was right. I’m…drawing a blank right now on the name of the corporation because I’m still slightly dizzy—”
He makes a miserable sound, his arms tightening around me.
“But on every property besides the one where he was murdered, there was another name listed on the deed. Not his sister. Some corporation.”
For a moment, he looks pensive, then we’re walking back toward the table where the paperwork is still sitting. “So far, I only checked the property records on the first house,” he says, looking down at the documents.
“You would have circled back. Investigators always circle back.”
“But you decided to do it for me and almost get yourself killed before that could happen.” His throat works. “Before I could find what I missed.”
“Yes. I’m a teacher. We have a thirst for knowledge…and also being right. Myles, I don’t like your grim tone of voice.”
Nor do I like how he has gone stone cold against me. He settles me on the edge of the table and gathers the paperwork up into a stack, folding it once lengthways and shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans. I’m trying to catch his eye so I can determine what’s wrong, but a paramedic breezes into my line of vision, along with a police officer I recognize.
“Officer Wright,” I exclaim, unable to stave off a smile. The sudden movement of my mouth causes my head to throb and I wince. Myles curses and starts to pace.
“I wish we were reuniting under better circumstances,” begins Wright.
“Me too. How have you been?”
“I’ve been better, actually.” He jerks a thumb toward the street. “Thank God that rally ended a while ago. The locals are rowdier than they look—”
“Enough with the small talk,” Myles shouts from a few yards away, expression thunderous. “Someone check her fucking head.”
Wright whistles under his breath, pulling out a pen and notepad.
“I have been summoned,” mutters the paramedic. He examines my wound, makes a few notes. Shines a small flashlight into my eyes and asks me a series of questions before clicking it off. “Not a concussion. Just a nasty cut. I’ll bandage it up and you can head home.”
Wright snort laughs. “Head home.” He looks at Myles. “It’s funny because she has a head wound.”
“How is that funny?” Myles growls. Continuing to stare down at the officer, Myles drops into the chair I occupied earlier, drawing me down off the table into his lap. I can feel that more blood has escaped from the wound in the last few minutes and he regards the broken skin with a pale face. “Fix it.”
“Are you angry with me?” I whisper in his ear.
“We’ll talk about this later.”
Wright hunkers down in front of me with his notepad. “All right, first question.” A grin spreads the corners of his mouth. “Are you two a thing? This seems like it might be a thing.”
If Myles unclenched his teeth right now, I’m pretty sure fire would spew forth.
“We’re not a thing,” I answer for us.
Myles starts, turning his frown on me. “Well hold on. That’s not completely accurate.”
“Yes, it is,” I say to Wright. “Not a thing. Write that down.”
“What do you call hand holding?” Myles asks me.
Wright pretends to make a note, murmuring, “So there has been hand holding…”
“I don’t know what you consider ‘thing’ material, Myles.” I’m as perplexed as the bounty hunter appears to be. After all, I’m only stating the truth. “But you don’t just get to…to accidentally slip and fall into a relationship. Conversations must be had. Questions have to be asked.”
“Like what?” Myles and Wright say at the same time.
On top of having a head wound, my face is starting to flame. These two men are looking at me like I’m crazy. Do I have the process all wrong? I’ve never encountered this level of skepticism about it. Although that might be because I’ve never detailed my beliefs out loud. “Well. One party asks the other party to be…permanent. And monogamous.”
“Like a marriage proposal?” Wright wants to know. Oh God, he’s taking notes.
“N-no. Not quite. More like…”
“Asking someone to go steady?” Myles finishes for me, amusement dancing across his features. I suppose I should be grateful he’s no longer scowling, but I’m not.