“You allow the world to think you‘re a heartless murderer,” I murmur, scanning his eyes. “And you’re not.”
He laughs, once; his eyebrows lift in surprise. “No,” he says. “I'm afraid I‘m just the regular kind of murderer.” He winks, and I huff a laugh.
But there was an edge in his eyes, I realize- sharp and haunted. I frown, realizing he had probably thought of Bones again, and reach my hand up to brush my thumb across his high cheekbone. He leans into my hand, audibly swallowing.