Chapter 18
18
I nara
With his soft murmur lingering in my ears, it’s no wonder I dream of him.
I’m kneeling with rope wound around my bare torso and up my arms. The rope is bright red, framing my golden skin. It’s tight but not constricting.
The flat leather tongue of a crop trails over my chest, giving me goosebumps.
“You look so pretty, little bird.” It’s Rex, pacing a circle around me. His pant leg brushes my ponytail. He’s wound the rope around my head and down the length of my hair. I can’t move unless he wills it.
The weight of the rope and his presence are comforting. I’m bound but free. . .
“Swallow?”
A muffled squawk in my ear makes me jerk awake.
“Swallow? Are you there?”
I’m holding my phone. It must have rung, and I answered it in my sleep.
I recognize the voice. “Mina?”
“Shhh,” she sounds spooked. “It’s KittyBang.”
Why is she using our code names? I sit up and squint at the clock. It reads ten past three in the morning. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s onto me.”
“Who?”
“The subject.”
“You mean Rex?—”
“Don’t say it,” she hisses and lowers her voice. “Call him Kingpin.”
Adrenaline slices through me, more potent than caffeine. I’m awake now, standing by the bed. “What is going on? Where are you?”
“I was digging, like you asked. The next thing I know, there’s a SWAT team at my door.”
“What?”
“He swatted me, Swallow. He knew I was digging, and he wants me to stop.”
“Gods. . .”
“I must have flagged something when I tried to hack his servers. He toyed with me. Let me breach a wall or two, all while he was getting a lock on my location. Then, he blocked my connection and sent the SWAT team. He knew where I lived.” She’s close to hyperventilating.
“Where are you? Are you safe?”
“I’m on the run. I don’t know. . . A guy with these skills. . . nowhere is safe. Shit fuck, Inara!” she bursts out, then sighs. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. Shit fuck is right.”
“I’ll be okay. I’m okay.” She repeats it like she’s trying to convince herself.
I’ll get him to back off, I want to tell her. A sledgehammer of guilt slams into me. She doesn’t know I’m in contact with him. That I’ve been with him intimately. She’s freaking out, on the run, and I’ve been dreaming of him. . .
“We shouldn’t talk long,” Mina says. “I’m going dark. I just wanted to let you know.”
“Wait!” I scramble to my feet. “Did you get anything? Can you send me what you have?”
“I’ll send it. Memorize this.” She reads off a string of numbers and repeats it until I can repeat it back.
“That’s the code to a locker at Grand Central Station.”
“Which locker?”
“My favorite number, repeated. Give it a few days for the package to arrive.”
I sag back onto the bed. My hand lands on a rich stretch of wool. The coat Rex sent me.
Damn him.
After Mina’s call, I can’t fall back asleep. In the gray light of morning, I swing by Grand Central Station and find locker six-nine-six-nine. The passcode works, but there’s nothing there yet. Of course not. Mina is on the run, but if she’s promised to mail things, she will.
Is Rex hunting her like he does with others? Like he’s doing with me?
A hot flash of feeling surprises me. Not just anger—jealousy. I stuff it down immediately. I’m not jealous that Rex paid attention to my friend. Besides, what he did to Mina and what he’s doing with me is totally different. He sent me flowers, a dress, and a wool coat. He sent a SWAT team to her house.
He can’t get away with that. I won’t let him.
I step onto the street, and the first thing I see is Rex’s face in print. The papers have pictures of the NRPD gala, Rex Roy featured prominently in several shots. He doesn’t have a bad angle. His dark eyes practically burn through the page.
How do people not see it? It’s so clear to me, the darkness in him.
I buy a paper and bring it to work, where I lay it out and scrutinize it. There are no photos of me dancing with him. But, deep on the back pages, I find mention of Mr. Martin’s obituary and funeral.
Rex Roy stares up at me in black and white. I have to find evidence connecting him to these crimes. I have to avenge Mina and nail him. I have to solve this case and make him pay for what he’s done. And I have to do it before he consumes me.
I grab the page and crumple it in my fist.
“Hey,” Burgess protests. “I would’ve read that.”
I ignore him and rise from my desk, drawing on my leather jacket. It’s too cold to wear, but I’ll be damned if I wear anything Rex sent me after what he’s done to my friend.
“Where are you going?” Burgess asks.
“I’m going to interview someone.”
“Who?”
I toss the crumpled newspaper onto his desk. “Him.”
He uncrumples it and scrambles to his feet. “Wait?—”
I’m already striding out the door.
As I exit the precinct, I catch sight of the now familiar black town car. It’s turning, so I can’t catch sight of the driver, but I’d bet it’s Ivan.
I pull out my phone and text Sir . I really need to change his name in my phone.
You’re still watching me.
The reply is instant.
