There was a wolf whistle nearby. Autumn blinked and looked over her shoulder. The big screen across the way displayed a kissing cam with her and Scala front and center.
Autumn stood up abruptly. What the hell was she doing here? This was a waste of her time. She should have known better than to meet this man.
This…womanizer.
He was nothing but trouble for her, and he was related to the murder victim.
Autumn nearly ran up the stairs to the landing. She was aware of Scala calling her name and was about to head down the hall to the lobby when a hand closed over hers.
“Autumn—”
“Don’t you dare tell me that wasn’t planned, because it fucking was,” she snapped. She looked down to see his hand still covered hers. “Let go of me.”
Scala released her. His breathing was heavy, as if he ran after her. “I don’t know how you think I planned that.”
“Oh, no?”
Scala cursed beneath his breath and glared back at her. “No, I didn’t.” He rubbed a hand down his face, “I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she turned away again.
“Think about my offer, Miss. Taylor,” he called after her, “I’ll be waiting.”
He was worried about his offer? Autumn shook her head as she looked for the exit signs. When she reached the bars of the gate, her hands were trembling. One man was trying to extort her into sleeping with him, not that he actually said the words. And someone else was bringing her past to the light.
Autumn put her warm head against the cool bars and stood there for a moment. Her life was going well here in New York City. Her past almost became outdated except for a couple of blips when she needed to remind herself, she was responsible for those victims.
You’ll never forget me, Autumn.
She squeezed her eyes tight. “Go the fuck away,” she whispered.
Exiting the stadium, Autumn started for the subway. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end again. Was Scala following her? She turned and saw no one in particular. A ticket scalper stood leaning against a building, shouting for anyone who wanted to get into the game.
Other than that…nothing.
The subway stairwell was just ahead. She turned back around again, forcing the crowd to walk around her.
No one was following her.
Fox Winters was dead.
Ghosts couldn’t remove the eyes from someone’s head.
At least, that’s what she told herself as she waited on the platform for the train to take her home.
"Well, well, well, isn't this an interesting development?"
The stranger watched the interaction between Autumn and the other man five rows up. He'd learned through his ways Autumn was going to the Yankees game. It took little to pose as a mailman and find the crime scene analyst’s cubicle in the busy NYPD station. He was a chameleon and could blend in wherever he went.
That's how he could take that mafia princess and... enjoy her.
Now, he watched Arturo Casale’s nephew walk back to his seat. The attorney seemed distracted as he watched the game. His arm stretched along Autumn’s vacant seat, and his index finger tapped the edge of the plastic chair for a few seconds before he leaned forward with his fingers steepled beneath his chin.
The stranger smirked as he leaned back with his hands behind his head and continued his observation. The lawyer appeared disturbed, he thought. Perhaps the near kiss did it, or maybe it was Autumn herself.
He scowled, grateful for the dark sunglasses on his face. If anyone saw what happened to him, they would notice the rage in his gaze and the deformity of his left eye.
Autumn was going to pay for what she did.
