Releasing her, I retake my seat in the chair across from her. She raises a hand to the spot where my fingers were.
Then her gaze drops to my torso and the gun nestled against my ribs.
“Benny.” I pluck a breadstick from the plate. “Focus on Benny.”
She hesitates before tearing her attention away from the gun. “We call him Benny the Loser.”
“Sounds about right.”
For a split second, her lips quirk upward. The not-quite smile soon morphs into a wary grimace, but I caught the tiny crack in her fear. “I don’t know why he was there. It’s not one of his typical nights.”
“I’m not just interested in tonight. Anytime. Every time.” I run a finger along my gun. “Tell me something, Aurora. Do you value your life?”
The color drains from her face. “There was another guy. He met with Benny a couple times at the bar. I don’t know who he is, just his name. Umm…Harry.”
Is she bluffing? “Description?”
She shifts, cheeks flushing. “He’s, uhh, hot. Maybe early thirties.”
I pop the rest of the breadstick in my mouth, not missing the way she tracks my movement as I chew and swallow.
“Hot isn’t a description.” A sharp, unpleasant sensation curls in my chest at her assessment. Irritation, that’s all. Why the hell would I care if she finds some other guy attractive? “Height. Build. Hair color. Identifying marks.”
She chews the inside of her bottom lip. “Tall. Dark hair. Tanned skin, even in winter. Athletic. A small tattoo on his neck, I think? I never got a good look. No bright colors or anything, so it could be a birthmark.”
Harry. Dark hair. Tanned. Neck tattoo. Early thirties. Not much, but if she’s speaking the truth, it’s still a thread to pull. But for the moment, it’s also another dead end. Another vague lead with no clear connection to MJ. And now I have the added complication of a witness.
In my home.
I check my watch. We’ve been at this for hours. She’s swaying where she sits, exhaustion evident in the droop of her shoulders and the heaviness of her eyelids.
Damn. This isn’t going to work. Not tonight. Not in the half-alive state she’s in.
I gesture toward the lasagna and remaining breadstick. “Eat. Then sleep.”
Her head swivels toward the elevator again. “I’ve never been able to sleep in new places. If you can drive me home, or call me a rideshare, I can sleep in my own bed and get out of your hair.”
I don’t respond, just rise and stride toward the linen closet near the bathroom. I pull out a pillow and blanket. When I return, she’s eaten a single bite of lukewarm lasagna.
She eyes the blanket and pillow like they might attack. “I mean it. I won’t sleep.” Her yawn betrays her as she wraps herself in the blanket. “Your couch is really comfy.” Her eyelids flutter closed. “Maybe I…”
Whatever protest she had dies as exhaustion overtakes her. Within sixty seconds, her head is nestled on her hands, her breathing deep and even.
She fell asleep. Between one word and the next.
I approach the couch. A ray of sunlight slips through a gap in the curtains, painting a stripe of gold across her face. I was right. She’s even more beautiful in the daylight. The harsh fluorescents of the bar didn’t do her justice. In the sun, though, her skin glows, and the freckles across her nose grow more pronounced. Her lashes cast delicate shadows on her cheeks.
I sink back into my chair, clenching my hands together in my lap.
Why did I take her? Was it really for information? The chances of a cocktail waitress knowing anything useful about MJ’s death were minimal from the start. And while she’s beautiful, I’ve known plenty of beautiful women.
The truth is simpler and more complicated than either of those reasons. I took her because Iwantedto. I was drawn to her the minute she claimed me as her boyfriend in the bar. And even more so when our lips met.
For the first time in years, I felt something other than guilt and anger and the endless, numbing nothingness that’s consumed me since MJ’s death.
This woman, with her nervous energy and her rambling stories and the life that seems to emanate from her very beinginjects warmth into my cold world. Color in a place that’s been gray for too long.
Despite the attraction between us, she fears me. Probably hates me. As she should. I’m the shadow to her light, the danger to her safety. I stole her freedom, threatened her life, and showed her the worst of what humans can do to each other.
