“Here I am,” Dimple announced, as though she was doing her a favor just by being there.
“A returned call would’ve sufficed.”
“But you know how much I prefer talking face-to-face,” Dimple said.
So she’d come here to gloat. For what, Saffi still wasn’t sure yet.
“Where did you disappear to?” Saffi asked, leaning against the only free wall in the precinct.
Several hours after the party and Saffi had caught no sight of Dimple until now. Her dress was a beacon, bright enough to be seen from space. The most lethargic cops moved around her without complaint. A few even stopped to stare, blinking rapidly as though to make sure they weren’t dreaming.
“It got hectic, so I left,” Dimple replied. “Can you blame me?”
“After what you did to Shyla Patel? Yes, I think I can.”
That wiped the manufactured emotions from her face. “That shouldn’t have happened,” Dimple said somberly.
It was the closest thing to a confession Saffi had ever gotten. And it sounded like Dimple meant it. Then again, what would Saffi know? Dimple could say the sky was falling and sound entirely sincere aboutit.
The problem was that this time, Saffi wanted desperately to believe her.
“I apologize, it wasn’t my intention to abandon you,” Dimple said. “But I’m here now, aren’t I? I am as committed to this investigation as you are.”
“Hard not to be in your case.” Saffi gave her a once-over. She was in the same clothes she’d worn to the party, but she seemed more disheveled than usual, hair frizzing up as though she’d been wearing a hat. Whatever she’d been doing between the party and now, it couldn’t be good.
She drummed her fingers impatiently against her biceps. A phone ringing cut through the background hum of the police station. The night shift meant everything was unusually somber, so odd sounds were especially disarming.
They were taking forever to get Olsen here. Even Dimple had already finished up whatever the hell she’d been doing. This was one of the rare occasions that being a private investigator felt completely useless. They had no legal jurisdiction, so there was nothing to do but wait.
“Don’t make that face,” Dimple said. Saffi could tell by her tone alone that she was amused.
“What face?” Saffi muttered.
“Like you’re about to give up when this is the most fun either of us has ever had.”
Saffi turned to glare at her, blood boiling. “If you think this is enough to make me give up—”
“That’s better,” Dimple interrupted, her smile much softer than Saffi had thought it could get.
Dangerous games.
The actress shifted, her dress moving with her, and something caught Saffi’s attention. Her hand darted out without thinking.Dimple’s burning touch circled her wrist, but it was too late. Saffi already had a vise grip on the cylindrical object in Dimple’s pocket. Something else bumped against her knuckles—the lighter.
“Let go,” Dimple said, voice firm. Was that a touch of panic Saffi detected in her tone?
“You first,” she replied.
Their bodies were angled in such a way onlookers wouldn’t be able to tell anything was amiss. Dimple smelled like honey and burnt plastic. When neither of them relented, Saffi raised her eyebrows. Dimple’s grip on her wrist was tight enough to bruise bone.
Then, all of a sudden, Dimple relaxed her hold. Saffi didn’t trust it for one second, but this was her chance. She retracted her hand from Dimple’s pocket as quickly as she could. The actress was just as fast. Both of their hands clamped around the plastic vial, but Saffi tugged it up to the light.
Empty. Although, she had a feeling it hadn’t always been. Probably sensing that she’d lost, Dimple swore under her breath. Saffi twisted her wrist and freed the plastic cylinder from her grasp.
“You should’ve gotten rid of this like you did the rest of your disguise,” Saffi said.
As though subconsciously, Dimple smoothed out her hair. Before she could reach for it again, Saffi tucked the vial away into the inner pocket of her suit jacket. She would look into it later.
It was then that a clamor of noise erupted from the front of the precinct. They whipped around and Saffi caught glimpses through the window of paparazzi camped outside. They seemed to know better than dare to enter, but their lenses watched carefully. Dimple, also seeming to notice this, turned her back to the window. Saffi stepped in front of her to further obscure the view.
