My jaw tightens.Liz.She knows my fucking name isn’t Liz.
Through the glass walls, I watch her glide into Warren’s office and shut the door behind her. A moment later, she twists the blinds closed, cutting off the view from the rest of the office.Privacy.Of course.
I can still feel him watching me. Eventually, I lift my eyes and meet his. He looks… conflicted. Tired, maybe. “Are you okay?” he asks softly.
I nod, forcing the motion even though my throat feels tight.
“I’m sorry about your brother,” he adds.
I let out a humourless breath. “Don’t be. You didn’t kill him.” I try for a smile, but it cracks halfway. “Everyone keeps saying sorry, like it helps.”
He hesitates. “If you need anything, let me know.”
He turns to leave, but the words spill out before I can stop them. “You didn’t say you lived in my building.”
He pauses, glancing back. “I thought it would be weird,” he says. “It’s not like we were ever supposed to cross paths there. I use a separate entrance—the elevator’s private to my floor.”
“Right.” I nod, fiddling with my pen. “Still… you could’ve said something.”
His lips twitch, unreadable. “If you need more time off, take it. Full pay.”
I shake my head quickly. “I need to be busy.”
He studies me for a beat, like he wants to say more, then disappears into his office.
The blinds stay closed.
I turn to my computer, pretending to focus on the diary, but my mind won’t stop racing. Everyone else gets to move on—the police, the neighbours, even Warren with his perfect coffee companion. But me?I’m still stuck in that moment, standing in my apartment doorway, staring at Isaac, and wondering if I’ll ever stop seeing the blood.
WARREN
Nancy leans over my desk, spreading a handful of photographs across the polished surface. She’s bent over enough to make it obvious what she’s doing, and I know it isn’t for the sake of her paperwork.
I hang my jacket on the back of my chair, forcing my focus on the task rather than her curves. “What have you got for me?”
She flashes a playful grin. It’s all teeth and lipstick, but I don’t take the bait.
“These came through from my father,” she says, tapping a manicured finger against one of the photos. It’s a police mug shot of a skinny youth with hollow eyes, clutching a placard with his name and date of birth. “He’s a known addict. Had dealings with your guy, Isaac. If your witness can identify him, it’s practically case closed.”
I study the photo for a long moment, jaw tight, then nod. “I’ll pass it on.”
Reaching into my drawer, I pull out an envelope thick with cash and hand it across. She takes it without hesitation, one hand brushing mine deliberately, just as the office door opens.
Leoni.
She freezes in the doorway. Her eyes flick from me to Nancy, who’s now perched on my desk, her backside covering the rest of the photographs. Nancy slides her hands up my chest and tugs me forward between her knees, smiling like the cat that got the cream.
“Could you give us a minute,Liz?” Nancy purrs.
Leoni’s face hardens. “It’sLeoni,” she says sharply before slamming the door on her way out.
The sound echoes in my chest.
Nancy exhales a laugh, hopping off the desk and gathering the photos. “You really should teach your hired help to knock and wait,” she mutters. “My quick thinking just saved both our arses.” She presses one photograph to my chest, I take it. Then she stuffs the rest in her bag and saunters out, leaving her sweet, sickly perfume surrounding me.
As soon as she’s gone, I snatch up the burner phone and dial Anthony.
“I have a photo for your witness. It needs dealing with asap, before the cops start sniffing around.”
