Chapter 8
DEAN
She’s gone.
Motherfucker.
When I woke alone, I went straight to the living room to search for Sachi, but she’s not here. And all her things are gone. It’s like the entire night was a figment of my imagination.
I don’t even know her last name.
The only evidence I have of our night together is what looks like mascara-stained tears dried into my pillow. Why would Sachi have been crying? Why did she sneak out in the night?
I never implied I wanted her gone because I didn’t … want her … to go.
And I know she enjoyed herself just as much as I did. A woman can’t fake the way she creamed all over my dick. So why disappear without a note or anything?
She told me she wasn’t in a relationship. Would she have lied about that? I don’t want to think she would, but I don’t truly know her well enough to say for certain.
My frustration and disappointment sour with anger. I don’t want to think poorly of Sachi or mar the memory of our night, but why else would she disappear?
Let it go, dickhead. She obviously doesn’t want more.
I don’t like it, but there’s nothing more I can do, so I head to the shower. All I can think about as I scrub down is that I should be washing her … and taking her against the shower wall. We were supposed to have the morning together.
No. I will not let it go.
If I were in the habit of letting things go, I wouldn’t be the detective that I am.
I’ve never once stopped chasing something just because it was out of reach, so I’m not about to start now.
I know I can locate her. I may not like what I find when I do, but I can cross that bridge when I come to it.
The department had a guest list for security purposes. Her first name isn’t common, so surely, I can at least get her last name and go from there.
I finish getting cleaned up with renewed purpose and head to work. It’s Sunday, but the station will still be full of folks on duty. I spend half an hour making calls until I track down someone with access to the gala guest list. Once it’s emailed to me, I scour the names.
No Sachi.
Nothing even close to that name appears on the list.
I’m a little stunned. Did she lie about her name?
She could have been a last-minute change, but it still seems odd.
Even more importantly, finding her just got a lot damn harder.
I’d be lying if I claimed the challenge didn’t intensify my desire to track her down.
When an investigation leads to more questions than answers, that’s a sign to keep digging.
Should I follow that philosophy when it comes to Sachi?
Or am I just a desperate asshole clinging to something that wasn’t meant to be?
I’m slouched in my office chair, trying to swallow a harsh dose of reality when a fellow detective strolls in.
“Malone, you’re not going to believe this.”
“I’m all ears.” Whatever he has to say has got to be better than listening to my own depressing thoughts.
Plus, Briggs is working with me on an investigation into a gang leader known as The Reaper.
We’ve been trying to get intel on this guy for months.
News on the case would be a welcome distraction.
“We got a successful trace on Reaper. We’ll need to check things out first, but I have an address.”
“Fuck yes. Show me what you’ve got.”