21
The sharp elevator chime pulled me from the lull of droning cables, signaling that I’d reached my floor. As the doors slid open, I gave my hands a quick once-over, confirming the absence of blood beneath my nail bed or spatters I might have overlooked in that shrouded alleyway.
Clean.
He hadn’t put up much of a fight…although I imagined it was hard to struggle with one’s intestines spilling onto the ground. Disembowelment was not on my list of plans tonight—it was messy and foul—but he’d forced my hand.
“Good evening, Miss Carvalho.”
I froze, key mid-air, when my neighbor’s voice intruded on the mental inventory of tonight’s victim. After weeks of avoiding him and timing his schedule with mine, he’d finally caught up to me, and in a weak moment, no less. If I ignored him and pushed inside my unit without a word, it could cause more intrigue and encounters similar to this one.
But how he’d addressed me piqued my curiosity and had my hand subtly hovering over the blade tucked at my waist. While the memory of that night was slightly hazy, I was sure I might have shared my name, but I knew without a doubt that I would never have divulged my last name.
Detective Braga researched me.
That begged the question.
Why?
“Detective,” I said coolly, turning to face him.
I was suddenly aggravated when I realized I’d been so distracted that I hadn’t noticed when he approached. And that unnerved me.
He seemed like a decent man and father. The idea that I’d have to dispose of him and orphan his son didn’t bring me joy, but if it came down to protecting myself, well, Detective Braga would have sealed his own fate.
“I’m glad I ran into you this morning. My boy still remembers that night, you know?”
That struck me as unlikely, considering the kid could barely speak three words.
“Does he?”
When a smile stretched across the Detective’s face, neither confirming nor denying his claim, I knew it was bullshit. He simply needed a reason to talk to me. I could read men and their intentions like a book. But I had to admit, this one confused me because when he looked at me, his eyes never wandered from mine, his grin was never seedy, and he never crept into my personal space like the men at Illusion or life in general. Raymond Braga had ulterior motives, and I was suddenly intrigued about what those were.
“I’m sorry to be blunt, but I have to ask. Have you been avoiding me?”
There it was.
“Should I be avoiding you, Detective?”
His jaw twitched slightly, and his eyes thinned just enough for me to notice.
“Absolutely not…”
“But?”
“Amara, these streets are not kind to pretty girls alone at night. I’ve gone to one too many crime scenes where luck didn’t fall in their favor. I’ve noticed you coming and going at strange hours, and—”
“Detective, with respect, you’re not my father. And I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”
He looked away from me, lips in a tight line. It was obvious he was biting his tongue.
“I’ll see you around,” I said, ending the conversation.
“Amara…”
Or not.
“Are you hurt?” I followed his gaze, fixed on the back of my leg, to a dried streak of blood.
Shit.
“Yeah, I caught myself on some metal at the park. I must have missed this when I was cleaning up.”
Raymond glanced at his watch. “You were at Hyde Park this late?”
Questions, questions. What was it with everyone and their damn interrogations?
“Sometimes I have trouble sleeping. That’s all,” I bit out, harsher than intended.
“What keeps you up at night?”
Something about Detective Braga forced me to keep my sharp tongue in check, maybe because he reminded me of home. His kind eyes crinkled at the corners, similar to my father’s. And he spoke my native language. Apart from Lorenzo, he was the only man who expected nothing of me but conversation.
“Life.” Traces of grief laced my voice. “That’s what keeps me up.”
The strict lines of his face softened at my confession.
“Amara, my wife was murdered on her way home from work two years ago. You remind me a lot of her when we first met. I’m not trying to pry into your business. I would just hate to see something bad happen to you. ”
Everything bad happened to me.
His eyes misted unexpectedly, and his throat bobbed as he seemed to fight back emotions.
“I appreciate your concern. I really do. And I’m sorry about your wife.”
Detective Braga gingerly tipped my chin, like a father would his child, and I let him. Maybe I was losing my edge, or Santino had chipped away at the walls around my heart.
“ N?o consegui salvá-la. ”
Guilt over not saving his wife.
I shook my head. “ Você também n?o pode me salvar. ”
He can’t save me either.
Silence stretched between us until he flattened his lips and nodded, worry lines back on his face.
“You still have a couple of hours before the sun. I hope you get some sleep.”
“Me too,” I said, slipping into my apartment.
Phoenix greeted me the moment I was inside as if she’d been waiting in the same spot since I left. Holding her to my chest, I tossed my keys on the counter and stared into my empty living room. My stomach hollowed when I thought of the dead man bleeding out in the alley, because the high that usually carried through hours later was gone.
Something was changing.