Sir: Watching OVER you.
I ignore the fluttery feeling in my gut. This game ends now. I take a moment to change Sir to RR, then use my phone to map the location of Roy Enterprises headquarters. It’s near Times Square, a few blocks from here.
“Ramos.” It’s Burgess, huffing and puffing as he falls into step beside me. “Are you nuts? You can’t interview Rex fucking Roy.”
I keep walking.
“Whaddya think you’re gonna do? Walk right in? These guys have layers and layers of people to make sure they don’t see anyone they don’t wanna see.”
“He’ll see me.”
“Sure he will.” Burgess snorts. “Some no-name detective? You’re not even primary on this case. Do you have any proof to tie him to Martin’s death?”
“He owns the building next door to Martin Shipping.” I’d dug this up in the early hours after Mina’s call woke me up.
“That’s nothing. Rex Roy owns half the city. He probably owns this whole block.” Burgess waves a hand.
“He fits the profile. He ran in the same circles as Gregory Martin. Roy Enterprises uses Martin Shipping. A year ago, they put in a bid to buy them out, but negotiations stalled. Now, with Martin out of the way, Roy Enterprises can snap them up for a song.”
“Circumstantial. You got nothing. You’re gonna walk in there and harass an upstanding citizen. And not just any citizen—the top donor to the NRPD. The chief will have your badge for this.”
I ignore him and approach the giant glass doors. There weren’t even any signs to announce that this building was Roy Enterprises. They didn’t need to. Everyone knew.
The door handles are fashioned as snarling lions.
“Oh, gods. Oh fuck.” Burgess stops at the front doors, visibly sweating. “I can’t be a part of this. If you walk in there, you can kiss your career goodbye.”
I soldier forward, leaving him behind. I flash my badge at the security stand. “Detective Ramos to see Rex Roy.” I settle on my heels, prepared to wait a while. To my surprise, the security guard touches his earpiece and waves me through. A second security guard falls into step beside me, ushering me to a door beyond the bank of main elevators. He swipes his badge and escorts me beyond the locked door to a private elevator, where we ride in silence all the way to the top floor.
The doors open to a giant lion sculpture flanked by flower-filled urns taller than me.
“This way, Detective.” He walks me up to a desk manned by a blonde giantess.
“Ms. Ramos,” she greets me. I raise my badge, and she corrects herself, “Excuse me. Detective.”
“I’m here to see Rex Roy.”
“Of course.” She rises, towering above me in her stilettos. “He’s expecting you.”
He is?
“Right this way,” she invites me to follow her. I do so, trying to keep shock off my face. The executive floor has soaring ceilings and glass windows that make me feel like I’m swimming in a giant cube of light. A crystal chandelier sparkles overhead.
With each step into the cavernous space, my trepidation grows. We walk up a grand staircase guarded by more giant lions and pass a seating area composed of heavy leather furniture. In a private corner, we finally come to a proper office space. The main focal point is a giant desk made of polished, black wood. The closer I get to it, the stronger the scent of Rex’s woodsy cologne becomes.
I’m really in the lion’s den now.
The high back chair swivels. Rex raises his dark head and fixes his gaze on me immediately. His eyes crinkle at my approach.
And here’s the lion.
“Detective Ramos is here, sir,” the woman announces and leaves.
“Inara.” His voice is a caress. “Welcome.” He strides out from behind the desk, and my heart stutters. I lock my legs to keep from running back the way I came. I forget how intimidating he is up close, how much my body responds to him.
He’s in CEO mode today, a power suit molding to his muscular frame. A god among peons. There’s no trace of softness in him except for the fond look in his eyes and a slight quirk to his full lips.
When he kissed me, his lips had been soft enough on mine. Gentle yet dominating. He’s always so careful with me.
He catches me staring at his mouth, and the small smile becomes a full-on smirk. Gods. I need to remember why I’m here.
“Mr. Roy.” My voice catches a little on his name. He towers over me, his height and broad shoulders making me feel small without him even trying. “I’m here to question you about the murder of Gregory Martin.”
“So formal.” He loosens his tie, slips it off, and tosses it on his desk. “Have you eaten today?” He motions to the far corner, where a table has been set for two. “Come.”
What?
He leads, and I follow, feeling off my game. The intimidating office, the strange circumstances, this game of lion and mouse we’re playing—none of it helps. But the real reason I can’t get my words out is the simmering heat that fills me the second I meet his eyes.
He leans over the table and lifts a silver cloche off a plate. The scent of steak and butter hits me in the solar plexus. I start to salivate.
He nods to the steaming steak. “Shall we eat?”
“No. I’m not hungry,” I say, even as my stomach growls.
Rex frowns. “You don’t eat enough.”
“Who cares?”
