Page 23 of When I Accidentally Snagged a Serial Killer

“Ethics?”

She considers keenly. “I have some.”

“I wasn’t implying otherwise.”

She blows a breath through her nose. “Weren’t you?”

“I was hoping for clarification.”

She leans back, one finger circling the paper bits. “I don’t steal identities. I don’t drain bank accounts. I don’t ruin random people because somebody paid me enough. Most of the stuff I take is either finding information somebody’s already hiding or helping someone make their own information harder to find.”

“So morally gray.”

“Morally practical.”

God, I like her. Really fucking like her. “And the money?”

Her finger stops circling. I immediately know I pushed one step too far.

“Money comes in,” she says after a moment. “Money goes out.”

“Very philosophical.”

“Debt is philosophical when you have enough of it.”

I pick up a strip of bacon. “Debt is an asshole.”

She gives me the smallest nod. “Yeah,” she says. “It really fucking is.”

I leave it there. For now. Especially when she makes no wisecrack at my definitive lack of debt. I fucking appreciate that.

“So,” I say after swallowing the bacon, “you bartend, digitally trespass, rage-run through dangerous neighborhoods, and critique my television habits.”

She flashes a knowing grin. “I contain multitudes.”

I stare at her. Fuck me. Somehow, I’m sitting in a mediocre Chicago breakfast restaurant, eating three-and-a-half-star eggs, discussing cybercrime with a woman wearing flowers up her legs while mentally calculating exactly how badly she could destroy my life if she ever became curious enough.

The universe has no clearer sign than for me to leave this woman alone. And my life choices are questionable at best.

“So,” Jubilee says, picking up the cartons to arrange them in a smiley face. “There’s an antique shop down the block.” She tucks a strand of black hair behind one heavily pierced ear. “I was going there after this,” she adds. “It’s actually part of why I picked this place.”

“Ah. Ulterior motives.”

She fiddles with one of the cascading ribbons in her hair, smoothing it down over her shoulder. “If you wanted to come…”

Gage. No. Absolutely not. Breakfast was already reckless. Walking through an antique store together is far more adjacent to normal dating behavior. Normal dating behavior leads to familiarity. Familiarity leads to questions. Dangerous questions. I should pay the check, thank her for breakfast, make sure she gets safely to her car, and go home.

Instead, I raise my hand when the waitress glances our way. “Check, please.”

Jubilee’s expression falls. My nerves fire with every longing to stay close to her. So I follow with, “We’ve got antiques to inspect.”

Her entire face brightens. Goddammit. I slide my card into the folder.

“Halfsies?” she offers, reaching for payment in her tote bag.

I smirk. “Not a chance.”

“That sounds non-negotiable.”