His low laugh was husky, his grin slightly dangerous. “Right now, I want a whole lot of things. Which is why I think I’d better take you home.”
I rested my head on the glass as he started the car, unsure if I was more curious about what he had hidden in his pocket or what would happen if I went along for the ride.
CHAPTER 32
Vero took one look at my hair and my clothes as I came through the door, folded her arms thoughtfully, and said, “You made out with him, didn’t you?”
“I did not,” I whispered, darting a look into the family room, hoping Delia hadn’t overheard.
“Don’t try to deny it.” She tapped the side of her neck, jutting her chin toward mine. “The detective left a little evidence at the scene of the crime.” She wagged her eyebrows.
“No!” My hand flew to my throat. I hadn’t had a hickey since high school. “I swear, I’ll kill him—”
Vero doubled over, stifling a cackle. “See, I knew it. You should see your face right now!”
I bundled up my sweatshirt and threw it at her.
“Relax,” she said, choking back her laughter, “they’re napping.” She dragged me by the sleeve to the kitchen, shoved me into a chair at the table, and set a bag of Oreo cookies in front of me. “On a scale of one to ten, how was he?”
I reached for a cookie. Vero yanked the bag away, holding my Oreos hostage. “Spill! I want to know everything.”
I snatched it out of her hands. “He’s an eleven,” I mumbled, stuffing a cookie in my mouth.
She leaned back in her chair and stole one for herself. “I knew it. I’ve always wanted to make out with a cop. I bet he was all fifty shades of assertive,” she said, fanning herself.
“Not exactly.” Vero narrowed her eyes at me, as if she was rarely wrong about these kinds of things. “I sort of egged him on.”
She smacked my arm, stifling a cackle.
“I didn’t have any choice! I had to keep him from spotting Theresa and Aimee together, so I pretended I had something in my eye, and he leaned in to help me, and then one thing led to another—”
Vero’s laughter died. Her mouth dropped open around her cookie. “Theresa and Aimee were together? What happened? Did he see them?”
I shook my head. “Aimee showed up at Theresa’s office. It looked like they were going out to lunch or something. Nick didn’t see them leave. But there’s more,” I said, peeling another cookie from the package. It had definitely been a two-Oreo morning. “He already knew she’s been meeting with Feliks Zhirov.”
“Shit,” she said. “That didn’t take long.”
“He’s still convinced she was involved in Harris’s disappearance, only now he thinks Feliks was behind it. Not only that, but Nick went back to The Lush and talked to Julian. He showed Julian a photo of Theresa, and when Julian insisted it wasn’t the same woman he’d talked to, Nick suspected Julian was just covering for her. So now, on top of everything else, Julian knows I lied to him.”
Vero winced. “It could be worse. You could have given him your real name. Then you’d really be in trouble.” She pushed her glassof milk across the table, letting me drown a corner of my Oreo in it. “You think Nick will find anything that’ll lead the investigation back to you?”
I sighed. “I don’t think so. There’s nothing connecting me to Feliks or his business.”
Vero pushed the entire bag of cookies at me. “Nothing but Andrei Borovkov.”
That night, I sat in front of my computer watching the cursor blink. I’d revised a solid chunk of my manuscript to keep my secrets safe. I’d written the hot young lawyer out of my story and replaced him with a hotshot cop, and while the heroine and the cop had great chemistry on the page, the lawyer’s absence from my story felt wrong for reasons I couldn’t seem to shake. I missed the banter between them and his easy smile. I missed the way he seemed to see right through her—through her wig-scarf and her makeup and her borrowed dress—and even though she was a killer with a complicated backstory, he still seemed to like what he saw underneath.
I nudged my phone closer and scrolled to Julian’s name, staring at his number. My finger hovered over the delete key. There were so many reasons I should press it. So many reasons I should have edited him out of my life days ago.
Instead, I picked up my phone, slid to the floor beside my desk, and tapped his name on the screen. Hugging my knees, I listened as Julian’s phone rang, waiting for the telltale voice-mail beep. When he actually answered, I was too stunned to speak.
The line was silent.
“My name isn’t Theresa,” I confessed quietly. “And I’m not really in real estate.” I listened for any sign he was still there. “I’m not blond. And you were right, about all those other things you saidabout me at the bar. I didn’t belong there. The dress I was wearing wasn’t even mine.”
I held my breath through a long pause, certain he’d hung up. I was just about to give up and disconnect when he asked, “Was any of it true?” There was no suggestion of blame in his tone. No expectation or demands.
“Some.” I buried my head in my hands, surprised by how guilty I felt. “I have two kids. I’m divorced. I’m in the middle of a messy custody fight with my ex.” I looked down at the Oreo crumbs on my stretched-out T. “And you more or less nailed my sense of style and dietary preferences.”
