Page 102 of The Diamond in the Rough

“Jesus fuck, Tony,” Hart muttered, tugging on the end of his braid. “And you sayI’minsensitive.”

I drew in a long breath, then let it out slowly. “Okay,” I agreed, although my voice shook a bit more than I’d expected and definitely more than I’d wanted it to.

“You are allowed to refuse,” Raj told me.

I decided that I hated this cold, professional version of him even more than I’d hated it when he was angry with me.

I nodded. “I understand,” I replied. “I am not refusing.”

Hart blew out his breath. “Then let’s fucking do this before any of us get cold feet.”

Raj drove,with Hart in the passenger seat and me in the back, deliberately stopping myself from sensing anything in the car. I didn’t know if a lot of people tended to ride in Raj’s back seat or not, and I didn’t particularly want to find out the way I normally did. So I held myself together, trying not to notice the way the car smelled a little like Raj’s cologne, hoping that this wasn’t going to be as awful as Tranquil Brook.

Hoping that I’d be able to show them—show Raj—how dedicated I was to solving the case. To earn back some small amount of the respect I’d lost.

We pulled up to a house that looked surprisingly ordinary. A small two-story painted pale blue, although the paint was stained and sun-bleached and starting to peel off in places. The white trim was dingy, the darker blue paint on the stairs all but worn off. The bushes were growing a little wild, but had clearly been deliberately chosen once.

It was a house that could have been cute if it had been taken care of. As it was, it was just a little sad and neglected.

I reminded myself that the man who lived inside was a murderer. That he’d stripped the magic from Yvonne Gates-Adams and then beat her to death.

On second examination, the house was less sad and more dingy. Tarnished. Sinister. I knew the effect was psychosomatic, but it felt no less real for that.

Raj and Hart both got out of the Subaru at the same time, coordinated in their movements by months of working together. Maybe longer, actually, given that Hart had known Raj back when he was still with the Richmond police.

Their synchrony served to remind me that I didn’t belong. Not just here, with them. Not just on the case. Not just at Beyond the Veil, even, although all those were true.

I didn’t belong anywhere.

Maybe I could have, if I’d had a different childhood or been born to a different kind of family—but then I wouldn’t be me, would I?

“Here, kid,” Hart said, standing by the open trunk.

I walked over, then nervously looked down at the vest he was holding out. “What’s that for?” I asked him. Raj was already pulling on one of his own, the black material bulky, with gold letters readingFBIscreen-printed on the breast. The back of the one Hart was holding out had largerFBIletters on the back.

“It’s policy,” Raj informed me. “As a precaution, even when we’re pretty sure they won’t be needed.”

“Bulletproof vest,” Hart said. I took it and swallowed. “It’d be a fucking PR nightmare if a civilian consultant got shot.”

“Don’t be an ass, Hart,” Raj snapped. “Nobody’s getting shot. It’s SOP, that’s all.”

I pulled on the vest, struggling a little with the straps. Hart put his on, then fixed mine before he and Raj turned, Raj slamming the trunk shut. I sighed, then followed them toward the front door of the house.

As we walked, I noticed other agents climbing out of other cars within a few houses of this one.

It wasn’t until that moment that I wondered what would happen if Jennings were actually at home, and the thought sent my pulse skyrocketing.

Raj turned to look back at me. “What is it?” he asked me.

I looked up. “What is what?” I asked, hearing my voice quaver a little.

“You’re afraid,” he said flatly. “Why?”

I felt my face flush.

“Jesus fuck, Raj, whywouldn’the be?” Hart hissed.

“He wasn’t until just now,” the tiger shifter argued. “Something changed.”