Halfway through her admission, I tapped the temple of my glasses so I could focus completely on Sloane. And now? I’m in awe of her. Strong, ashamed—scared too, but not of me—yet desperate to stop hiding. To be seen.
“Listen to me, sweetheart,” I say, setting my glasses aside and linking our fingers. Feeling her warmth against my prosthetic hand? It grounds me. “You may be the bravest person I’ve ever known. Don’t think for a single second that what you went through changes how I see you.”
For several long moments, she stares at me, a few errant tears dripping from her jaw onto the gown. “Do you mean that?”
Easiest question to answer in the whole goddamned world. “Yes.” In case she has any doubt I’m sincere, I cup the back of her neck and pull her in for a hard kiss.
Putting on an act, my ass. I don’t have to pretend to care about Sloane Sanders. The challenge now? Pretending I’m not halfway to falling in love with her.
Chapter Seventeen
Griff
The look Marina shot me when she came back out of her room? I’m interfering in her precisely organized day, and she hates it. Rather than continue to be a distraction, I left Sloane with a gentle squeeze to her shoulder and hid in her bedroom.
Sitting at the desk, I prop the tablet up in front of me. The left side of the screen shows the video from Max’s room, and on the right, I have Austin on FaceTime with the speech-to-text program transcribing his words.
“The killer had to be right in front of him,” I say, zooming in on the body and the carpet surrounding the chair. “What do you think? Wearing protective gear? Arterial spray would have soaked the guy.”
“That’s my guess. Otherwise, he would have tracked blood out of the room and down the hall. The techs found nothing outside of that five foot area other than some odd smears of blood along the perimeter.”
“No defensive wounds either. Not obvious ones. Tell the coroner to run a full tox screen.”
“This isn’t the first investigation I’ve run, you know.” The former JSOC commander rolls his eyes and moves off screen. “Need more coffee. I thought civilian life would let me pretend 4:00 a.m. didn’t exist anymore.”
Laughing feels good, despite the seriousness of our conversation. Like I’m part of a team again. Part of something bigger than just me and my fucked up life. “You’re not the only one who wishes we could have done all of this in New York City. Or Boston. Or…anywhere in the States.”
He settles back down, cupping his mug like it’s the Holy Grail. “Dax just texted me. He’ll have a retired SAS guy at the hotel in time for dinner tonight. I’ll send his contact info and picture to you when we’re done here.”
“Good. That’ll take a load off of Sloane and Marina. I should probably apologize to Dax for the early hour too, huh?”
“Nah. He’s used to it. How’s Sloane doing with everything?”Austin leans closer and takes a sip of coffee. “Her manager’s death, getting a fake boyfriend, having to put on a show?”
I cast a glance at the door, wishing I could be out there with Sloane right now. “Not bad. She’s a model,” I say, shrugging my right shoulder. After yesterday, my prosthetic feels like it weighs a fucking ton, and though it’s not painful at the moment, the less I move my left arm, the better. “She’s used to faking it for the cameras. Said Max set her up with a couple of guys over the years for show. Keep the press from hounding her about her lack of a serious relationship.”
Austin’s eyes crinkle at the edges. “You have to kiss her yet?”
“You expect me to answer that? I protect my client’s privacy.” He wants to play that game? He’s going up against an expert. Staring right at his face on the screen, I arch a brow. “You still haven’t told me how you and Mik got together. Not in any detail.”
“That’s a story best told in person. With alcohol.”Austin rubs the back of his neck, then stifles a yawn. “I’m going to catch another couple of hours. Sent Carriger’s name to Wren and Ripper, and they’ll get on it as soon as it’s not the middle of the fucking night in Seattle. Stay safe, man.”
“As safe as I can.” Ending the call, I switch the video to full screen and go through it another half dozen times. Later tonight, I’ll have to show it to Sloane, even if all my instincts scream at me to protect her from the horrors documented in full color. Maybe by then, she’ll trust me enough to tell me everything. Like why her name isn’t on any of the police reports and what her relationship was with Rodney Carriger.
* * *
Sloane
“Look, he obviously knows what he’s doing,” Marina says as she brushes a light coat of setting powder over my entire face. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it when he throws me off schedule.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course you don’t. But you do have to benice.Now turn the iPad back on so I can keep going over our cover story.”
“So now it’s ‘our’ cover story?” she asks.
“Until this whole thing is over? Yes. And you better pay attention too. Some of those reporters know we’re friends. What if they ask you about me and Griff?” Frustration bleeds through my tone, and when Marina runs a brush through my hair a little more aggressively than necessary, I hiss out a breath. “Careful!”
“I’m running late. You’re lucky I have time for this at all. Go on. Tell me what I need to know while I finish this.”
Long, steady strokes of the boar bristle brush strain my neck, but it’s worth it when Marina spills a dropper of argan oil mixed with a touch of my favorite perfume—a special blend of ylang-ylang, white musk, sandalwood, and pomegranate—into her hands and smooths the mixture over my locks.
