Becca Fitzpatrick

… GOD SPARED NOT THE ANGELS THAT SINNED,
BUT CAST THEM DOWN TO HELL,
AND DELIVERED THEM INTO CHAINS OF DARKNESS,
TO BE RESERVED UNTO JUDGMENT …
—2 PETER 2:4

Only, this wasn’t exactly true. I’d liked a lot of what I’d seen. Long, lean muscles down his arms, broad but relaxed shoulders, and a smile that was part playful, part seductive.

Biggest dream?” I was proud of this one because I knew it would stump him. It required forethought.

“Kiss you.”

“That’s not funny,” I said, holding his eyes, grateful I didn’t stutter.

“No, but it made you blush.”

You’re not answering. The deer is lodged in my headlights, isn’t he? You’re driving around with him stuck to the front of the car like a snowplow.”

He softly shook his head. “Interested? We’re talking about you. I’m fascinated.” He smiled, and it was a fantastic smile.

Patch came around behind me, and a chill shimmied up my spine. “I’ll be waiting,” he said into my ear. Then he slipped out of the arcade

I need to get back to work,” Patch said. He gave me a once-over that lingered a bit below the hips. “Killer skirt. Deadly legs.”

I don’t go out with strangers,” I said.

“Good thing I do. I’ll pick you up at five.”

He had a huge, upside down V-shaped scar on his back. Isn’t that a little weird?”

Nora Grey,” she said, then immediately clamped her hands over her mouth.

There was a faint crack in Patch’s expression—a frown of disbelief mixed with annoyance. Which made no sense since, if the calendar on the wall was correct, we hadn’t met yet. My name shouldn’t have sparked familiarity. “How is she going to die?” he asked.

“Someone wants to kill her.”