Abram scoffed. “Do you really think I’d be so concerned if it was just some random civilian who came in asking about you?”

Micah frowned. “I suppose not.”

“Damon Romano is not a good man. He’s dangerous. And if you ever see him again, I need you to promise me you’ll run in the opposite direction.”

His father wasn’t prone to making dramatic statements, so Micah thought it was perfectly acceptable to find he had a sudden stomachache. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “If he’s so dangerous, why isn’t he behind bars?”

Abram released a short, sardonic bark of laughter. “I know this will probably be hard for you to accept, Micah, since it’s your job to uphold justice and try to keep this world as safe and fair as possible. But some people are untouchable, and Damon Romano is one of them.”

Micah licked his dry lips. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but… “What’d he do?”

“What hasn’t he done?” Abram shot back. “He’s mafia, Micah,” he said, finally spelling it out, “and not some underling or lowly gangster. He’s the boss. He has his family’s fingers in as many illegal projects as legal ones, and whether it’s by his own hand or not, the people around him have an unfortunate tendency to wind up dead.”

Micah was going to vomit.

“As you can imagine,” his father continued, oblivious to the panic attack hovering on the fringes of his son’s composure, “he’s not a big fan of the police – at least not any that aren’t in his pocket. He wouldn’t have come here unless he thought it was important – unless he thought you were important.” Abram paused. “I find it hard to believe he would develop these sort of… feelings for you as a result of a simple run-in.”

“What exactly are you accusing me of here, Dad?” Micah snapped. He blamed the fact that his stomach was currently flip-flopping for the slip of tongue – and the emotion that leaked into his voice. “You think we fucked while I was on the clock? That I was actually prostituting myself out? What?”

“Of course not!” Abram blustered.

“Because I haven’t done anything to encourage whatever interest you’re convinced he has in me.” Not during their first encounter, anyway. “He bought me supper – practically frog-marched me into some Mexican Place called El Taco Rosa, but that was it. It’s all in the report Tessa wrote up.”

“And he didn’t make any sort of move on you?” Abram demanded.

Not at that point. “No,” Micah said firmly. “I’m pretty sure he thought I was underage, and he was just trying to be a Good Samaritan.”

The way his father’s face wrinkled made it clear what he thought of that.