“Someone does something they’ve always thought about doing and suddenly all this superstitious mumbo jumbo doesn’t seem quite so funny,” Zeth mused, only half aware he was voicing his thoughts.
“Exactly,” Raegan agreed, her shoulders dropping. “So are you going to help me, or what?”
She gave him one of those looks that managed to make him feel three inches tall and hard as a fucking rock at the same time. “I. Want. To. Stop. O’Brien. Have you been tuning me out this whole time?”
“Well, I tried, but some things did get through.”
“I hate you.”
“To be fair, I know that.” Zeth sighed. “So what do you want me to do? I’m your Deep Throat. You’ve only ever come to me for a good story.”
“Well, shit, Zeth, I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“I forgive you.”
Raegan’s eyes blazed dangerously, but she ignored the remark. “Yeah, you’re my Deep Throat. You just so happen to also be the only person I know who might be able to stop the crazy man from making everyone go coo coo for Cocoa Puffs. Silly me for thinking you might actually wanna do something nice for someone.”
A half a dozen retorts sat waiting on his tongue—little things he could say that would get her to the point where she’d just as soon leap across the desk and strangle him as accept any help he offered. And as much fun as Zeth had in stoking the fire, he found himself now feeling the beast called guilt raising its unwanted head.
As much fun as it would be seeing all of Highfield doing the walk of shame, Zeth was a sucker for a damsel in distress. And Raegan was definitely distressed.
Furthermore, Zeth wasn’t such an asshole not to understand why. If Jezebel was summoned, if Jezebel did ride into town on the clouds of chaos, it put everyone at risk. Sure, a person might rob a liquor store. A person also might finally do in his boss. And Raegan had witnessed enough death. She’d seen her fill the night her friend was ripped to shreds.
For the first time, Raegan Pritchett wasn’t here as a reporter. Whether she admitted it or not, she was here as a friend.
And she was asking him for help.
And only a true son of a bitch could look into her pretty brown eyes and say no. Try as he might, Zeth wasn’t a true son of a bitch.
“All right,” Zeth said softly.
She stared at him. It clearly wasn’t the answer she expected. “All right? All right, what?”
“All right, I’m in.” He smiled, biting back a smirk when her face fell, her defense mechanisms and ire melting in favor of genuine astonishment.
Though that she was surprised at all to discover he wasn’t the aforementioned son of a bitch smarted more than it should.
Raegan’s gaze dropped to the space between them. “Oh. I mean, good. That’s good.”
“Yeah. So we off to church, then? That the plan?”
No response at first. Instead, her astonishment lingered, faded, then disappeared altogether. Perhaps she hadn’t had a plan beyond coming here and pestering him. His cooperation had seemingly thrown her for a loop. “Yeah,” Raegan said, sounding every bit the part of someone forming a plan as she spoke. “The church. Harriet said that’s where I’d find what I was looking for. There’s a room there, or something. On the second floor. We go there, we stop him, game over.”
“Game over.” Zeth bounced to his feet. “You lead the way.”
“Might be dangerous, oh captain my captain. And you’re the boss.”
“You’re the werewolf!”
“That’s species-ism. Not a good color on you.”
Zeth grinned. “Don’t tempt me. And I might be the wolf, cutie-pie, but like I said, you’re the boss. This is your rodeo. Far as I’m concerned, I’m just the Deep Throat.”
Ah, the fire returned at that. As though right then she remembered exactly who she was, who she was with, and the nature of their working relationship. “I’ll deep-throat you,” she muttered, then squeaked, her cheeks turning red. “I mean, um, asshole.”
Zeth chuckled as he made his way around the desk, doing his best to bat away the array of pornographic images immediately flooded his over-sexed mind. Hell, his cock was already hard just in talking with her. Whenever she slipped up, whenever she made the smallest remark bordering near a double entendre, his overtly male brain couldn’t help concocting a delicious fantasy involving her naked on a bed somewhere, her legs parted and her mouth open.
And since nature had given him a heightened sense of smell, he knew when she got excited around him, and it was more often than she’d like to let on.
“Just name the place,” he replied at last. “I’ll be there, pants down.”
“I hate you,” Raegan said again, blushing furiously and not looking at him.
“You’re welcome. Let’s go find your priest.”
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