Page 52 of With Spite

I also forced myself not to put on the sweatshirt that I would’ve normally slipped on and headed out of the bedroom with a hairbrush in one hand and a pair of slouchy, warm socks in the other.

Taking a seat on the couch, I lifted one leg up and sank my foot into a wool sock.

“Nice socks,” he mused from his stance at the window.

He was looking out at the Hubers.

They were all out on their front porch, drinking in their rocking chairs, staring at my house like it was their own personal form of entertainment.

“They’re wool,” I found myself saying. “And come in pretty colors.”

He turned, but only after pulling the blinds shut.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t actually know where it is.”

His head tilted. “You don’t know where your phone is?”

“No,” I admitted. “I think it’s in the truck, maybe. But it was too cold for me to go look. Plus, I wanted to unplug for a bit.”

“Why?” he asked.

The way he asked “why” made me think of an avenging angel about to do battle.

I winced. “Because my brother is calling me twenty-four-seven, and he’s driving me insane.”

Hux crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the small lip of the window.

When he did, the muscles in his biceps bulged where they rested against his chest. The black Henley he was wearing made him look even sexier. Paired with the beige 5.11 tactical pants and…yum.

He also did not look happy about hearing this. He was glaring at the brick wall behind my wood stove. He looked like he was a few seconds away from dragging my brother’s face against the rough stone.

It was a good thing Creed wasn’t here.

“Your brother is worried about you,” he finally admitted, not sounding too happy about it. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing that he’s calling.”

He sounded like it was a bad thing…

“No,” I agreed. “But it’s a bad thing when he’s calling every hour, on the hour. He’s driving me nuts. He already drove over here once, too.” I stopped checking out his chest to look at his face, noticing that he appeared tired. There were black circles under his eyes. “What was it that you called about?”

“I’m not sure you’re going to like the reason I’m here, either.”

My brows rose. “What? Is it serial killer related?”

He pushed off the window ledge and walked to my coffee table, picking up my remote and switching to the first news station he found, which happened to be Fox News.

I tended to avoid the news at all cost, because no one liked being depressed when your life was depressing enough. But this time, the news anchor talking about a murder had me stilling.

“…FBI agent. No one knows if this is related to the Corpse Violator or not, but officials are fairly sure that the FBI agent’s death is tied to the serial killer.”

“Oh, shit,” I breathed. “Do you think it was the serial killer that killed one of the FBI agents on the case?”

He scrunched up his nose. It was surprisingly adorable.

“No. But that agent did a whole lot of talking and not a lot of investigating. The way I always heard that agent talking on the news, this was his breakout case. He was going to catch Corpse Violator and make sure he never saw the outside of a jail cell for the rest of his life.”

I leaned my hip against the countertop opposite him, mirroring his stance.