Conditional Probability of Attraction (The Outlier Prophecies Book 2)

by Tina Gower

  “I only have an hour,” I say to his back.

  “Then you’d better be punctual.”

  Chapter 5

  The sandwich shop smells of yeast, salt, and a hint of sulfur. It’s either hard-boiled eggs or the demon owner who’s come out to inspect the werewolf cop in his dining area. Demons tend to stick close to major cities. Werewolves reside in the country or mountains. Never the twain shall meet. The demon tilts his head and pretends to be busy with some task, doing the staring/not staring routine.

  Becker slides over a sandwich across the table to me. “You like turkey. I hope you like turkey. It’s healthy for you. A much leaner protein.”

  He shoves his own turkey on rye into his mouth, probably to stop rambling. I don’t know what’s going on with him. He doesn’t usually fill silence with chatter.

  “Spill. You did not arrange this meeting to talk about cuts of meat.” My gaze wanders to the row of windows that face my office building. Becker chose a seat in the back of the cafe.

  “Those windows are tempered. They can’t see in.”

  I jerk my attention back to him. “Yeah, I know.” I take a few bites of sandwich. Mustard squishes out all over my fingers.

  “You need to move in with me.” He blinks, his face free of any expression.

  “Wow. It’s like you hit me with an anvil with that demand.” I snatch a few napkins.

  “It’s not a demand. It’s a request. For your safety.”

  “You mean for your sanity. Becker, this is madness. You said you were going to get more protective because of the…thing we do. This guy isn’t after me.”

  “He was in the parking garage. Right there when I dropped you off.”

  “Because he was likely following you.”

  “Then he saw you. You’re in danger. He’ll use you to get to me. The guys over in Criminal Investigations say his profile is problematic. He’ll potentially stalk his victims and anyone they interact with. I questioned his accomplice. That asshole’s hiding something. He wants me. He knew about you. He knew about your case.” Becker shoves his half-eaten sandwich aside and glares out the window.

  “He knew about the case? With Ever After?”

  He shakes his head. “My general impression was they just want you to stop. They don’t really care about the current case. They’re in touch with the same people who Liza Hamilton was running with—the one who tried to kill Jack Roberts. They can’t figure out how you beat them. They want you neutralized. They’re not asking.”

  I shake my head. So I’m doing something to make it hard for them to do something criminal? Too fucking bad. If they wanted me they would have gotten me by now. “I’m not going to let them bully me out of doing the right thing. And if it means I’ll make it harder for them? All the better.”

  “I know. That’s why you need to be protected.”

  “This is impossible.” I press my palms to my forehead and run my hands over my face. I’d give anything for this added complication to go away. Anything. “Ali is already suspicious we’re hiding something.”

  “You said she’s always suspicious. It’s her default setting.”

  “I said that to make you less edgy in the beginning. You were over the top until a week ago.”

  He hooks an arm over the back of the empty chair next to him, inspects me.

  “You were,” I repeat, then realize what I’ve said. That I gave him an inch. “But maybe you still are.” I pick at the chips on my plate.

  He shakes his head. “No. You’re backtracking. Am I better than a few weeks ago or am I worse? According to you I’m getting better, so you see the problem we have here, Kate. If I’m improving then this paranoia is rational. This threat is serious.”

  I sigh, realizing that he’s visibly calmer than before. He was in good shape this morning until he scented the guy he’d been trailing. “Are you sure it was him? Beyond a doubt. This isn’t some werewolf possession thing?”

  He slowly shakes his head side to side. “No. I swear.” He leans forward. “I need you close. Give me forty-eight hours. By the end of the weekend I’ll have him and you’ll be free. We’ll figure out a cover story.”

  I bite my lip, thinking. I could just tell my cousin that I went on vacation. Except I’d been promising to go to the beach with her for ages. Maybe I could convince her to go on vacation without me. Did she work at the coffee shop tomorrow? I should find out and surprise her with some tickets. “I’ll work something out.”

  “Great.” He knocks his knuckles on the table, like that sealed the deal. “I’ll pick you up at five.”

  He grabs my plate, holding it up in a silent question of if I’m done or not. I wave him to take it. Instead he wraps the half I didn’t eat and puts it into my purse. He does the same to his and slides it into his front coat pocket.

  I groan. “This is going to suck.”

  He pauses, mid-tuck. “Naw, I’ll come up with something rock solid. Nobody will think we’re…you know.” He clears his throat.

  I sling my purse over my shoulder. “It’s fine. I’ll come up with the cover.”

  He shrugs. “See you at five.”

  I take two steps, stop. Wait… “Don’t you have to work tonight?”

  “Actually, no. I had it wrong. I have the weekend off until Sunday, but now it looks like I’ll be babysitting you and hunting this guy instead.”

  “Ali said she wants to make dinner tonight. She wanted me to invite you. I can find a way to get you out of it.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Because it gives her the wrong idea. She’ll think we’re…”

  He scratches his chin. “Maybe this weekend will be good to deter her.”

  “How will we do that?”

  “Act natural. We get along too well to be compatible.”

