I’m not sure which terrifies me more.
Chapter 4
Control comes at a price, and right now, that price is restraining myself from touching Liv as we approach her building. My hand hovers near the small of her back, close enough to feel her body heat but never making contact.
Two uniformed officers lean against the entrance, their postures deliberately casual. The taller one’s gaze lingers too long on Eve, his mouth quirking into what might be amusement.
“Ms. Consoli?” The shorter officer straightens. “Detective Morris called ahead about your break-in.”
“Yes.” Eve’s voice carries none of the vulnerability I’d witnessed last night. “Shall we?”
The stairwell reeks of stale cigarettes and cheap cleaning products. Three flights up, my shoes barely make a sound against the worn steps while the officers’ boots echo behind us. Liv maintains her distance, always one step ahead, her shoulders rigid.
“Quite the security setup you’ve got here,” the taller officer comments, eyeing the reinforced door frame of her apartment.
“Fat lot of good it did.” Eve’s keys jingle as she unlocks the door.
The destruction inside hits like a physical blow. Furniture lies scattered like battlefield casualties. Books torn apart, their pages confetti across hardwood floors. But it’s the walls that draw my attention—crude red letters screaming “BITCH” and “WHORE” above her couch. “STAY OUT OF IT” stretches across her kitchen wall in dripping crimson.
I see Eve’s composure slip for just a fraction of a second. A slight tremor in her hand, a quick inhale. Then it’s gone, replaced by steel.
“Well.” The taller officer’s smirk doesn’t quite hide. “Looks like someone’s got it out for you.”
“You think?” Eve’s voice could freeze hell.
I step closer to the wall, examining the paint. “This is fresh. The edges haven’t fully dried.”
“We’ll need to document everything,” the shorter officer says, finally showing some professionalism. “Ms. Consoli, can you tell us if anything’s missing?”
“I haven’t had the chance to do a full inventory.” Liv crosses her arms. “I grabbed essentials and left when I found it like this.”
“And where exactly did you stay last night?” The taller officer’s tone carries an insinuation that makes my jaw clench.
“That’s not relevant to your investigation.” I keep my voice level, but both officers straighten at my tone.
“Mr. Harding, we need to establish—”
“You need to focus on the break-in and death threats.” I gesture to the walls. “Unless you think the victim’s choice of safe harbor is more important than finding who did this?”
Officer Jenkins flips open his notepad, pen hovering with exaggerated patience. His nameplate catches the light as he shifts his weight, positioning himself between Liv and the exit.
“Any idea why someone might want to send you a message, Ms. Consoli?” His words drip with false sympathy.
Liv meets his gaze. “I’m an investigative journalist. Take your pick.”
Morris snorts, deliberately bumping a fallen lamp with his boot. The crash of glass against hardwood sets my teeth on edge.
“Maybe something to do with that little documentary you’re working on?” Jenkins takes another step toward Eve.
I track his movement, calculating the exact distance between us. Three steps. Two, if I move quickly.
Liv doesn’t flinch. “Which one? I have several projects in development.”
Morris kicks aside a stack of papers, sending them skittering across the floor. “Oops.”
My fingers curl into my palm. The urge to grab him by the throat wars with the need to maintain control. Liv shoots me a warning glance. She doesn’t want my intervention. Not yet.
“Dangerous business.” Jenkins towers over her now, close enough that Liv has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. “Poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
