Read Wraith (Debt Collector 10) for Free Online Page B

debt collector, but beyond that, we don’t have much.”
    I sigh. That’s no more than we started with. “We know it’s a collector. What I need are names and addresses. Even collector names. Anything, Wyatt.” My leg itches. I ignore it, but the agitation of this entire conversation is ramping up my need to pay out. I sorely want to check my palm for messages, but I resist.
    He runs his hand through his hair again. It’s a complete mess now. “I’m doing the best I can, Alexa.”
    “If that’s the best you’ve got, I take it back. No shares for you. You’re fired.”
    My palm tones. It makes me jump, spilling a dash of coffee on the sterile lab floor. I freeze, not wanting to look at the message with Wyatt right there, but then he grabs a tissue from a nearby bench and bends down to sop the coffee off the floor. He’s muttering something, probably cursing me out. I swipe my palm screen on and take a quick look.
    Meet half hour. Usual place. Will have charities in need of donations.
    My whole body sags with relief. Jax has a payout for me. This is the best news since finding Odel unarmed in his bed. I wait for Wyatt to stand up again, but he’s lingering on the floor, staring at my leg. The bandages itch even more under his attention. I cringe as I see blood trickling down, a bright red line of indictment.
    He stands up. I think he might kill me with that look. “You went jumping last night.”
    I hold my breath. “I just tripped on the way to the car.”
    “Alexa.” He knows I’m lying. I don’t know why I even bother. “You said you were done with that. You promised.”
    I promised myself I would stop telling Wyatt about the jumps. Thrill leaps from tall buildings didn’t mix well with fighting your own personal abyss after your father’s funeral… at least in Wyatt’s mind. Besides, I thought I was giving up the collecting, and the jumps themselves were mostly useful as a quick exit from a target’s sky-high apartment.
    “I’m fine,” I say, pushing back on his worry-mode.
    His teeth grit so hard I hear them squeak. “You’re bleeding on the floor.”
    Half an hour. “You’re right. I’m going to run home to patch up a little better.” I turn away, but he catches my arm.
    I let him stop me, just long enough to give him my excuse. “Tell the board I’m sick. I’ll meet with them tomorrow.”
    Wyatt’s scowl digs into me. “Are you sick, Lexy?” He thinks there’s something wrong with me. Which there is, but not the thing he thinks. Or maybe that, too. I can’t tell anymore.
    I turn my head away. “I’m fine. And don’t call me that.” My father’s nickname on Wyatt’s lips twists something inside me. Like my father is accusing me from beyond the grave of being the very thing he died fighting against.
    Wyatt’s touch on my cheek whips my head back. I step away, suddenly unnerved. “Don’t touch me.”
    He looks wounded, and that rips a hole in my chest. It’s not like he’s making a pass at me—more like he thinks I’m damaged, and he’s trying to fix me, and I won’t let him. Which is a hell of a way to treat a man who’s kept me afloat for the last three weeks.
    I draw in a breath and peer up into his eyes. They’re the color of the sky from a hundred floors up. “Wyatt, please. I promise I’ll do everything you want. Everything we both want. I just need a little more time to prepare.”
    He gives me a soft look. Like he cares for me in ways that can’t ever happen between us. In another life, I would put my arms around him. Or lean into him. Or flat-out kiss him and short out the crackling tension building in the air between us. But in this life, I’m a debt collector… the kind of person Wyatt has devoted his life to stopping. The kind who kills people like him, either for the money or the hit… or by accident.
    I keep my distance and let my eyes do the pleading.
    He relents, and somehow that pains me, too. Like he’s finally given up on me. “Okay,