Page 90 of Vicious Temptation

“Oh, Remi.”

An officer grabs my wrists and pulls them behind my back. The cuffs close around them, and I look over my shoulder at my car sitting perfectly intact.

At least I managed that much.

“Don’t tell anyone,” I say, loud enough for the car to pick me up, “but I’m gonna need you to bail me out.”

Twenty-Five

thiago

My apartment is quiet when I get home. It’s always this way. Empty. Until recently, that was my preference. Being alone works for me because what I do for Helios isn’t something I can hide from friends, family, or anyone close enough to notice the cracks. I stopped forming attachments a long time ago because of that, and I’ve never had a reason to question it.

But tonight, the silence bothers me.

I toss my keys onto the kitchen counter and look around the space, already knowing why.

Remi isn’t here.

“Fuck,” I mutter with a hollow laugh.

Forty-eight hours ago, she trusted me enough to give me pieces of herself I know weren’t easy for her to share. Tonight, I’m standing alone in my kitchen, wishing I could hear her talking shit from across the room.

I can pretend this is business all I want, but I know the truth. I’m getting too close, thinking about her when she isn’t around, wanting to touch her, and making excuses to see her again. None of that is part of the assignment. The more I learn about who she really is, the harder it becomes to reconcile that woman with everything I’ve been told about her family.

Opening the junk drawer, I look for the charger I keep forgetting to store in my truck, and move aside batteries, pens, and shit I haven’t touched since moving in.

Something black catches beneath them, and I stop.

The worn leather is instantly familiar as I pull it free, even after all these years.

It’s my father’s old detective notebook.

I run my thumb along the faded edge before opening it. His handwriting fills the first page, compact and hurried, with a date at the top and notes from a case I don’t recognize beneath. Names, times, a license plate, and a phone number circled twice.

Flipping through a few more pages, I find the same thing. Pieces of investigations he probably forgot about as soon as the cases closed. It’s evidence of a life that ended long before I was ready for it.

I haven’t opened this in years.

For some reason, I think about Remi’s ring again and what she told me when she placed it in my hand.

We all have a story, Thiago. Sometimes it’s ugly and tainted, but without it, we wouldn’t be who we are.

Maybe that’s why I don’t put the notebook back. I leave it on the counter and pick up my phone instead. Remi’s contact photo fills the screen, a candid shot of her mid-bite into a slice of pizza, glaring at me around a mouthful of pepperoni after accusing me of stealing one of her fries.

A smile tugs at my mouth as my thumb hovers over the call button. I’ve never been the kind of man who needs conversation after a long shift. Usually, I prefer coming home and shutting out the rest of the world for a while.

Apparently, that’s changing too.

Before I can call her, another name flashes on the screen.

Aunt Priscilla.

Guilt rolls through my gut when I remember I’d promised to call her at least once a week.

It’s been way more than that.

I answer and make my way into the living room.