Unspoken

  “Why?” Miranda asked, staring at Della as if she’d lost her mind. And maybe she had.

  “Because,” Della snapped.

  “That’s not a reason. You are one of my best friends. Why shouldn’t I listen to you?”

  “Because I’m an idiot,” Della spouted out. “If advice comes out of this mouth”—she pointed to her lips—“don’t listen. Don’t just walk away. Run. Fast. Because I don’t know shit about love, or about romance, or about the difference between a bond and love. I’m effing clueless! Clueless!” she repeated.

  She took two steps and then swung back around. “And … I’m changing shampoo, so my hair doesn’t smell like this … and … and if Cindy wants his body, she can have it!”

  She stormed to her room and slammed her door.

  Unfortunately, she slammed it too hard and it fell off its hinges and crashed on the wooden floor.

  Growling, she turned around, propped it up against the doorway, then dropped face first onto the bed.

  “Who’s Cindy?” she heard Miranda ask.

  Della moaned and pulled a pillow over her head.

  “Wouldn’t have a clue.” Kylie’s voice still got through the pillow foam.

  “Should we try to talk to her?” Miranda asked.

  “Nope,” Kylie said. “I think she just needs to stew.”

  And as Della lay in bed, that’s exactly what she did for the next few hours.

  Stew.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  She still didn’t trust him. Chase rolled over for about the fifth time and tried to mold the pillow to fit his head. He couldn’t sleep. His pillow smelled like Della and he recalled waking up and seeing her so close. He tossed his pillow to the other side of the room. He rolled over, only to realize the damn mattress smelled like her too. He ran a hand over it, where she’d slept beside him while he’d been unconscious.

  Exhaling, he ran a palm over his face, only to realize that even his hand smelled like her.

  With clarity he recalled that she’d held it on the walk to his cabin. While her support had felt awesome, the fact that he’d let his emotions get the better of him at the morgue left him feeling weak. And that was the last way he wanted her to see him.

  It might be wrong, but he wanted to be strong for her, wanted to be there for her to lean on. Not that Della Tsang did a lot of leaning. But when she did, he wanted it to be on him.

  It had been four years since the … morgue. One would think he’d have moved past it.

  He closed his eyes and pushed away the images of his family in the cold white room and pulled up the images of them skiing in Colorado. His dad kissing his mother. His mom serving them snickerdoodle cookies. His sister laughing.

  Happy times.

  Trying to hold on to the good thoughts to chase away the bad, he recalled how it had felt to sign the FRU contract today. A step toward his future. Sitting up, he turned on the light and grabbed the FRU badge Burnett had given him. He needed to get his mind back on the investigation.

  Chase snatched his phone. It was midnight. A perfect time to call Leo. He found the guard’s phone number.

  “I thought you’d have had enough of Hell’s Pit,” Leo answered.

  “But it’s such a charming place,” Chase said with sarcasm.

  “Kid, I thought you were a goner. I seriously don’t know how you came out of that room with any of your limbs still attached.”

  “I’m fond of my limbs,” Chase said.

  “Apparently,” Leo said. “If you’re calling for another shot at Pope, you’re going to be disappointed.”

  “I’m not,” Chase said. “But why would I be disappointed?”

  “The ugly son of a bitch met his maker. Another were broke free last night.”

  “Did he take out several other prisoners, as well?” Chase asked.

  “Nope. For some reason that were had it out for Pope.”

  Chase stored that info away. “Look, I was sort of out of it when I left your place the other night. Are you sure it was Kirk you spoke with about Stone?”

  “That was Kirk who came out to get you, right?” Leo asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, now that I think about it, I don’t think it was him, but the old fart.”

  “Powell?” Chase asked.

  “Yeah. The elderly dude.”

  Chase found a little relief that it hadn’t been Kirk, Eddie’s good friend.

  * * *

  The first thing Della did that next morning was go to her computer, pull up her email, and send Steve a message.

