“I wonder who she is… or was, I guess,” I murmur, staring out the window at the wet March weather. “Did she have a family? People who loved her? Was she innocent or a part of this… cult?”
I feel Caleb’s hand on mine and snap out of my daze. His gaze is serious, but somehow bracing.
“Those are questions the police will answer, not you. But if they don’t find this asshole soon… I’ll have to take care of business myself, one way or another.”
I blink at him. “What do you mean?”
Caleb squeezes my hand one more time before returning his attention to the newspaper.
“We’ll see,” he says noncommittally. “Finish your food.”
I look down at my half-eaten serving. I know I’m going to behangry by my lunch break if I don’t have enough for breakfast, so I load my fork up with more eggs.
We gave the ear and all the notes to the police. The detective in charge admonished me for not coming to them earlier. Of course, they’ll do everything they can to help Thomas Langford’s daughter. Basia Langford gets extra consideration. Basia Barton would get adon’t call us, we’ll call you. Instead, they calledhim.
Dad was furious that I didn’t tell him about the stalker. He demanded I move home, and I said I’m not going back to that socialite cage. Mom cried. In the end, it was Caleb’s reputation and his assurance that he would be with me around the clock that made my father concede to my freedom.
“You should start getting ready if you don’t want to be late,” Caleb says as soon as the last delicious morsel has been eaten. “Traffic’s already heavier than usual due to the game tonight.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” I say with a smirk as I push back from the table. “I’ll go easy on the makeup today.”
I’m almost in my bedroom when I think I hear him murmur, “You don’t need any makeup.”
Must be imagining things, though.
2
CALEB
As soon as Basia leaves the kitchen, her orange blossom scent lingering behind her like a ghost, my phone vibrates in my hand. It’s Detective Mann.
“Any news?” I answer, not bothering with hellos. The NYPD has been looking into the Sanctum of Ash for over a week and hasn’t had anything worthwhile to report, even though I’ve been calling daily with inquiries.
“Unfortunately, we’ve hit a wall,” Mann grumbles.
I pinch the bridge of my nose with my free hand. “What kind of wall?”
Mann hesitates for a moment, and I hear his footsteps before a door closes. The ambient noise changes, chatter muted.
“Look, between us, an order came from the top to let Miss Langford?—”
“Barton,” I interrupt.
“Uh, yeah. To let Miss Barton know there’s a lack of evidence and?—”
I speak over him again: “There’s a woman dead somewhere in your city, her corpse missing an ear, and there’s been a credible threat tomy… to my client.”
“I know!” Mann hisses. “There’s nothing I hate more than unsolved cases, and not just because of the paperwork. But we’ve been stonewalled here. Maybe Governor Langford can?—”
“I’ll talk to him,” I say, cutting him off for the third time. “Let me know if anything comes up.”
“Yeah… yeah,” Mann sighs.
I hang up just as the click-clack of Basia’s heels sounds behind me.
“Was that the detective?” she asks. It’s obvious she overheard some of the conversation.
When she walks into my line of sight, I nearly swallow my tongue like a goddamn teenager. No one has the right to look this good in a pantsuit.