  I snort. We don’t get along that well. Maybe in comparison to anyone else he attempts to interact with. But he says it with such confidence that it’s almost as though he believes we’re not at all compatible. It should make me happy to not be on his radar and that this whole situation isn’t more complicated than it needs to be, but a little part of me sinks at his words.

  Get it together, Kate. I straighten my blazer. “You have the weekend off. We should drive down to Turmoil and check it out.”

  His lip twitches. He looks down from my gaze. “Sure. We might be able to fit that in.” He tips his chin to the clock on the wall. “You’d better head back.”

  I nod, opening the door, and for the first time really wonder how much danger I’m in. Maybe I should take Becker’s warnings more seriously. My heart kicks up a notch. The crowds of people walking along downtown suddenly feel ominous rather than busy. I don’t have any idea what the guy looks like.

  Becker places a hand on my back. “I’m right here, watching. If anything happens I’ll be right there next to you.”

  I shake him off. “I’m not scared,” I lie.

  Except Becker can smell a lie.

  I sling the door open wider and march out. Head high, eyes alert, keys in-between each finger. Can’t blame a girl for being extra cautious. This time I make it to my building without getting intercepted by Becker, so it must mean we were clear.

  I plan to hide myself in my office for the rest of the day. I pop open that morning email from Yin and get to work setting the parameters for the database they’ve specified.

  My cursor hovers over the open soulmate message board webpage. One of the topics catches my attention.

  RIP Soulmate Roll call.

  I click on the thread. Names. Names of the dead matched soulmates. I tap my finger against the desk. I’ve been ordered to back off the why it happened, but one quick check will put my curiosity to rest.

  I run the first several names mentioned on the thread.

  Gustavo Martinez

  Jin Amarra

  Amber Willow

  Bear Lincoln

  Maya Bourdoux

  Jackson Robinson

  I
open each of their death records and lay them out so I can see them all at once on the screen. Day, time, and cause of death.

  The days and times are difficult to pull any meaning from since I’m not sure when they were matched. Was it before or after they’d passed? I scan the posts of the people who mention the names I pulled, check to see if I can decipher when they got their match notices.

  Thank gods for the thread search on the site, or I’d be combing through every post. SecretLove posted her list three weeks ago, excited and ready to find love. She had Bear Lincoln on her list. I check his death day and time.

  Now that was interesting. He died a full week before after spending weeks in the hospital waiting for a lung and heart transplant.

  Maya Bourdoux is mentioned on SilverHill’s list. She died of a heart attack a full month before his list had been delivered.

  Wait. That can’t be right. I look at the other four on the list I’ve cherry picked. All of them had a heart issue of some kind related in their death. That was too cliché to be a coincidence.

  I researched three more names to be sure. Yep.

  Infection that spread to the heart.

  Gunshot to the chest.

  Heart attack.

  I hoped that digging a little further would produce nothing so I could put this case behind me.

  Now isn’t this inconvenient? So much for wrapping it up before the weekend.

  Chapter 6

  By four o’clock I’ve come to a decision. I send Yin the outline for the database permissions that will connect our predictions to their matches without stepping into any privacy laws. Then I print out my piling evidence in a separate file that I shove into my laptop bag.

  At four forty-five Gretchen pops her head into my door. “Sorry, Hale, they’re calling you down at the station to give a statement? Apparently you were in the parking garage at the same time as a person of interest.” Her face scrunches up like she’s trying to work out something that doesn’t add up. “Not sure why they waited until the end of the day.”

  I’m confused. Really confused until Becker comes in from the elevator dressed in his police uniform blues.

  He tucks his hat under his arm. “Miles wanted me to grab some paperwork for the weekend. Oh hey, Kate, haven’t seen you in a while.” He glances down at my bag. “Leaving early? Got a hot date?” he arches an eyebrow.

  I’m stunned into silence.

  “No,” Gretchen answers for me. “She got called to the station about a POI. Would you know anything about that?”

  His gaze shifts to me, and the corner of his lips twitch. Not sure if it means he set it up or if he had no idea.

  He recovers quick enough. “Yeah, we had a real ass— piece of work. Didn’t catch him. Probably just need any witness help they can get. I’m headed right back over there. Give me five minutes and you can hitch a ride. Save yourself the bus fare.”

  Just your friendly, helpful city cop. He says it casually, a hint of aloof, as though he doesn’t mind, no matter the answer. Overall, it’s a good act.

  I’m tempted to say no thanks and see how he reacts. Except I’m not at all excited to tip anyone off in the office that anything is out of the ordinary here.

  “Are you sure? Because I don’t want to be a bother.”

  “No bother,” he says, acting with almost no real interest either way. He’s a pro at this. To prove it, he saunters across the room to Miles’s office. Presumably to pick up the files he’s here for.

  Me, however, I’m sweating through the armpits of my blazer. Gretchen crosses her arms and inspects Becker from across the room, then looks at me.

  “You didn’t drive a car here?”

  “I usually take the bus. I don’t have a car.” Is it hot in here? I flap my blazer to get some air under my suit.

  “What were you doing in the parking garage?”

