“One hundred and six headless and armless men,” Tyler said. “The city brought them here just shy of a decade ago.”
I cocked my head to look at them. They were interesting, I thought. Interesting, and maybe a little scary, what with the moonlight and their height and the shadows.
I shivered, and focused on Tyler rather than the creatures.
“So you would have been what? Twenty?”
“Not quite,” he said, reminding me how close we were in age. And making me remember how young he was to have already acquired so much. “I used to come here at night with Cole and Evan.”
“Okay.” I frowned. “Why?”
“One, it’s a little spooky in the dark, which we thought was fun.”
“On the spooky, we’re in total agreement. And?”
“And something about the statues drew us, I think. Kind of summed up our view of the world—most people aren’t thinking. They’re not using their heads. They’re not doing, thus the lack of arms. And that means that those of us who do think, who do act, can make our way through the world while the rest stumble along.”
I’d stopped walking to look at him. “I’m not sure if that’s cynical, astute, or simply the mind-set of a man who’d easily slide into a shady kind of lifestyle.”
“I’m a pillar of the community, Detective,” he said with a broad, charming grin. “If you’ve heard otherwise, you’ve been talking to the wrong people.”
“Maybe so,” I agreed, because that was a subject best left alone. “So is that what the artist actually meant?”
“I don’t know. Cole might—art’s his thing. But I never wanted to find out. As far as I’m concerned, art is what you make of it. How it reflects back on you.”
I considered his words. “Doesn’t that make the artist irrelevant?”
“I don’t think so. I think it makes him a mirror. It’s one of the reasons art is often spoken of in the same tone and with the same vocabulary as music or poetry or love. Or even sex.”
“What do you mean?”
“Passion, Sloane,” he said, and there was a heat to his voice now that hadn’t been there before. “There’s no way to experience it without discovering something about yourself, too.”
“Oh.” It was the only word I could safely manage, because his words had impacted me more than I had anticipated. Had cut through me with their unexpected truth.
“Walk with me,” he said. He took my hand, still swinging our picnic bag from his other.
“This isn’t what I expected,” I admitted, when I’d gathered myself back together. “Philosophy, genteel conversation, and a picnic in the park. Not what I thought you had in mind after our, well …”
He chuckled. “Yes?”
“Our sex-a-thon,” I said with a saucy grin, and turned his chuckle into a full-blown laugh.
“Disappointed?”
“In the hotdogs? Hell no.” As if to prove the point, I reached into one of the bags and helped myself to some cheese fries. “In spending time with you? No.” I aimed a glance at him. “These are great, by the way. But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t handle more of the sex-a-thon part.”
“I do admire a woman who knows her own mind.” The roughness in his voice sounded like a promise. And in the moonlight, his face was all shadows and angles, making him look even more sexy. Even more dangerous.
“I’m very glad you’re enjoying our arrangement so far,” he continued. “I’d hate to think you were disappointed.”
“You know I’m not,” I said. I paused as I gathered my thoughts. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me, Tyler Sharp. Sometimes it feels like you’ve turned me inside out.”
“All I’ve done is looked at you.” His low voice sent shivers through me. “And gone after what I’ve seen.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been a prude or a wallflower. But until you …”
“What?”
“Sex was just scratching an itch. A very nice, satisfying scratch, but still just an itch.”
“And with me?” He trailed his fingers up my arm. “What is it with me?”
“Exciting,” I said, and saw the pleasure bloom on his face.
“And you do like an adventure.”
“Yeah,” I said, thinking about the night. “I guess I do.” I liked him, too. And more than just for sex. He felt like he fit, and the feeling was somehow both scary and very, very sweet.
He hooked an arm around my waist and pulled me close. “But that’s not too much of a discovery for you, is it? No one becomes a cop for the paperwork.”
“Excitement in the field isn’t the same as excitement in bed.”
“Point taken. I know how I got you in my bed. How did you get in the field?”
I cocked my head, not understanding.
“I mean, Detective. Why did you become a cop? And don’t just tell me you wanted to serve truth, justice, and the American way. I want the deeper reason.”
“It’s in my blood,” I said, giving him a true answer, though not the real one. “My dad’s been in law enforcement since he got out of high school—me, too,” I added.
“All right. I’ll buy that. But what else?”
“What makes you think there’s something else?”
“I don’t think,” he said. “I know.”
“Oh?”
He held me close as he looked at me, his hand sliding beneath his T-shirt to stroke my back. “I know how to see into people, Sloane. It’s a skill I learned a long time ago. How to know when they’re telling the truth. When they’re lying. When they truly care about something, or when they’re just faking it. It’s an art, reading people, and it’s one I’m especially skilled at. One that’s paid off for me over and over. And when I say that someone is holding back on me, I promise you can take it as gospel.”
“Those sound like the kind of skills a grifter would develop. A con artist. A swindler.”
“Or a businessman who wants to read his competitors. To judge their offers and have an edge in negotiations.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Or are you saying that all businessmen are swindlers?”