He kissed the back of her head. “Yep.” He should be worrying or pushing her away, but he was done with all that. “No guarantees.”

She snorted. “Totally agree. We go slow and see if we even like each other. But we stop dancing around and pushing each other away. Just think of the energy we’ll save.”

The way she looked at life intrigued him. Though he didn’t have happily ever after to give anyone, not when he was going up against a genius sociopath once again, he’d give her what he had right now. The idea that she’d quit her job actually eased his mind a little bit. It’d be easier to keep her safe if she worked the case from Jethro’s well-secured apartment.

She pushed wet hair off her shoulders. “Now’s the time you tell me why you have a lump the size of Texas on your temple and were wearing somebody else’s clothes before getting into the shower.”

He paused. Oh, he’d dated before, but he’d always had to keep his work confidential. “How good a friend are you with Scott Terentson?” She had been the one to find the lawyer.

“Don’t really know him,” she mumbled. “He just came highly recommended.”

Well, that was something. “I got him shot today.” Angus gave her the full story, not liking the way her body tensed more with each sentence. “I checked in with the hospital after the cops were done with me, and he survived surgery but is still unconscious. He’s in ICU. It’s touch and go right now.” Guilt burned hot inside Angus.

Nari slipped her hand beneath his, where it rested on her bare thigh. “It wasn’t your fault. I take it the police took your clothing?”

“Yeah.” In fact, they were exploring the theory that he’d shot Scott for some reason, although they needed more proof before obtaining an arrest warrant. At least that was the official line. Angus didn’t think Tate really believed he was a killer. Well, probably.

Nari sighed. “This just keeps getting worse.”

The woman had no idea.

* * *

The murder board was illuminated by the morning light trying to filter through the clouds as Nari paced in front of it. She gingerly ate a leftover muffin from the day before, staring at the line of events depicted on it. It was interesting that Lassiter had not given away his identity at first; undoubtedly he’d been messing with Angus’s head. The psycho really did think this was a game. A game of chess against Angus Force.

The door opened and Angus brought in Roscoe. “It’s cloudy, but it finally stopped raining,” he said, hanging his leather jacket near the door.

He looked at the neatly organized file folders on the table and then the perfectly aligned murder board. “Ah. Okay.”