  “Parking garage? I don’t remember seeing anyone. Oh, you mean what was I doing there when I obviously didn’t drive.” I titter. Yes, titter. A little laugh that blasts out in rapid bursts like a science fiction video game laser. “Well, that’s a funny story, but the short version is that I got off at the wrong stop and had to walk here from a block away. I decided to cut through the garage.”

  I’m great when lying is simple and involves simply leaving out information, but when I have to flat out make things up? I pretty much suck.

  Gretchen rubs her fingers over her lips and a long “hmmm” vibrates from her throat. She’s not buying anything I’m trying to sell.

  Becker claps his hand against the wall next to me and heads for the elevators. “All right, Hale, let’s go. I’m on a schedule.”

  I shuffle around Gretchen and jog to catch up to him, not really getting a full breath until the elevator doors snap closed.

  He presses the down button. “You’re an awful liar. I could smell the fear rolling off of you from the next room.”

  “You could have given me some warning. Maybe then I could have come up with something plausible.”

  “Trust me, the more time people get, the worse they fuck it up.” He taps his temple. “Over think it.”

  “I’m a planner. I like to plan things out. The more I over think, the better I get.”

  He doesn’t look convinced.

  Becker’s parked in the bank of cars right next to the elevator. He puts his arm out to keep me back. He lifts his nose and sniffs the air, closing his eyes and concentrating. When he’s satisfied, he lowers his barricade and motions for me to walk quickly. Unlocking my door and standing guard while I hop in, he rounds to the driver’s seat moving slowly. He’s on full alert.

  He folds his tall body inside and starts the car. It smells like donuts.

  “What happened to the fries?”

  He’s too involved in what’s going on outside and around us. “Huh?”

  “Your car usually smells like french fry oil, but now it’s donuts.”

  “Is that some kind of police joke?” He gives me a thorough stare down. The kind I’ve gotten from the traffic cops when I’d speed into a predicted incident scene back when I had a car.

  My eyes go wide. He thinks I’m making a cop joke. “Oh, okay, yeah I just now realize—”

  He grins. Wide. “I’m just kidding.” He backs the car out of the space. “I was running on empty and got topped off while I was picking up several dozen for Lipski’s birthday.” He points the car at the exit, but we don’t move. It’s like he’s waiting for my reaction to his prank.

  I hit him on the shoulder, part because it seems like a good moment for it, part because I think it’s good he’s lightening up from his behavior earlier. He glances at his shoulder, the exact spot where I hit him, and our gazes connect.

  It’s different. This thing between us. I’m fighting it, because I don’t want to repeat history. He’s fighting it, because it will make things much more complicated for him. And I don’t know, maybe because it’s just a knee-jerk attraction for him—because of the lone wolf stuff. But for a split second neither of us fight it. His eyes soften. His lips part. I lean into him, just a fraction. And I know fractions pretty well. I’d say I’m about one sixteenth closer than before.

  His hand is there between us on the console, so I graze my fingers over his wrist. He twists his hand, palm up and my fingers follow over his rough callouses. It’s different than when I touched him earlier today to calm him. This time it’s not for any emotional support. I look up at him to see he’s watching the trail of my fingers intently. I watch his reactions as I pull away. There’s a short pause and the expression on his face changes from enjoyment to panic as I move away.

  I bite my lip, waiting for him to say something. Anything.

  He turns his hand back over, his eyes close, and he blows a long breath out his nose. He’s about to say something, but he cuts himself off before he does. His fingers ball up into a fist, and he grabs the wheel.

  “We should go.”

  It’s the last thing he says until we rea
ch the station.

  Chapter 7

  Becker parks his car in the garage on the other side of street out front of the four-story building that houses the police departments. If there’s one thing in abundance on this side of town it’s the parking garages. The police headquarters has three connected to the building.

  “What are we doing here? I thought you’d called in the POI witness stuff as a cover?”

  “I did, sort of, but I have to return the uniform unless I plan on working tonight.” The way he says this leads me to believe he’s not being completely honest.

  I place my blazer over my laptop bag to cover it from view and unbuckle my seat belt. “How is it that you can come and go as you please? I’ve never seen any other officer with as much privileges as you.”

  “I’m the only werewolf on staff. I work nonstop. I take any shift that comes my way and they make certain allowances for me.” He jumps out of his side of the car. Bracing his hands on either side of his door, he crouches down and speaks through the crack. “Stay in your seat until I come to your side and open the door.”

  I shake my head. “It seems like a liability to have an officer setting his own schedule. They’d never know when to rely on you.”

  He leans back down, gripping the door. “I’m always working, so they always can rely on me.”

  “Yeah, but that’s ridiculous to set those kinds of expectations on you. The stress alone—Look, I’m just saying it’s not healthy.”

  His eyes narrow. “You know what’s not healthy? A nearly full-blooded werewolf with too much time and energy on his hands.” He shuts the door and effectively ends the conversation. When he meets me at the other side he’s visibly still vibrating with annoyance at my comments, but he smiles as though nothing’s wrong. “I was just thinking, while you’re here, we might need a quick statement from you after all.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “It will take a second to fill out the paperwork while I get changed.”