Page 131 of Fatal Pattern

She squeezed his hand again, and he squeezed back.

Stronger this time.

37

The ice clinked against Tori’s glass as she lifted it, condensation cool against her palm. The afternoon sun warmed her shoulders through the thin fabric of her sundress, but the breeze off the water carried just enough chill that she was grateful for the denim jacket draped over her lap.

“Okay, that one.” She pointed her glass toward a gleaming white yacht moored three slips down. “Sea-duction. Really?”

Blade followed her gaze. “I picture . . . a thick mustache. Expensive shirt half unbuttoned to show off the gold chain buried in his chest hair.”

She snorted.

“What about that one? Number five down there.” Blade pointed. “Knot Working.”

“I picture a captain’s hat with scrambled eggs on the brim and a man who calls everyone ‘matey.’” She took a sip of sweet tea, the tartness making her pucker.

Blade shook his head. “Probably has a trembling chihuahua that gets seasick.”

“I always wanted a dog.” She traced the rim of her glass with her finger. “But I pictured myself with something massive. Like, as big as I am. One I could train as an emotional support dog, take with me to help patients relax.”

“I can see that.”

“Maybe a chihuahua wouldn’t be so bad. One of those with long hair and pointy ears. Could keep my lap warm during those long movie marathons.”

“That you’d both sleep through.”

“Don’t start.” She threw a wad of the straw wrapper at him.

“I always pictured you with a rottweiler,” Blade said, grinning. “But I can totally see the chihuahua. Sassy. Fits in your purse. Wears cute outfits. And the best part, small dog, small poop.”

Laughter bubbled up from deep in her chest. Real laughter. When was the last time she’d done that? They’d been so buried in the case, in survival mode, that it felt like ages.

Heat collected in her ribs, and her fingers twitched against the tabletop, an impulse screaming to close the short distance, to lay her hand over his. Anchor him, anchor herself.

If she were honest, really honest, she was stalling. Buying time to gather courage to admit her feelings.

To her, Blade wasn’t just her protective big brother anymore, the one who’d teased her about movie marathons and made her laugh until her sides ached. He was the man whose hand she wanted to reach for across the table. The man whose smile made warmth bloom in places she’d kept carefully guarded. The man she’d fallen head over heels in love with. The man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

And he deserved to know.

She checked her watch instead. Five minutes late.

Down the sidewalk, a family of tourists had discovered the fish-feeding station. The father dumped a handful of pellets into the water while his kids shrieked with delight as dozens of fish swarmed to the surface, their mouths opening and closing in a frantic ballet.

“Look at that,” Tori said, watching a little girl in a pink sun hat drop her entire cup of fish food at once. The water churned white with feeding fish. “Kid just created a riot.”

“Reminds me of the bullpen when someone brings donuts.”

She laughed and nodded to the pelican who landed on the dock railing near their table, eyeing their shrimp and crab dip appetizer.

“Don’t even think about it,” Blade told the bird.

“He’s calculating his odds. Wondering if he can take you.”

“Smart money’s on the pelican.”

The breeze shifted, bringing the scent of salt and sunscreen and fried shrimp from the kitchen. Tori shrugged into her jacket, not because she was cold but because the gesture felt comforting.