“We need to find out more about the Djinn,” I say. “And check the other two people Riona mentioned having a possible grudge.”

“I’ll look up the Hartford family,” Dante says.

“And I’ll find the guy Uncle Oran fired,” Cal says.

Riona pushes her plate away, having hardly touched her food.

“I’m going back to work,” she says. “Sounds like you all have it covered.”

* * *

9

Riona

The week that follows is extremely strange.

I’m not used to having another person with me constantly. Raylan stays by my side morning and night, no matter what I’m doing. I think he’d stand outside my shower if I let him.

I appreciate that he’s taking the job seriously, but I like my alone time. I’m cognizant of him constantly watching me, even when I’m trying to work or read or exercise.

I guess it could be worse. His company isn’t entirely unpleasant. He insists on cooking for both of us. “ ‘Cause otherwise I’d starve,” he says, apparently feeling that the volume and frequency of my meals leaves something to be desired. And he is a good cook. He makes pasta carbonara with fresh basil, bacon, and peas, and a citrus-marinaded chicken that he serves over risotto.

As I suspected during our dinner with Dean, Raylan is pretty damn smart under that country-boy schtick. While I’m working, he’s often reading. He goes through half the books on my shelf, reading The Bell Jar, Life After Life, Barkskins, and The Devil in the White City all in one week.

“What do you mostly read?” I ask him, curious about his taste.

“I like any book that puts you inside somebody’s head,” he says. “Like this Devil in the White City one. Have you read it?”

I nod.

“This H.H. Holmes guy. He’s pretty fucked up. But it makes me curious, anyway. Trying to see why he did all the things he did.”

Raylan is observant. His laid-back attitude doesn’t fool me. It’s obvious that he sees everything, and files it away.

“You like watching people,” I say.

“Yeah,” he nods. “I do.”

“Why?”

“People are interesting.”

“I find most people pretty boring.”

“Am I boring?” He grins.

“No,” I admit. “You’re not.”

Raylan isn’t boring. Because he’s intelligent, and because he’s a paradox. From the way he talks about his family and the ranch where he grew up, I know he had a happy childhood. Yet he felt compelled to join the army and wander all over the globe. And on the surface he appears folksy and friendly. But I know he’s a trained soldier who wouldn’t hesitate to kill.

I can see he has a more intense and competitive side to him. He likes to joke around, but I see it surface under the right circumstances.

For instance, when he joins me for my evening workouts.

I haven’t gone back to the rooftop pool. Even though I know the diver isn’t likely to come back, and I know Raylan is there with me, I can’t stand the thought of slipping into the water again.