Sweet Nothings by Megan Derr

Author:Megan Derr
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Megan Derr

Chapter Ten

Despite his better judgement, and the voices of Michi and Arden he could hear screaming in his head and calling him every manner of dumbass, Oakley sighed and said, "Fine. Five minutes. You'd better not try to stab me; one stabbing was more than enough for me."

A bare, fleeting grin flickered across the man's mouth, then was gone as his somber mien returned. "I've been stabbed three times, and let me tell you, it definitely never gets better."

"Who in the world are you that you get stabbed three times and joke about it?"

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out one of those cases or wallets or whatever carried by feds that had an ID and badge. Sure enough, as he flipped it open, there they were—but as Oakley actually read them, they proved to be for a private investigator. Was that better or worse than fed?

He was handsome, with an ethnicity not easily pinned down, and sounded like he came from somewhere up New England way. His hair was cut short, though not quite cop/soldier severe, and looked like it would get curly if given a chance. There was a smudge high on his right cheek, like the last remnants of a bruise. He wore ragged jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt, a gray hoodie, and a jacket over that. All the dark tones emphasized his bright eyes, which were the rich, orange-yellow of good amber. He had the kind of deep voice that could sound sexy reading a telephone book, and wore some sort of spicy cologne that couldn't be cheap.

Familiarity washed over Oakley, followed by a jolt of realization as the pieces came together. "You're the guy I kept seeing in the alleyway! The one skulking around the shop."

"That was me," the man replied. "Name's Iskander Jones."

"Iskander?"

"That's what you're asking right now? My mom was Indonesian. Is this part of my five minutes?"

Oakley rolled his eyes, the last of his trepidation fading away. "What in the world does some Yankee detective want with me?"

"I was hired by my client, whose identity I cannot share, to investigate a matter that's led me here. I'm pretty certain the recent murders are tied to the matter."

"What!" Oakley swallowed, all the bad memories rushing back, his ears filling with a noise like high wind, or maybe a train, and his chest felt like he was having a heart attack or something.

Someone grabbed his arm, and then he was sitting on the bed and could barely hear someone talking to him, telling him to breathe, guiding him one, two, one, two.

After several minutes, he finally felt like he could function again, though he also felt exhausted and wrung out. "Sorry."

"It's cool, don't worry about it. Panic attacks happen to the best of us. You were almost murdered, my friend, that's a good reason to have one."

Oakley laughed shakily and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. "Yeah, this is gonna take more than five minutes to shake off, I think.

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