Chapter 14
DEAN
I can’t concentrate to save my life. And there are lives at stake. It’s Monday, I’m back at the station, and I should be coordinating surveillance ops so we can get our hands on The Reaper, but all I can think about is that last heartbroken look Sachi gave me when I walked out her door.
Fuck.
Me.
I left because I needed space to think through everything. Any reassurances I could have given on my way out would have been empty because I had no fucking clue what I was going to do about Sachi. A night of obsessing over it hasn’t helped, either. I’m still just as torn.
She affects me in ways I don’t like, but that shit’s on me. It’s not her fault I turn into a raving lunatic around her.
If she’s telling the truth, she’s done nothing wrong.
Except for a poor choice of friends.
A part of me is desperate to have her, regardless of who her friends are. She isn’t her friends, after all. And maybe things with Sachi won’t even work out. I won’t know unless I give it a chance. If she is the perfect woman for me, am I willing to reject her over her friends?
No. It’s that simple.
She likes them for the same reason I’m willing to cooperate with them—despite their shady morals, Sante and Tommy are halfway decent human beings.
When I step back and take it all in, I have to ask myself, what’s the problem?
If I can confirm Sachi isn’t lying to me, and her friends aren’t a deal-breaker, why the indecision?
A single word whispers through my mind, causing me to cringe.
Pride.
Is that seriously my only hang-up?
That’s how it’s looking, but I’m not certain. It’s hard to tell if my wariness is rooted in rational reasoning or a wounded ego. Something is holding me back. One thing I can say for sure is that life would be less complicated without linking myself to the Moretti crime family.
My thoughts are interrupted by the desk phone ringing with a call from reception.
“Malone,” I answer.
“A man is waiting for you outside, told me to tell you his name was … Santa.” The word is spoken with a wealth of exasperation. “I know it’s the holidays, but come on.”
The eclectic variety of informants we deal with often uses pseudonyms. It seems one of them is feeling especially festive today. “I’m on it, thanks.”
I hang up and take a deep, weary breath before heading to the front of the station. Half of the time, the type of individuals in the business of information spook and disappear before I show up. I’m prepared to turn around and walk right back inside when I see a familiar face scowling at me.
Reception got it wrong.
Sante has paid me a visit, not Santa. Now, I’m even more on guard.
“What’s up?” I ask, giving him a curt nod.
We both lean against the exterior stone wall, our bodies facing the street as though we’re only casually aware of one another.
“I know you like to think the worst of me, but you need to know I didn’t send her.”
“So I hear.”
“Yeah, well. I wouldn’t bother correcting your assumption, but our working relationship has been mutually beneficial, and I don’t see any reason this should disrupt things.” His gaze slowly slides my direction. “You talk to her?”
“Last night.” I nod.
“Not sure if you know this, but she’s Tommy’s wife’s best friend.”
“And?” Impatience and a touch of irritation sharpen my tone.
He shrugs a shoulder. “Figure it’s good to point out how monumentally stupid it would be to fuck around and hurt her.”
“That a threat?” I look over at him, wanting him to meet my steely stare and understand he can’t scare me. He’s pissing me off, more than anything.
“It’s a fact, that’s all.” He pushes off the wall and stretches his neck. “The whole point is, it was purely an accident your paths crossed. Think it’s best for everyone if we pretend it never happened.” He gives me a pointed look, then walks away.
I envision myself yanking him back around and planting my fist in his face. The same fist I have balled so tightly my bones ache.
Why the fuck am I so pissed about what he said?
It’s true. I was already telling myself the same thing, but coming from him, I hate it even more.
I stare poison-coated daggers at his back, not going inside until he disappears around a corner two blocks down.
I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that asshole dictate who I can and can’t see.
I spend an hour trying to work. It’s no use.
I still can’t concentrate, which is how I find myself on the phone with the catering company the city used to host our masquerade ball.
Once I confirm Sachi didn’t lie about working for them, I look her up on social media because she’s a mystery, and it’s my job to solve mysteries.
Also, because I’m a glutton for punishment.
I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to the food at the party. The photos she’s posted jog my memory, and I’m beyond impressed. The woman has some serious talent. And not just sculpting fruit—she works with all sorts of sculpting mediums, and they’re all equally as spectacular.
Double fuck.
It’s looking more and more like my assumptions about Sachi were a catastrophic jump to conclusions. And on top of that, I was an absolute dick about it. Hell, I fucked her against the wall, then walked out like she was some sort of cheap toy.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve taken the tennis ball that sits on my desk and thrown it as hard as I can at a metal filing cabinet. The ball dents the gray metal, then ricochets into a half-full can of soda on my desk, sending the can and its contents spilling to the floor.
Motherfucking goddammit.
Today is really starting to piss me off.
And things only go downhill from there. After problems arise in our Reaper stakeout, and a fucking pigeon shits on me on my way back from lunch, I decide this day literally can’t get any worse.
Another erroneous assumption.
Midafternoon, Amelie pays me a visit. Ordinarily, I’d appreciate a chance to see her. She’s warm and funny and an all-around good person. She’s the reason I first crossed paths with Sante, her husband—though, he wasn’t her husband at the time. He was her stalker.
It was complicated.
Now, Amelie and I are casual friends. I don’t think Sante would allow much more. Seeing her would be a happy surprise if I didn’t already know the reason for her visit.
“You and your husband in one day, I must be extra lucky.” Is that sarcasm in my voice? 100 percent. Does it earn me a raised brow warning? Absolutely.
Amelie may be sweet, but she doesn’t put up with crap. That’s why I like her and respect her opinion, and why I really don’t want to hear about what an asshole I’ve been.
“Have a seat,” I say defeatedly.
“Thanks, I won’t keep you long.”
My lips thin. “Sorry about last night. Didn’t mean to cause a scene.”
“It happens. I’ve been the center of a little drama here and there.” She smirks playfully, lightening the mood and easing the tension in my shoulders.
“If you’re here to tell me all the ways I’ve fucked up, then you can save your breath. I’m aware.”
“That’s good to hear, but not exactly why I came.”
I motion for her to continue.
“I’ve gotten to know Sachi really well in the past few months, and she’s one of the most genuine, decent people I’ve ever met.” Amelie smiles softly at me. “She’s a lot like you in that way.”
And … there it is. Cue the guilt.
“I wouldn’t stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong if I hadn’t seen for myself how upset she was last night after you left my apartment.
She feels really awful about what happened, and after thinking about how upset you were, as well, I think there’s a solid chance you were into her just as much as she was into you.
I hate for a misunderstanding to come between you before anything ever has a chance to begin. ”
“I appreciate you wanting to help, but it may be a little late for that.” My grimace deepens with every word.
“That’s your call to make. I certainly can’t tell you whether the risk is worth it, but I’ll be cheering for you guys.” Amelie stands, righting her purse strap on her shoulder and smiling. “That’s really all I wanted to say, so I’ll let you get back to work.”
I stand. “Amelie?”
She pauses, smiling over her shoulder at me. “Yeah?”
“Thanks, not that I deserve it.”
“Hey, the situation was complicated. Anyone else would have reacted the same as you did. The question now is, what are you going to do about it?” She gives one last smile, then glides with her ballerina grace from my office, leaving me to ponder the million-dollar question.
What am I going to do about Sachi?