Chapter 12
DEAN
I was going to claw Sachi from my memory. That’s what I decided on my ride in the elevator after leaving Amelie’s apartment. Because as much as her actions felt like a betrayal, there was nothing to betray. Sachi never owed me anything. It’s Sante who deserves my wrath.
With each step I take toward the building exit, I try to convince myself that Sachi means nothing to me, and thus, I shouldn’t spend another minute thinking of her.
I try really damn hard.
Turns out, I’m even more persistent than I gave myself credit for being.
I know I need to walk away from Sachi, but I can’t do it.
I need to know why. I need to understand how she could have been so fucking convincing when it was all a fucking act.
If I don’t get to the bottom of it, doubts about my intuition will haunt me forever.
Therefore, instead of taking a long walk to cool off before going home, I never make it past the building’s lobby. I use my credentials to get Sachi’s full name from building security, then locate her apartment using an official police database.
Next thing I know, I’m breaking into the damn place.
I had sensed from the moment I laid eyes on Sachi that she had the potential to inspire great and terrible things in me. It’s good to know my instincts haven’t totally failed me.
I haven’t done anything irreversible yet, but that may change when she walks through this door. I’m not certain what I’ll do. I just know I never would have thought myself capable of any of this before Sachi.
I’ve sat here in her apartment for the last thirty minutes looking at her ridiculous abundance of Christmas decorations while I consider just how far I’m willing to take this.
Her place is tiny, as are most Manhattan apartments, but she has every square inch decked out in festive decorations.
She even has a six-foot tree halved from the top to the bottom so it sits flush against the wall.
Nothing else would have fit in here, but she made it work.
She has fake snow sprayed on her windows, additional lights lining the ceiling edge, and every other bit of red and green decor imaginable.
The woman really goes all out for the holidays—not exactly what I’d expect from someone willing to fuck me for information, but clearly, I’m no longer a decent judge of character.
When she finally arrives home, I hear multiple voices in the hallway. Her studio apartment doesn’t offer a wide array of hiding places, so I stand flush against the wall next to the door.
I register Sante’s voice.
A renewed fury has my fists balling.
This could get really fucking ugly if he comes in here because despite what he thinks, I’m not above beating the shit out of him.
Not anymore. The minute Sachi stormed into my life, the rules changed, whether I wanted them to or not.
I’m not even sure I know what the rules are where she’s concerned.
I just know I’m pissed, and she’s going to answer for what she’s done.
I don’t waste any time. The second Sachi is within reach, I grab her and shut the door.
She stiffens with panic.
She should.
I’m three times her size in mass. Subduing her takes no effort at all. I’m not even worried when she sucks in air to scream, except the sound never comes. Time stretches thin before she releases the breath, and her body softens in my hold.
She knows who has her, and the knowledge innately relaxed her.
Fuck, I hate how good that feels.
Not that she should feel safe right now. I don’t even know what I might do next.
“Wouldn’t try anything crazy, huh?” I mull over what I heard. “Apparently, Sante doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does.”
Not that I’ll actually hurt her. I might put a fist through the wall, but I’d never lay a hand on her. I’m just so damn frustrated. I thought she and I had truly connected. That we had a magnetic chemistry neither of us could resist.
Turned out, I had just seen what I wanted to see.
Turned out, I’d been played.
I spin us around so that her back is against the wall with me facing her. I keep one hand across her mouth and use the other to pin her hands above her head.
“I’m going to remove my hand, and you’re not going to scream. Understood?”
She nods.
I ease my hand away. It slides down to her throat and angles her face so her eyes are lifted to mine.
“What were you after?” My voice is sharp as a blade and equally ruthless.
She shakes her head. “Nothing. Sante and Tommy had nothing to do with this, I swear.”
“You must think I’m real fucking dumb,” I growl at her.
She lets out a whimper, and I have to fight back the urge to apologize for Christ knows what.
“You weren’t on that guest list. You hid the fact that you were in with the Morettis.
You fucking lied, Sachi. Now, tell me why, goddammit.
” My outburst causes me to accidentally tighten my grip.
Sachi’s eyes widen a fraction, but she doesn’t struggle, despite the fear reflected in those beautiful brown eyes.
I instantly relax my hold.
I can’t help it. Despite it all, I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t even want her to fear me, though that’s the only way I’m going to find out what this was all about.
“I did lie to you, but not in the way you’re thinking.
” Her softly spoken confession is calm. Vulnerable.
I sense genuine grief, and I don’t understand it.
My intuition has never failed me on such a grand scale.
But if I were to believe what my gut is telling me, how can I possibly align that with everything I’ve learned?
“You were horrified to see me on the other side of that door,” I remind her and myself.
“Yes, because I was worried my friends would be upset and that you’d hate me for deceiving you.”
“You’re saying they didn’t know you were there.”
“They knew I went, but they knew nothing about you.”
“And why, pray tell, did they think you were at the ball?” My question drips condescension because I can’t imagine how she can explain her way out of this.
“I wasn’t on the guest list, but I didn’t sneak in,” she whispers, her gaze dropping as though in … what? Embarrassment? What would she have to be embarrassed about? I stay quiet and allow her to continue. “I was there for work. I was part of the catering team.”
My body stills as I process what she’s told me.
I hadn’t even considered that possibility, mostly because there hasn’t been enough time, and I’ve been too worked up to think clearly during the time I have had. “You were supposed to be a server at the party?”
“No, I’m a sculptor. I carved the fruit displays.”
I think back to the food tables. “Poinsettias.”
She nods.
“The art gallery,” I recall. “You said you started out in sculpting.”
“There is a gallery, but I work there. I don’t own it.”
“I don’t understand,” I demand impatiently. Why all the smoke and mirrors? What’s the motive?
Her chin quivers, cinching a vise tight around my chest. “I work all these extravagant parties, and for once, I just wanted to experience things from the other side. One night of indulgence. I never expected the rest to happen.”
I chew on her words and hunt for the telltale tang of deception. “You weren’t surprised when you saw me tonight—not the same way I was. You knew who I was.” It’s the one sticking point I have left. I’ve never met her, but she somehow knew me. She knew seeing me at Sante’s place was a possibility.
“Months ago, Sante gave me a ride home, and he met up with you on the way. I stayed in the car, but I saw you two talking. I knew you were a cop and that you two knew each other. That’s it, I swear.”
Fuck, I want to believe her.
What the hell is wrong with me? Am I really going to buy this hook, line, and sinker?
My hand clenches tighter as I battle indecision. It’s not enough to leave a mark, but I can tell she’s uncomfortable, though she’s trying to be brave.
My sweet, brave girl.
I stare into her wide, mournful eyes—eyes glassy with unshed tears—and I begin to drown in their depths. And that’s exactly where I want to be. That’s how I know I’ve lost this fight. I’d rather sink in her sorrows than drag myself ashore all alone.
“What the fuck are you doing to me?” I barely get the words out before my lips crash down on hers.