  It was simple. Short. Two words.

  Not now!

  While Della was trying to put her bedroom door back on its hinges, Kylie walked in looking sleepy and wearing light pink PJs.

  “Want some help?” the chameleon asked.

  “If you don’t mind,” Della said, and instantly felt bad for going bat-shit crazy on her friends.

  “Here,” Kylie said and caught the door. “I’ll hold it up and you put the bolt in.”

  In only seconds, they had the door up; only one of the hinges had actually broken, so while it wouldn’t close, at least it didn’t look broken.

  “You okay?” Kylie asked, just like Della knew she would.

  “No, but I’m getting used to faking it,” she answered. “And I hear Chase walking this way, so I don’t have time to elaborate on just how screwed up I am.”

  “He’s walking you to breakfast?” Kylie asked. “You’re gonna be early.”

  “No, I’m skipping school to help with my dad’s case.” She inhaled. “They set the trial for two weeks. Less than two weeks now.” Saying it made the air in her lungs hitch. What if they didn’t get anything? What if he actually got convicted?

  “Sorry,” Kylie said. “Maybe tonight we can grab some Diet Cokes and have a talk?”

  “Maybe,” Della answered in a low voice, hearing Chase get closer. “I’m still trying to figure out how I feel, and I don’t know if I can explain it without having another hissy fit like I did last night.”

  Kylie bit back a smile. “Well, it was entertaining to watch.”

  “Don’t remind me.” Della started out the door.

  The knob still in her hand, she saw Chase, standing at the bottom of the steps, his wide-shoulder frame backlit with the early-morning sun.

  Instead of the jeans and T-shirt she was accustomed to seeing him in, he had on a black suit and a light blue chambray button-down shirt underneath—all of which fit him really well and had her recalling some of the hot models on a commercial for men’s clothing.

  Then for some crazy reason his pristine attire reminded her of things she would probably miss in this life. Things she’d lost forever when she left the human world behind. Things like going to the prom or those silly Valentine’s dances. Getting a corsage and posing for those stupid pictures in front of some wall of flowers.

  She hadn’t thought she’d wanted those things, but seeing Chase looking so sophisticated in his suit, she wished she’d been given the choice. Wished it wasn’t wrong for her to want to run her fingers under that suit coat and feel the six-pack and ripples of muscles. She wished her father’s trial wasn’t preventing her from finding something close to happiness.

  After another head-to-toe glance of the man in black, she felt underdressed in her jeans and powder blue scoop-neck blouse. Still standing with the door open, she considered dashing in and changing into her black pants.

  “Don’t you leave without telling me who Cindy is!” Miranda called out from her bedroom.

  Okay, nothing wrong with jeans.

  Della shut the door with a little more force than needed. If Chase’s half-assed smile and arched brow were any indication, he’d heard the witch.

  It was a friggin’ great start to her day.

  * * *

  Cindy? So Della had mentioned their conversation to her friend, huh? From what little bit he knew about girls with their friends, having her mention him was much more desi
rable than not mentioning him.

  Which was the reason I was upset that she’d mentioned Steve to her human friend.

  He pushed that thought aside and decided to focus on the positive and not his idiotic jealousy. He was spending the entire day with Della.

  The positive also being his final conclusion about what she’d said last night. He heard her voice in his head: We aren’t talking about love, Chase. He planned to talk to her about that, too.

  He watched her stand at the door in a bit of a stupor and noted the way she eyed him. He’d felt kind of ridiculous dressed in the suit, but Della’s appreciative gaze changed that.

  “Good morning,” he said, standing a little taller.

  “Morning,” she said, no doubt purposely leaving off the good.

  “You’re not going to say anything?” he asked.

  “About?”

  “My suit?”

  “It fits you,” she said.

  He almost laughed. “Burnett wants to see us in his office before we take off.” He waited for her to move down the steps.

  “Does he have news?”

