Page 10 of Parting Shot

“Yeah. How did you know?”

“I—” He coughed. “—put your number in my phone.”

It was nice to hear.

“So,” I said, my voice low and full of gravel, “how are you?”

“I’m good,” he said quickly. “You?”

“I just got stitches.” I grinned, because God, he sounded good. “So I’m a little beat to shit, if you wanna know the truth.”

“You got—who hurt you?”

“I’m a cop. You know how it is.”

He cleared his throat. “I don’t, actually.”

I grunted. “It happens. I’ll live.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Why did he sound scared? “Are you all right?”

“I don’t want to scare you.”

“Why would you?”

“I, um”—he hedged—“I’m in New York. I have been for a week.”

There had to be more.

“Duncan?”

“Yeah, still here.”

“Are you—is that freaking you out?”

“You do business all over the world, yeah?”

The man built high-end real estate across the globe. I couldn’t even fathom the amount of traveling he did.

“Yes.”

“So you probably hafta come to New York a lot, right?”

“I do, yes.”

“I guess I’m not getting why you being here would be weird.”

“I merely”—his voice cracked—“didn’t want you to think I was stalking you or something else.”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be amazing?” I mused.

“Amazing?”

“Yeah, I mean, that’d be cool, right? How many guys could say that Aaron Sutter was following them around? I should be so lucky.”

He whimpered.