“Get out!” I yell, my voice hoarse.
“I’m sorry?” Drake recoils.
“Get out. Of my building,” I add, moving toward him as he walks backward. “If you don’t have a warrant in your ass pocket, get the fuck out. Now.”
He grabs my wrist and pulls me into him. “Listen to me, cupcake. Someone got real lucky last night, and that someone was you. You weren’t here when your killer wanted you to be. Yeah, I said yours. They know you’re waitin’ for ‘em. Most nights you’d be here, right? But last night, because I pissed your ass off, you weren’t. Know what that tells me?”
“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me,” I manage through gritted teeth.
“It tells me this killer is watching you. You ain’t safe. They’re waiting to strike, and it’s gonna be the second you’re alone. We’re close. I can feel it. You’re their target now. And this killer? They want to kill you.”
“No shit,” I whisper, looking away from him. “I won’t back down. I don’t care what you say. They can try and kill me. I’ve dealt with worse.”
“Stop being a pain in my ass.” He grabs my chin and forces me to look into his eyes and all their devastatingly icy glory. “Someone. Wants. To. Kill. You.”
“Yet you don’t care.”
“I care,” I whisper, holding his gaze. “But did you ever think that I’m your best bet at catching this person? If they’re watching me, if they want to kill me, they’re there. Waitin’, like you said. And that means they’re gonna come to me. Not you. Not anyone else. Me.”
“Yeah, I thought it. But I don’t like it.”
“Ain’t your job to like it, Detective. It’s your job to deal with it.”
“You’re right. It ain’t my job to like it, but I ain’t exactly dealing with it either.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means,” he leans in, his touch relaxing just a smidge, “It means that I don’t like it. I’m not dealin’ with it. And the thought of you bein’ in the kinda danger you are scares the ever-lovin’ fuckin’ shit out of me.”