The man whose smile made my heart race. Whose proximity made me forget why I was really here. Who looked at me like I was someone worth knowing, not just an employee.
What am I doing?
My phone buzzed. Text from Silvio:How'd it go today?
I typed back:Fine. Learning the systems.
Find anything useful?
Not yet. Give me time.
You've got three weeks left.
As if I could forget.
I sat in my car, hands on the steering wheel, and let myself acknowledge the truth I'd been avoiding all day:
I didn't want Quentin to be guilty.
I didn't want to find proof he'd killed my father.
And I definitely didn't want to be the one to execute him.
But Carlo had given me one month. Silvio was waiting in the wings, sharpening knives and resenting every day I had that he didn't.
Three weeks.
Three weeks to find the truth.
Three weeks to figure out if Quentin Vanetti was a murderer or an innocent man caught in my family's crosshairs.
Three weeks before everything fell apart.
I started the car, pulled out of the garage, and tried not to think about storm-gray eyes and a smile that made me want to cook him dinner.
Tried not to think about how cooking someone dinner was the opposite of killing them.
Tried not to acknowledge that somewhere between the polygraph and today, something had shifted.
I was supposed to be hunting Quentin Vanetti.
Instead, I was falling for him.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
Chapter 11
Quentin
Ischeduled a small gathering for Barbara's send-off.
"My last Friday," she said, voice thick with emotion. "I can't believe it."
She wore casual clothes—jeans, a soft sweater. Nothing on the agenda except packing her personal belongings and saying goodbye.
I handed her an envelope. "Open it later. No need to ruin your makeup."
Barbara took it, wiped away a tear. "I can't thank you enough."
