Why that thought? She wasn’t curious about having sex with him.
Maybe a little. Oh, mercy, to imagine that blue hair falling over her face as he kissed her and those rigid abs brushing across her stomach...
“I want to help you out and make sure you’re safe.”
As he seemed to do with the locals. Helping nuns? Despite his dark-and-dangerous appearance, the man must be a pussycat at heart.
“Okay.” She clasped the money roll. “Can we be friends?”
Blade abruptly straightened and crossed his arms again. “I don’t do the friend thing with women very well.”
“I see.” A wad of cash and a don’t-let-the-door-hit-you-on-the-way-out. Never mind the guilt column, this guy was still occupying the weird column. “So this is it, then? I indulge in your tasty pancakes and then take the money and run?”
“Yep.”
Her heart fell, but she kept her shoulders straight and didn’t show her disappointment. “That’s cool. I’ve overstayed my welcome as it is. Got some memory tracking to do.” She grabbed her backpack and stuffed the money in it. Holding out her hand, she shook his. “Thanks for everything, Blade. Blessings to you.”
“Stay away from Brock Olafson,” he called as she headed down the stairs.
She would. But it was too bad Blade didn’t want to be friends. She could really use a friend right now. This being-on-her-own thing was for the birds. Whoever she was, she was probably a person who thrived on the connection with others.
Which was why it felt as if she was walking away from the best thing to ever happen to her as she took the stairs downward.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_c05fde9c-e942-5179-b889-defdb6b930a1)
“Uh, Blade?”
A wave of relief fell over Blade when he heard Zen calling from the bottom of the stairs. She hadn’t left.
And what was that about? He didn’t care if she left and never returned. He’d told her he didn’t want to be friends. Had given her enough cash to survive a few months on her own. Add another tally in his charity column. End of story.
“There’s a police car at the end of the driveway,” Zen called up. “The officer is looking over my truck.”
“Ah, hell. They must have gotten a stolen vehicle report. Get back up here. I’ll go out and talk to him.”
He passed her on the stairs. The skim of her hair across his biceps felt like silk on his skin. He wanted to feel it brush his lips, to draw in her scent and—
Blade forced his thoughts back to the dire situation. “What’s out in the truck that belongs to you?”
“Nothing. All I own is in my backpack,” she said, patting the backpack she held before her. “Not as if any of this stuff is mine. Fingerprints?”
“Yeah, well, maybe that would be a good thing? If they traced your prints there could be a chance you’d know who you are.”
She shook her head and studied her fingertips. “Not sure about that. I don’t want to go to jail. I was just borrowing the truck. You think they’d believe that?”
“Nope. Stay. I’ll handle this.”
She nodded and he waited for her to reach the top step of the stairs before heading outside.
Earl Smith was a local cop who knew his family. Of course, Smith didn’t know the Saint-Pierres were werewolves, vampires and faeries. He thought they were just regular folk that tried to fit in, save when Trouble got rowdy and a bar owner called to have the police escort him home. Blade was sure Trouble knew all the officers and deputies within a thirty-mile range by first name and badge number.
“You’re at the wrong place, Earl,” Blade said to the lanky man who was probably twice his age and half his weight. “Trouble lives east of town.”
“You know where this truck came from, Saint-Pierre?”
Fortunately Zen hadn’t driven all the way up to the barn, and had parked near the end of the short drive.
“Wasn’t here last night when I got home. First time I’ve been outside today, Earl.” Blade rubbed his jaw and walked up to peer into the cab of the truck. As Zen had said, it didn’t appear as if any personal belongings had been left inside. The key was in the ignition. “Hell, I didn’t even hear it drive up.” He laid a hand over the hood. “Engine’s not hot. Must have been here awhile. Who’s it belong to?”
“It was stolen from a parking lot in Fridley about a week ago. Got a tip from Brock Olafson—we have breakfast at the Panera every now and then—that I should probably check your place.”
“That’s odd. How would Brock know about a truck I’ve never seen before? Maybe he had something to do with it being here.”
“I, uh, hmm...”
While Earl gave that one a good think, Blade glanced up toward the kitchen window. Zen’s face ducked out of sight.
“I don’t know what to say, Earl. You know I wouldn’t do such a thing as steal a truck. I have enough of my own in the garage.”
The officer straightened and hooked his thumbs at his belt loops. “Mind if I take a look?”
“Inside the garage? Sure thing.”
Blade led him toward the barn where the entire ground floor had been converted into a garage for his fix-it projects. Best thing to do was play along. He’d not asked for this trouble, but for some reason, he was damned good at extricating himself from sticky situations.
It was a talent he’d gladly surrender if only everyone would leave him in peace.
* * *
By the time Blade returned to the loft, Zen had watched a tow truck haul away the vehicle she had borrowed. Okay, stolen. The keys had been in the ignition. How else to get around while she was trying to figure herself out and had no cash whatsoever?
Was that it? Had she been a thief before losing her memory and the criminal act was so ingrained that stealing a truck hadn’t given her a moment of guilt?
Blade topped the stairs and veered toward the kitchen, where the coffee machine blinked in wait. He inserted a coffee pod and leaned over the machine, his back to her. Zen could sense his irritation. He was still barefoot. Her worry vanished as she studied his feet. They were sexy. Seriously. Those dark jeans slouched over his feet, the hems torn and worn from treading without shoes. It was so animal, in a sensual, easygoing kind of way.
And he had once again saved her butt, this time by diverting the police from her. Because there was just something about not going to the police that made sense. And she was going to call that intuition about the life she couldn’t remember.
“Sorry,” Zen offered. “Guess I’m not making a fast getaway now like I had planned. Are you in trouble?”
“No. But the local police will certainly be keeping an eye on me for a while. Earl left convinced it was a joyrider who had abandoned the truck here. Why they hadn’t driven it into the woods and trashed it was beyond Earl, but he’ll dust for prints. I told him to keep me in the loop if he gets an identification.”
“Thanks. I think. If they come up with my prints, will they arrest me?”
“Probably.” He removed the full mug and turned to face her, sipping slowly. “And why not go to the police?”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t feel right. Not part of the destiny.”
He raised an eyebrow.
