It was irritating how genuine he sounded. And Micah had a feeling that if he really had been a prostitute, he would have grabbed the lifeline the man was trying to throw him with both hands and not let go for the world.

But he wasn’t a prostitute.

He was an undercover cop. And he had to leave before Damon figured that out. So instead of melting at the words, Micah jutted out his chin in that stubborn way he was told he sometimes did and crossed his arms over his chest. “And if I told you the best way to help me was by moving out of the way so I could get back to work?” he challenged.

Damon swallowed. “Then I stand by what I said before. I’d let you go, but I’d follow you right back out onto the streets and chase away all of your potential… work.”

Outrageous.

No one should have fretted over a stranger this much. But, somehow, Micah believed him. He cared. And by caring, Damon was this close to impeding on an investigation into a serial killer.

Micah couldn’t let that happen. He felt as stuck as he first had when Damon had all but frog-marched him into El Taco Rosa. Unless…

An idea suddenly occurred to him. “And what if I asked you to move because I’m a handful of seconds away from pissing myself?”

Damon blinked, thrown by the sudden change of topic. “What?”

“I have to pee,” Micah deadpanned.

Damon frowned, a little wrinkle forming in his brow. “Then I suppose I’d tell you the bathroom is to the left of the kitchen,” he said, even as he began shifting out of the way, “but I’d also warn you that I’ll be waiting right here for you to return.”

“Of course,” Micah muttered, acting annoyed, but secretly elated. As long as there was a window in the bathroom, it wouldn’t matter if Damon was standing guard at the front of the restaurant.

Micah hurried in the direction Damon had indicated, refusing to glance backward at the man, even as he could feel his gaze practically burning a hole through the back of his jacket – well, Damon’s jacket. He ducked into the men’s room.

“Jackpot,” Micah muttered, immediately spotting the tiny window on the far wall, right between the pair of sinks and the single stall and urinal. Better yet, he was alone.

“You’re not really going to squeeze out of a window, are you?”

Micah jumped. He had nearly forgotten that Tessa was listening in. She knew him well. “Uh, yes, I most certainly am.”

“But it was just getting good,” she whined into his ear. “If there was a microwave in here, I’d be heating up popcorn.”

“Fuck you, Tessa.” He hauled himself up onto the counter of sinks, unlatching the window. No screen. Perfect. “You didn’t even want me sitting with him.”

“That was before I realized how adorable he was. Honestly, he’s positively smitten with you.”