“I care. Sit and eat, and I’ll answer a few of your questions. I do owe you answers after our scene together. That was our deal, after all.”
I flush, remembering the exact details of our deal.
He pulls out a chair for me.
“You knew I was coming.” I sit, resign but ignore the quiet happiness that he was expecting me and was prepared for me.
“I had a guess. I hoped you would.”
To hide the warmth that spreads through me, I bend over my plate. I saw off a hunk of steak and study it.
“Afraid it’s poisoned?” He leans over the table toward me, mouth open, and the hit I get of his scent makes my eyelids flutter. My body is primed to melt when I’m in proximity to him. He gave me the pain I craved, the pleasure I didn’t think was possible, and now I’m trained like Pavlov’s dog.
He lets me feed him the bite. His eyes remain fixed on me the whole time. Even his gaze is potent. I can feel my face heat.
“There.” He sits back in satisfaction. “Now you know.”
“You wouldn’t use poison,” I say. It should be easy to remain immune to him. I just have to remind myself of the bodies he’s left in his wake. “You use knives to make the kill up close and personal.”
He leans back. His face is half in shadow, but I can hear the smirk in his voice. “Allegedly.”
I push back from the table. “This is stupid. Coming here was a mistake.”
“Inara.” He covers my hand with his. “Stay. I’ll behave.”
“No, you won’t.” But my resolve is crumbling. His hand swallows mine, his touch too distracting.
“Just eat something. Please.”
It’s the please that does it. Breaks my will. He looks like it pains him to watch me, and when I take a bite, he doesn’t smirk or gloat. He lets out a sigh.
The filet melts on my tongue, and my eyelids flutter. I am hungry.
Rex stays quiet, drinking in the sight of me savoring my food. Once again, he has me right where he wants me. So much for taking control of the conversation.
“We should go out sometime,” he says when my mouth is full. “I own two of the top-rated restaurants in New Rome.”
I swallow quickly. “Only two?”
“Do you want me to buy more?”
I nearly choke on my food. We’re sitting on the top two floors of the Roy high-rise that has a 360-degree view of the entire city. From this vantage, I could point to a random building, and there’s a fifty percent chance he already owns it. He’s not bluffing.
“I’m not going on a date with you. It’s completely inappropriate.” I realize I’m waving the steak knife around to make my point and set it down. “I’m investigating you for murder.”
He shrugs. “I have teams of people who can handle the optics. If you prefer, I can fly us to Paris. Tokyo. There’s a lovely B&B in southern Tuscany with only ten rooms and a wood-fired stone oven. Best bread of your life. My private jet is on standby. We can be there by dawn.”
I grab my water glass and take a gulp, washing down the delicious meal. “No. Where were you the night of the sixteenth? And the eighteenth?”
“Don’t you remember?” His voice drops to a purr. “I was at Club Empire with you.”
I steel myself to stay upright. My body wants to melt, remembering those scenes with him. “I mean after I left the club.”
“Monday night, I took a car back to this office and worked for a few hours. Then I went to my penthouse to sleep. I have security footage and employees who will swear to it.”
Footage can be doctored. Employees can be coerced.
“Wednesday, I was at a broadcast for the Miss Olympus Beauty Pageant. Then, I returned to Roy Manor. My house manager, Hamish Hitcock, can corroborate.”
He has an answer for everything. “How long did the broadcast take?”
“Filming wrapped up around midnight.” But midnight was when he was with me. I just caught him in a lie, but I’m the only witness.
I stare at him. “And you were there the whole time?”
“According to the footage.”
“You could’ve recorded your portions earlier.” That’s what he did so he could leave early and be at Club Empire to tie me up and hold me. I have gloves.
“I could’ve. But I have an entire television crew who will swear I was there.” He smiles the smile of a rich man who can buy all the alibis he needs.
I’m helpless to stop this from unfolding exactly how he wishes. He won’t even have to admit he was at Club Empire. He owns the television studio. He could easily sneak out a back door, take a car to Club Empire, and then go home. Somewhere in there, he killed someone and left the body on my stoop.
Like a cat bringing its owner a gift.
I stare at him, studying his handsome features. He’s calm under my scrutiny. A man so assured of his power, his dominance, his place in society. He’s an apex predator, through and through.
“You think you’re above the law.”
He doesn’t deny it. “The law is flawed. And even if it worked perfectly, it wouldn’t be enough. The man who killed my parents had never murdered anyone before.”
My breath gushes out of me like I’ve been punched.
“I’m sorry.” I can sense his sadness, a deep blue ocean shrouded in a midnight sky.
“I know.” His hand moves, but I snatch mine into my lap before he can touch me. I’m weak around him, and he knows it.
“I apologize. I shouldn’t have brought it up like that.” He’s watching me so intently. I wonder if he can sense what I’m seeing psychically. He lowers his voice. “I know you feel things deeply.”