  “He said it wasn’t earth-shattering.”

  Frowning, she shut the door and moved down the steps, all the while working hard to ignore him—and, yeah, he could tell she was doing that. And while she did that, he worked hard to study her, without it being obvious.

  Right away he noted the dark lines circling her eyes. Those light half-moons were almost hidden by her long bottom lashes, but he noticed. And he’d known her long enough to know it was a sure sign of a sleepless night.

  He probably hadn’t slept much better, but he didn’t wear the evidence like she did.

  Had she been thinking about him?

  “I brought the addresses to the stores,” Della said.

  “I think that’s part of what Burnett wants to talk about,” Chase said, in a small way dreading telling him about Pope and what he’d learned.

  When they got to the office, Chase bolted up the steps and opened the door for Della.

  She rolled her eyes at his act of chivalry.

  “Please, don’t start pretending to be a gentleman just because you’re wearing a suit.”

  “When have I not been a gentleman?”

  “The first time that comes to mind is when you climbed up the stall in the girl’s bathroom when I was trying to pee. But just give me a few minutes, and I’m sure I could come up with a top-ten list.”

  He laughed. “You’ve got the memory of an elephant.” He walked in.

  “And you have the manners of a baboon,” she countered.

  “The zoo’s this way,” Burnett’s voice spoke from Holiday’s office.

  Della frowned. Biting back a smile, Chase followed her into the office. Holiday, positioned behind her desk, nodded and Chase felt his muscles tighten. Ever since she’d threatened him, or rather his male parts, he’d avoided her. Burnett sat on the edge of the desk with his daughter in his arms.

  The baby squealed when they walked in and held out her arms. “I think someone wants you.” Burnett held out the child toward Della.

  Della took the baby from Burnett. “She has good taste.”

  Right then the child squealed again and stretched out her arms toward Chase.

  “Yup,” Chase said and laughed.

  “I take that back,” Della muttered.

  Holiday chuckled. “You look … hot, Chase.”

  “Excuse me?” Burnett said, in humor.

  “Thank you,” Chase said, his uneasiness lessening. “And it fits, too.” He shot Della a quick glance.

  “Here.” Della held out the baby. Chase took a step back. “I don’t know how to hold it.”

  “It?” Della and Holiday said at the same time.

  “I mean her.”

  Della made a face at him and then turned toward Burnett. The child looked at her father and started flapping her arms up and down. “Dada dada.”

  “Did you hear that?” Burnett smiled bigger than Chase ever remembered. “She’s saying daddy.”

  “She’s just making sounds,” Holiday said.

  “You’re just jealous she said daddy before mama.”

  “I am not,” Holiday said, but she looked it. “That didn’t sound like daddy, did it?” She looked at Chase.

  “No … I didn’t … I don’t think so.”

  “See?” Holiday laughed.

  “Not to take the spotlight off our little princess here, but…” Della focused on Burnett and set the child on her hip. Despite seeming unsure of herself, the ease with which she handled the baby surprised Chase. She continued, “Did you get anything from the bar?”

  Chase noted the smile in Burnett’s eyes fade. “The number Sam gave is a throwaway phone. No one ever answered.”

  “Could he know Sam was caught?” Della asked.

  “We don’t know that, but it’s a possibility.”

  “And I suppose he didn’t show up at the bar, either?” Della asked, her tone mirroring Chase’s frustrations.

  “He didn’t, but we did ask around and confirmed Sam’s story.”

  “The gang?” Chase asked. “You got something?”

  “We’re still confirming some things,” Burnett said. “Word on the street is the gang is new here. But it has roots in France. Most of the members are mixed species—meaning their powers are limited, so we’re not considering it a huge threat at this time.”

  Burnett’s direct eye contact with him seemed to mean he didn’t think Chase should be concerned about staying here. Chase wasn’t so sure he agreed.

  “So Sam was a member?” Della asked.

