5. Sophie
5
Sophie
A week later, I still hadn’t shaken my new personal bodyguards—what I’d taken to calling them. It sounded better than weird stalker dudes who were mysteriously keeping tabs on me in a, presumably, non-dangerous way.
My best friend, Callie, slid into the booth across from me, her blue eyes alight with a certain happiness I hadn’t seen on her in, well, ever. It paired nicely with the glittering two-carat diamond on her finger. Jesus, that thing was obvious from a mile away. Probably just how her fiancé, and one my closest friends, liked it.
“How are you, stranger?” she asked as she flagged down a bartender. I almost asked her if she was okay to be drinking again since she’d spent so long working on her sobriety but decided to save the lecture for another day. Progress isn’t linear, and she had been drinking responsibly now for months. “Also, do you want anything to eat?”
Yes.
“No to the food,” I responded despondently, then shrugged. “Doing great, though. How are you, now that you’ve settled into the Big Apple with Liam?”
Deflect, deflect, deflect.
It was what I did best, and it often came back to bite me in the ass, but it at least bought me some more time before I had to talk about it. And in this instance, I’d been avoiding meeting Callie for weeks because I was hiding the truth about my dad’s case. When I’d found out, she was in a broken place and trying to put this life behind her, and I didn’t want to be responsible for piling onto her issues.
She gave me a knowing look as she turned to order a drink. “You don’t think I can’t see right through you? You’ve been distant. And now you’re not going to eat? Come on, Soph, you know I know you better than that.”
Shit. She was right. Truth was, I felt ashamed of what happened with my mysterious stalker a month ago. I attempted to be some avenging hero defending my family’s name only to wind up pinned to a brick wall and turned on like some kind of wild lunatic. I made a rash decision after stewing in my thoughts for months, and it could have gotten me killed. What’s worse was that now that I had made my presence known to that stupidly good-looking man, I was being followed constantly.
“Nah, I know you can.” I winked at her, then stared down at my drink, deciding to just rip the Band-Aid off. “I, uh, found the guys who killed my dad.”
Callie sucked in a breath. “What?”
“I guess they ran some DNA through some new equipment and were able to match them to a couple more recent cases. One of them is in prison for the next ten years; the other’s still roaming free. Unfortunately, they both said they knew my father so of course their DNA was at the crime scene.’ But I know it’s them.”
She paused for a moment to examine me. “Tell me you’re not keeping tabs on the one who isn’t incarcerated.” I nibbled on my lower lip. “Sophie!”
“What? It’s not like you’re any better! You set up a pretend sting operation to investigate your ex, pretended to be engaged to him, and found out he was a serial killer you’d been living with, for fuck’s sake.”
She winced. “Damn, too soon.”
I laughed. “It’s not funny, but you either laugh or cry, you know?”
Callie arched a perfect brow at me. “Or go into a murderous rampage to avenge the death of a loved one.”
I rolled my eyes. Deflect. “So how is Liam?”
The shy smile that crept across my friend’s face said it all. She was smitten and soaking up every bit of their betrothal. I was happy for them—elated even. They deserved it after what they had gone through.
I thought I once felt that way about my ex, but I couldn’t show him the darker parts of me. Not on a physically intimate level—he never wanted to try anything new—and definitely not on the emotional level. I always felt like there were things I couldn’t share, sides of me he’d judge me for, and I felt like he never really knew me at all.
He also couldn’t handle the competition of what got more attention, him or my job. And in the end, he couldn’t make me choose.
And by that point… I was already too far removed emotionally from our relationship.
Callie and I spent the next hour catching up, and I tried to focus on anything but the man who had slipped into the bar halfway through like a serpent in the night. His eyes found me instantly as he took a seat in a booth, directly in my line of sight. And rather than alert Callie to my dangerous habits, I instead turned my attention to conversation that ebbed and flowed between laughter and solemnity.
I missed her, and felt guilty about all the time I’d spent avoiding her.
At the end of it, we hugged. I needed to make more of an effort with my best friend. I’d almost lost her—on more than one occasion—and rather than try to make up for lost time, I shirked my responsibilities as a friend because I was a coward. I refused to make the mistake of going this long without seeing her again.
She gave me a stern look—brows pulled low and lips in a flat line—and told me to be smart, as if she sensed I was about to confront a dangerous man upon her departure. I smacked her rear end playfully and waved as she left, watching as she climbed into an Uber. When the car was out of sight, I turned and made a beeline for the booth in the back corner, where Mr. Suit sat waiting.