I shake my head as if to deny it. It’s not fair that he can intuit so much about me. “It’s okay.” I make my voice stronger. “It’s part of who you are. I’ve been researching you.”
“It’s only fair.” Now he’s back to arrogance, and it’s easy to reignite my temper. No matter how much I research, I have a long way to go before I catch up to what he’s learned about my life.
“You knew about me?” I can’t stop myself from asking, desperate to know what he’s uncovered about my life. No one knows my full history. No one. “Did you look into me before I came to the city?”
“Yes.”
“Before L.A.?” I moved to California a year after I graduated from the police academy, where I’d already made a name for myself unofficially consulting on cases for the FBI.
He hesitates. “One day, Inara, I’ll tell you the truth.”
My breath comes faster, my body prepping me to run. “Tell me now.” If he knew me before California. . . he’s been watching me for years.
“This isn’t the time. You’re not ready.”
“Bullshit.”
“You’re panicking.” His voice is so gentle. “You need to breathe.”
“Says my stalker. The man who kills people and leaves them on my doorstep.”
“I’ll do anything to protect you.”
“This is wrong on so many levels! You think you can call all the shots and take over my life? You’re not the king of the city.”
“No?” He lounges back in his chair, looking every inch the king he is. “I’ll tell that to the city council the next time they come asking for advice. Or to Chief Jordan the next time he calls to thank me for a particularly large donation. What do you think he’ll say when he finds out you came to interview me?”
I grind my teeth.
“What did your partner say when you told him your intent?”
“You already know.” He probably watched it from his security cameras, way up here in his throne room.
I’m so out of my depth that it isn’t funny. And the worst part is, I want to slide into his lap and kiss him. I’m dizzy now, imagining it.
He looks at me with fascination as if he can tell what I’m thinking. His aura is shimmering blue streaked with copper now.
He opens his mouth, and I’m mesmerized by the movement of his lips. “Inara?—”
Just his voice is enough to break my will.
Enough.
“We’re done.” I rise and toss my napkin down. “Thanks for the meal.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
I want to tell him it’s not necessary, but he’s already looming over me. It’s not fair that he’s so much bigger and taller than me. It’d be easier to move a mountain than get him to go away.
He sticks to my side as we walk through the gargantuan floor he uses entirely for one office. I try to walk faster, but he easily keeps up. I’m keenly aware of the heat of his body next to mine. I zip up my leather jacket and stuff my hands in the pockets like that will keep me from reaching for him.
“You’re not wearing your coat.” He’s frowning at my jacket.
“This is my coat.”
“It’s too cold out there to wear that.”
I halt and face him. “I can’t be bought.”
“I know. It’s a gift, freely given.”
“Nothing from you is free.” I start to head off, then stop again. “One more thing. You need to leave my friends alone.”
All softness leaves his expression. The man staring me down is a killer. “This is about Aramina Rodriguez.”
He knows her name. Shit fuck, indeed. “Yes. She’s a friend. Someone I care about.”
“Tell her to stand down. I won’t hunt her for her sins. If she stops digging.”
“And if she does?”
“She’s safe from me. I give you my word, Inara.”
I swallow and nod. It’ll have to be enough.
We’re finally back at his work area. Today’s newspaper is on his desk, open to articles of the gala. In the main photo, Rex shakes hands with Chief Jordan.
I can’t help stopping and studying the page like I did this morning. “They caught your good side.”
“You say that now. But wait until you see me naked.”
Oh gods. I half gasp, half laugh before I mean to. Tension coils in my core. “Not gonna happen.”
His chuckle is sinful. I sway a little at the sound and move to the right, putting the desk chair between us.
“I noticed there were no pictures of us dancing.” I thought I remembered a few camera flashes going off while we danced, but I’m not sure. I had been too focused on him.
“There were. I made sure they weren’t released.”
“You did?” I can’t untangle the relief rushing through me from the regret. I wanted to see a photo, if only to torture myself.
“I want to keep you to myself.”
And I have nothing to say to that.
I’m about to move on when a frame on his desk catches my eye. I snatch it up, not believing what I’m seeing. The frame is silver and heavy enough to be solid, not gilt. But that’s not what stops my heart.
It’s a charcoal sketch of him in a Thinker’s pose, contemplating a swallow perched on his fist. The image is painfully familiar. I know every pencil stroke, every shade. I know it because I drew it.
He took my sketchbook. I knew it.
Not only did he take it, he framed the drawing I made of him.
I can sense him behind me.
He’s waiting for me to say something. To give in and sway into his arms.
I want to. And he knows it.
Which is why I won’t give in.
I set the frame down carefully. “You owe me a sketchbook,” I say and stride to the door before I change my mind.