Page 54

Turns out I was only wrong about the blood.

The room they've put me in is small, windowless, and about as welcoming as a funeral home waiting room. There's a metal table, four uncomfortable chairs, and a clock ticking loudly enough to make me consider ripping it off the wall.

I've been here nearly an hour, although I've lost track of time somewhere between stabbing a woman in my kitchen and discovering the man I've been falling in love with is her husband.

There's blood on my beautiful burgundy dress, and despite washing my hands three times, I can still feel that horrible moment when the knife connected with something solid. I've spent the last forty minutes staring at my fingers, wondering whether I'll ever be able to chop vegetables again without remembering that sound.

I stabbed an actual human being.

And apparently, she's Mrs. Lorenzo Moretti.

Jesus Christ. My life has officially become the kind of trashy television drama I'd normally watch while eating ice cream and judging everybody's terrible decisions.

Except this time, I'm the idiot sleeping with somebody else's husband.

The door opens, and a handsome man in his late thirties steps inside carrying a folder and two paper cups.

"Bridget Collins?"

"Unfortunately."

His mouth twitches. "Detective Daniel Reyes. Mind if I sit down?"

I gesture toward the chair across from me. "It's a free country. Although I'm beginning to question whether that applies to me at the moment."

"You're not under arrest, Ms. Collins. This is a voluntary interview, and you're free to stop answering questions. We're trying to establish exactly what happened tonight."

"Good, because orange isn't my color, and I don't think they let you bring five cats to prison."

He pauses with one hand on the chair. "Five?"

"Don't judge me. I've had a really shitty night."

"I'm not judging." He slides one of the cups toward me. "Coffee. Sorry, it's probably terrible."

I wrap my hands around it, grateful for the warmth even though my stomach is too upset to drink anything. Daniel settles into the opposite chair and opens his folder. He's attractive in a normal, approachable way, with dark hair, brown eyes, and a little stubble along his jaw. His blue shirt has the sleeves rolled up, and unlike every man I've encountered in Enzo's orbit, he doesn't look as though his clothes cost more than my car.

Under different circumstances, I might appreciate how handsome he is.

Tonight, I'm mostly concerned with whether I'm going to spend the next twenty years trying to convince a jury that I'm not a violent psychopath.

"I know you've already spoken with the responding officers," Daniel says, "but I'd like you to walk me through everything again. Start with when you arrived home."

I take a breath and explain about Rocco dropping me near the bookstore, the short walk to my building, and finding my apartment door unlocked.

"I always lock it," I tell him. "Every single time. I have five cats, and one of them thinks escaping into the hallway is his life's purpose."

"Did you notice any damage around the lock?"

"No. The door just opened when I touched it."

He makes a note and asks what happened next. I describe the darkness, the missing cats, and the strange perfume. I explain how I called out, thinking perhaps Mrs. Patterson had come by, and how I heard something moving near my bedroom.

"Then I grabbed a knife." I stare into the coffee. "I know I should've gone back outside. I was going to, but I heard one of my cats crying, and I thought somebody might be hurting them."

"I'm not here to judge what you should've done," Daniel says. "I need to understand what happened."

"There was somebody in the hallway. I told them to leave, but they kept coming toward me. Then they rushed at me, and something hit my shoulder. I was scared, and I just..." My throat tightens. "I didn't know it was a woman. I couldn't even see her face until I turned on the light."