Sydney
Aftersomecajolingandassurances that she wouldn’t do anything stupid, Sydney finally convinced Fink to get into the shower.Not that she could talk, but he stunk a little.She had at least cleaned her face last night.He was marinating in Mitchell’s guts.When he got done, she’d wash up.
While she wasn’t the best cook in town, she knew a thing or two about stains.Someone who had ample boobage like she had dropped a bunch of gunk on her blouse.Out of necessity, she’d gotten pretty decent at stain removing.Otherwise, she’d never be able to keep a wardrobe.
While Fink scrubbed Mitchell off his skin, Sydney did the same to his suit.The material was lovely.It was an expensive suit.This wasn’t from Macy’s.It was high-end.Burning the attire would be such a waste.
Hopefully, this outfit lived another day—if it survived her budget washing machine.
Standing over her sink with a large bowl of ice-cold water, she worked peroxide and bar soap into the blood marring the suit jacket.Determination consumed her as she concentrated on getting out the offensive stain.
“Out, damn spot.”She channeled her inner Shakespeare and giggled to herself.
She was far too amused with laundry.If stabbing her boss the night before and immediately fucking the guy who had beat him about the head wasn’t enough to convince her she had a screw or seven loose, this moment certainly had.She was out of her mind, but she’d never felt happier and freer.Sydney never wanted this to end.
Bing-bong.
She froze.
The doorbell.
Glancing over her shoulder, she bit her bottom lip.What time was it?Why would anyone come to her door at this hour?Whatever one it was?
She glanced at the oven and noted the time was well into the afternoon, almost three.Okay, so not a completely unreasonable hour.
The police.That was quick.Wasn’t it?
Blowing out a breath, she calmed herself.This was her moment of truth.Would she crack under the pressure?
Taking a dish towel, she dried her hands.“Coming,” she called as the water in the shower turned off.
She glanced toward the small hallway as she exited the kitchen.The door opened.
She paused in complete awe of her first glimpse of Fink without his makeup.He was tall and lean.She’d already known those things.Decorative tattoos covered his chest and arms.On the side of his neck, which had been painted black the previous night, was a large clover.
Was he Irish?She made a mental note to find that out at another time.
She bit her bottom lip when their gazes met.
Her heart leaped into her throat, and her stomach was all aflutter.Her pussy clenched.With a dangerous edge and sharp angles to his features, he was to die for.His eyes magnificently combined colors that could best be described as hazel.
He was gorgeous.
Bringing his index finger to his lips, he ducked into the bedroom wearing only a towel.
Filled with new resolve and quite parched, she scurried across the room to the front door.She tossed the towel over her shoulder, closed her eyes, and smoothed her hands down her front.
Now or never.
Taking the knob in her hand, she twisted and opened her eyes and the door.
“Can I help you?”she asked the two gentlemen on her front stoop.
While they didn’t exactly match, their suits were similar.Tan and brown jackets over crisp white shirts and dark ties.Both wore serious expressions as their gazes swept her up and down.
“Hi, I’m Detective Ken Morris,” said the stout man with thinning hair and a mustache.
He held up his wallet, which had a badge inside it.
