And to think she’d almost walked right into her trap.
“Sorry,” the girl stammered before disappearing down the hallway.
Head spinning, Dimple found herself fascinated. How had Saffi managed to plan so far ahead right under Atlas and Eli’s noses? Although, she wouldn’t be surprised if their involvement would only slow Saffi down. It was much simpler working with someone naïve and eager to please.
Atlas huffed out a laugh. “That would be Mia. She’s also a fan.”
What a performance of dramatic irony played out for Dimple’s viewing pleasure. It felt like an oil painting brought to life. It felt like a gift.
As he returned to coaching her through the most effective way to knee a man in the gut, Dimple’s mind wandered to burning buildings and blood-spattered staircases. She felt the familiar weight of a lighter in her pocket. The fate of a cruel man’s life rested gingerly in the center of her palm.
Chapter Twenty-One
May 28, 2026
The end ofMay marked four months in America, four months of taking up residence in her office at Andino and Taylor Private Eye, and Saffi had no choice but to face the glaring issue that was her family. She hadn’t expected Dimple Kapoor to run circles around her to this extent. This was the longest she’d stayed in one place in five years, not that she missed constantly moving from hotel to hotel as the job called for. If she didn’t contact her family soon, they’d begin to worry. The rational thing to do would be to make the call and explain everything. So, Saffi picked up the phone—and called in a favor from a contact in France. Her parents would get a postcard from Paris in the upcoming week and hopefully that would buy her enough time to solve this case and get the hell out of America again.
Just like that, a favor wasted. And on a fifty-cent piece of paper, no less.
Her whole life she’d been working to make her parents proud. She’d come so close five years ago, only for one mistake to ruin it all. And now she never would.
For all her research, Saffi had found nothing.
Nothingnot in the sense that Dimple Kapoor lived a very boring, dull life from birth until now, butnothingin the sense that Dimple Kapoor didn’t even seem to exist prior to her college enrollment. Of the dozens of photos and articles of her online, all of them wererecent. Every time Saffi thought she was nearing a conclusion, something like this would happen to remind her that Kapoor was anything but predictable.
It didn’t matter how manyDimples,Kapoors, andDimple Kapoors Saffi had looked into, there was no passport, no driver’s license, not so much as a yearbook photo before eight years ago. But that had to be impossible. There was no way Kapoor would’ve been allowed to enroll in college without a proper background check and a high school transcript. Or at least her GED. Regardless, Saffi couldn’t find any trace of her.
Until now.
It took meandering through the online archives of every California valedictorian the same year Kapoor would’ve graduated high school to finally find her. A much younger, much more timid version of Dimple Kapoor.
Her name, though, was Anya.
—
Saffi had beenpouring herself a celebratory drink when Dimple Kapoor herself waltzed into her office. It was the first time the actress had actively sought out her company, so it left her suspicious.
Saffi moved to unroll her sleeves and put her jacket back on, but Kapoor was quicker. “Leave it,” she said.
Struck by the unexpected nature of the request, Saffi froze, inadvertently obeying.
Kapoor’s attention dropped to the whiskey. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you willingly take a break before.”
“I could say the same about you.”
With her came a strange scent that Saffi couldn’t place. There was the sweet honey that seemed to follow Kapoor everywhere she went, but this time there were notes of burnt plastic.
And then there was the exposed skin of Kapoor’s wrist. Saffi remembered the scratchy feel of the brace and wondered what the skin felt like underneath. Would she feel Kapoor’s pulse thrumming with the beat of every lie? Saffi reached out on impulse, but her mind warned her to go slow. Her grip on Kapoor’s wrist was loose andwhile she tensed, she didn’t pull away. Saffi’s thumb swiped across smooth, unmarred skin. Kapoor must’ve been made of fire because every point of contact burned.
“You got the brace removed,” Saffi said. Her voice sounded far away.
What was she doing?
Saffi dropped her wrist, but too late. It was as though she’d become drunk by the act of pouring alcohol alone. She half expected there to be a mark left behind when she looked down at her palm. There was nothing but a burning sensation. Curling her hand into a fist, Saffi tried to remind herself why, exactly, playing with fire was so dangerous.
“You’d know that if you visited me at all. I’m beginning to think you’re avoiding me.” Kapoor was pouting, an overdramatized version of it. If anything, Saffi had been letting her stew, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t been keeping watch over her.
It was then that Saffi was drawn to the white bandage wrapped around her forearm. “What’s that?”
