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“I’ll call Katie and let her know. See you later, Mom.”
    “Okay. And, Sloan?”
    “Yes?”
    “Would you mind picking up some pie on your way home?”
    The main door swooshed open. “You bet. Let me guess. Something tangy and something sweet?”
    “That’s perfect. I think I’m going to like having you living at home. Yes, I think it’ll be just fine.”
    Exactly what I was afraid of.
    Why—oh, why—did it have to be our building that burned down?

A sudden bold and unexpected question doth many times surprise a man and lay him open.
    —Francis Bacon
    4
    Five hours later, all I’d accomplished was procuring a basic wardrobe, a new toothbrush, and two pies—French silk and cherry. We’d made no headway on the case. There’d been little to go on, and we were still waiting for the ME to give us a final determination on the cause of death. I was now whizzing along I-95, a few miles from my exit, pondering the COD, when my phone rang.
    It was Damen Sylver.
    Gorgeous, sexy, make-me-quiver Damen.
    A little flash of excitement zoomed through me as I hit the button, answering the call. “Hello,” I said, my voice all smiley. I couldn’t help it. Damen Sylver made me feel girly. He was gorgeous. He was polite. He was intelligent. And he wasn’t a coworker, an ex-boyfriend, or otherwise completely off-limits like Gabe and JT were.
    Albeit, he was also an FBI agent. He’d convinced me that wouldn’t be a problem.
    “I have a surprise for you,” he said. “But . . . I noticed your building looks a little vacant.”
    “Yeah. There was a fire last night. I have to stay with my parents for the next couple of weeks. Where are you?”
    “In your parking lot.”
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t think to tell you.” Why would I? We weren’t an item. We hadn’t done enough stuff to be considered an item yet.
    “That’s okay. Would you mind if I stopped by your parents’ place?”
    “Absolutely not.” I glanced in the mirror and scowled. I’d been walking around looking like the undead all day. I had no makeup. My hair was a mess. The only thing going for me was the fact that he was sitting in my parking lot, and I was minutes from Mom and Dad’s, which gave me time to make myself presentable. I rattled off the address, asked if he needed directions, and when he said no—GPS—ended the call. Then I lead-footed it to my temporary home, hauled in my bags, and dashed up to my new bedroom. Moving quickly, I gathered up some supplies from Mom’s stash, showered, shaved, loofahed, primped, spritzed, flat-ironed, and plucked until I was looking date ready. I was putting the finishing touches on my hair when Sergio knocked, announcing I had a visitor downstairs. He was waiting in the den.
    I found him sitting across from Mom. He looked amazing, from the top of his shaggy-haired head to his well-shod toes. What he was doing here, waiting for plain old me . . . I couldn’t imagine.
    “There she is.” He bent over the side of the chair and grabbed something; then, keeping his hands behind his back, he strolled to me. Intriguing. Curious to find out what he was hiding, I did my part to decrease the distance separating our bodies. Within seconds, we were standing mere inches apart. He produced a medium-sized, gift-wrapped box from behind his back.
    “What’s this?” I asked, staring down at the box. “It’s not my birthday.”
    “It’s just a little something. I saw it and thought of you.” Smiling so big that little crinkles fanned the outsides of his eyes, he handed it over. “Open it.”
    “Okay.” I untied the ribbon, then ripped the paper away. It was a book. I flipped it over to read the title: Comparative Analysis of Vampiric Species, by James Skye.
    As far as I knew, that book had been out of print for decades. “Where did you find this?” Considering the fire, and the fact that I’d lost all of my father’s research, this was the find of the century.
    But the statistical likelihood that this was