  “No, but Stone might have been trying to recruit him.” Burnett’s phone dinged; he checked it and then looked up. “I have something this morning to cover, but I wanted to go with you to the shoe stores. So check out a few of those addresses, and see if you can run down Stone’s girlfriend. We’ll meet up somewhere to hit the shoe stores together later.”

  “Got it,” Chase said.

  Della handed Burnett the baby.

  Burnett took the child and made holding something so small and fragile look easy. “And remember, one hint of danger and you walk away and call me.”

  “We know,” Della said.

  Burnett frowned. “And don’t cause a mess for me to clean up.”

  “Don’t worry,” Chase said.

  “Right,” Burnett said. “And in case you don’t know, by ‘clean up’ I mean: no breaking and entering, no trespassing, no using excess force. You have your badge?” He looked at Chase.

  Chase nodded.

  “Everything you do reflects back on us. For all intents and purposes, you are to appear like humans. No jumping off tall buildings or bench-pressing cars. Keep your fangs in. You understand?”

  “Yes.” Chase resented the insinuation that he would screw up—but he knew better than to argue. Then he remembered: “I spoke with Leo last night. The guard at the prison.”

  “And?” Burnett asked, and his eyes widened with interest.

  “He said that after seeing Kirk when he came to get me, he realized he had gotten him mixed up with one of the other councilmen. Councilman Powell.”

  “So someone’s hiding something?”

  Chase nodded, trying not to feel as if he were betraying the council. And he shouldn’t, because if any of them knew about Stone, they had betrayed Eddie.

  “Let me ask you something,” Burnett said. “Since you still have connections with the prison and some of the council, what are the chances of getting them to transfer Pope into one of our facilities so we might question him?”

  “Impossible,” Chase said. “Leo told me last night that Pope was killed.”

  “Convenient,” Burnett said.

  “I wish I could disagree,” Chase said.

  Burnett nodded. “Well, you two get going, but I mean it: don’t create any shit.”

  Hannah bounced up and down. “Chit. Chit. Chit!” she squealed.

  Holiday glared
at her husband. “I’m gonna wash your mouth out with soap for a month of Sundays!”

  “Bye,” Della said, shooting Burnett a parting smile, and walked out. Chase was right behind her. They laughed.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, Della asked, “Do you think they killed Pope because he talked to you?”

  “I … I’m suspicious,” Chase said.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I’m trying to figure that out,” he said.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  When they got to Chase’s Camaro, he pulled his keys out. “You want to drive?”

  He remembered her driving his car and getting caught speeding by the cops. The memory almost brought a smile to his lips.

  “That’s okay,” she said and jumped into the car without opening the door.

  And she landed on a bag in the front seat.

  She pulled it out from under her and when she did a twelve-pack of hot dogs fell out.

  “What’s this?” she asked as he got behind the wheel.

  “Oh, in case we meet up with trouble,” he said.

  “What?”

  He ignored her question. “Do you mind the top down or are you worried about your hair?” When she didn’t answer he added, “I still have some hair things in my glove compartment.”

  She made a face and dropped the hot dogs on the floorboard. “I don’t care.”

  He slid the keys in the ignition, sat back in the seat a bit, then looked at her. “Yes, you do.”

  “Do what?” she asked.

  “You care. And I don’t mean about your hair.” He held up his hand, and before she could argue, he continued, “I know, I heard everything you said last night. About you not thinking this is real, or that it’s not love. But after I left, I realized what else you said.”

  Her brows pulled together. “What else did I say?”

  He reached between the seats and got his sunglasses. Slipping them on, he glanced at her. “How did you put it? Oh, yeah: the chills, the thrills. Then there was something about you being obsessed with me.”

  He slid the glasses down his nose, and looked at her over the rims.

  Her wide eyes and slacked mouth told him she was searching for a comeback but couldn’t find one. Shocking—Della always had a wisecrack. He loved that about her.