It was the first time I’d seen him since that night a month ago, and the light in the bar illuminated him in stellar ways.
But rather than focus on his attractiveness, I reminded myself he’d been killing my vibe for the last half hour.
The smell of garlic fries hit me as I passed a large table, making my stomach grumble. I eyed the food and bit down on my lip, resisting the urge to go order something with that many calories.
Instead, I let that hunger morph into anger as I approached Mr. Suit. He was all angles, with defined cheekbones and a strong jaw dusted with facial hair, and eyes a devastatingly dark blue that watched my every move as I sat down across from him.
Eyes I most definitely did not see the color of a month ago.
My stomach flipped, but I let myself be more agitated than nervous as we stared each other down.
“Why are you following me?” I whisper-shouted, deciding to cave first.
He leaned forward on the table, his muscular arms flexing underneath his dress shirt. I could see the dark lines of tattoos peeking out from the cuffs rolled halfway up his forearms. Not like I noticed. Okay, I definitely noticed—and was distracted by it.
“Nice to see you again, too, Detective. ”
I narrowed my eyes. “Can’t say the same. Answer the question.”
He debated for a moment. “To make sure you’re not a threat.”
My brows furrowed, a movement his eyes followed. “I don’t even know who you are. How could you be threatened by little ol’ me?” I asked sweetly.
His brows rose as he sat further back in his seat. “You don’t know who I am,” he repeated slowly.
“That’s what I just said. Try to keep up.” It came out harsher than I intended, but there was no taking it back now. I probably should be more careful with what I said to this man—he was packing heat, after all. It wasn’t exactly hidden on his hip since his suit jacket was on the table beside him. Plus, he exuded a power and confidence I only wished I had.
He smirked. “My, my. You’re a mouthy little thing, aren’t you?” The tips of my ears felt warm under his observation, and I suppressed a shiver. I should've been offended by his comment. “I like that. Keeps me on my toes.”
Sighing impatiently, I folded my arms across my chest. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be something he liked—or worse, maybe I did. I mean, fuck, he was hot, and I felt hot under his gaze. This was not normal and wildly embarrassing. Probably a one-way attraction. He likely had women throwing themselves at him every damn day.
“So, who are you and why do you care where I’m at late at night?” I hoped I sounded nonchalant.
“Who were you meeting so late at night?” he shot back.
“I asked you a question first.”
“Does that really matter when I’m the one with all the power here?”
I paused. He was the one who had his goons trailing behind me for weeks, who knew who I was even though I didn’t know a lick about him. He was the one who could get away with stalking a cop, and even if I tried to take legal action, I’d probably be labeled a paranoid, traumatized detective while he’d disappear temporarily and strike again when my guard was down. Better yet, he probably had some law enforcement in his back pocket.
Not like I could confirm that, what with Mr. Mystery looking smug as shit.
“Victor Chavez.” My admission took me by surprise, and apparently him, too, considering the way his eyes widened ever so slightly. Ay, por Dios, his eyes were pretty. I wriggled in my seat, wishing my brain would stop imagining him staring up at me with his face between my thighs.
“Why?”
“You obviously know my history. Why don’t you put two and two together?”
He stilled and ran a thumb across his lower lip, contemplating his next words. “I can see we aren’t getting anywhere tonight. When you’re ready to talk, try not to assault my men. Just tell them you want to meet with Maverick.”
I busted out laughing, then immediately stopped when he gave me a glare that could cut glass. “I’m sorry. Maverick? Don’t tell me you also got picked to attend Top Gun.”
Maverick clenched his jaw, then slowly rose to his feet. He was tall and intimidating at his full height—well over six feet, with broad shoulders that blocked the light behind him. I gulped nervously. Okay, now I could tell I was really pissing him off, and my conscience finally kicked in and told me not to continue poking.
“You’ll learn, Detective, to not cross me. Just because you’ve got a pretty face and a tragic past doesn’t mean you’re exempt from my wrath. You’ll do good to remember that.”
With that, he turned to leave. My stomach twisted in knots, no longer hungry, as I watched him exit the bar. Even with a name to put to his face, he was still a mystery.
His threat hung over my head for days, as did his compliment.
He thinks I’m pretty.