It feels like a punch to the heart. “You used me,” I choke out, tears spilling freely now. “I liked you, and you were just using me to warm your bed and look after your friend.”
He laughs, like I’ve said something ridiculous. “You’re making a scene,” he mutters. “And we both know I didn’t even want to hire you.”
The last of the fight drains out of me and I drag my eyes to his. “How do you do it?” I ask quietly. “How do you just . . . turn it off?”
He pauses for a fraction of a second, then turns away. “It’s easy,” he says flatly. “You just tell yourself to stop.”
He walks away and doesn’t look back.
I press my hand to my chest, trying to hold myself together as the pain spreads, sharp and suffocating. “Stop,” I whisper to myself. My voice trembles. “You have to stop. Now.”
RAY
I hear her sobbing as I walk away. It’s quiet, like she’s broken with nothing left to give. The sound follows me down the steps, slipping under my skin, clawing at something I don’t want to feel.
Every instinct in me screams to turn back. To go to her. To pull her into my arms and tell her I don’t believe it, that I know she didn’t do this.
But I don’t. I keep walking.
This is for the best. She lied to me, and she let him in. She put my best friend in danger and now she’s dead.
The words repeat, over and over, like if I say them enough times, they’ll become truth instead of something I’m trying to convince myself of.
My phone rings, shrill and sharp, cutting straight through the noise in my head.
I answer without checking the screen. “Yep?”
“Ray, I managed to get the CCTV back,” Dale says, sounding breathless with excitement.
I straighten, relief flooding me. It’s the biggest breakthrough we’ve had since Anika died.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I mutter, already moving. “I’m on my way.” I end the call and slide behind the wheel, gripping it tighter than necessary.
Focus. That’s what I need. Not heror the sound of her crying. I need answers, and for someone to pay.
“That’s her,” I say, leaning closer to the screen, eyes locked on the grainy footage of the agency carer stepping into the elevator. Even blurred, there’s no mistaking her. “That’s our woman.”
“Perfect,” Dale mutters. “Let’s go find her.”
I shake my head slowly, already thinking ten steps ahead. “If Luke arranged this, she won’t be sitting around waiting for us. She’ll be hiding.”
Dale frowns. “Then what are we waiting for?”
“He’s covered himself,” I say, straightening. “Every angle. Including pinning this on Wynter.”
“What?” Dale snaps, turning to me.
“I saw her at the station,” I continue. “There’s a medical record showing morphine was administered at three in the morning.” His expression darkens. “It looks like Wynter’s handwriting,” I finish.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You think she did it?”
I shake my head immediately. “No.” There’s no hesitation. “But all I’ve got is my word that she was in my bed,” I add, jaw tightening. “And that means nothing when they’ve got paperwork with her handwriting and signature on it.”
Dale exhales sharply. “Then we need to find this bitch.”
Behind us, Andy shifts in his chair, sitting up a little straighter. “I might be able to help with that.”
We both turn to him.
