Chapter Nineteen
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DOMINIC
Plan for rain and you’ll get a storm. Isn’t that something people say? If not, it should be. Because a storm is exactly what’s standing at my front door flashing a badge in my face like an all access pass.
Detective Rubio is intimidating enough. Tall, lean, well-dressed in a dark blue suit and matching attitude. Hell, I’d have an attitude, too if I had a haircut like that. It’s like Elvis Presley fucked Bruno Mars and had a bastard kid who got screwed over at Great Clips.
You’re welcome for that image. Pleasant dreams.
I know Angel is behind me, so I step forward, blocking his path and his view. “What makes you think she’d be here?”
Rubio leans a shoulder against the doorframe, so I move with him. He knows I’m full of shit. The smug smile on his face confirms it. “Because I saw her standing at the window five minutes ago.”
Now he has my interest. He’s not much older than me. I’d put him about thirty-five, maybe thirty-eight with a double shot of California collagen. Well, except for those frown lines he’s got going on. The ones I hate to tell him aren’t hidden by that patchy ass beard.
I cock an eyebrow. “Then why bother asking?”
“To see if you’d lie. Thanks for confirming what I already suspected, McCallum.” He slaps my shoulder like we’re best buds. If he didn’t have a badge and a gun, I’d punch him in the face and clear that up.
I knock his hand off my shoulder. “And what’s that?”
He smiles. “That I can wipe my ass with ninety percent of what comes out of your mouth.”
“And the other ten percent?”
“Post-jerk-off clean-up.”
Great. The detective’s got jokes.
I hear soft footsteps behind me, and I barely have time to react before Angel pushes that peach of an ass in front of me. “Detective Rubio, what can I do for you?”
Rubio looks her up and down. “Alexandra Romanov, I presume?”
“You presume correctly.”
He’s still staring at her, and I swear, if he doesn’t put his eyes back in his head, I’m going to shove them back in there for him.
With a goddamn fork.
“Forgive me for staring, but in my line of work, missing persons cases are either never solved or end with a dead body. It’s not often I come face to face with a happy ending.”
I snort. “I have ten percent that begs to differ.”
Angel whips around and smacks me across the chest. “Dominic!”
“It’s fine, Miss Romanov,” he says with a curt nod. “May I come in?”
Angel and I answer simultaneously .
“No.”
“Yes.”
Rubio doesn’t flinch. “It’s for your protection. The hills have eyes and ears.” He nods over his shoulder where paparazzi cameras flash, and news anchors grip microphones like samurai warriors. “I promise not to take up too much of your time.”
“Fine.” Reluctantly, I step aside, opening the door just enough to let him in. I’m happy to make him stand in the middle of the living room with his dick in his hand, but Angel glares at me and gestures to the couch. Instead, he opts for the chair directly across from her.
I slump down on the far end of the couch, raising an eyebrow as Angel stands in front of me, rubbing her palms down her jeans. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Yeah, whiskey would be great,” I grumble.
If I’m about to go to jail, I’m going lit as fuck.
She cuts her eyes at me. “I was talking to him .”
Rubio watches our exchange, his index finger tapping his lips. “No, thank you. I can’t stay long. Would you mind if we spoke privately?”
“This is my house, Rubio. Get to talking or get the fu—”
Angel holds up a hand, stopping me. “I’d like Dominic to stay.”
I fight a smirk. Or is it a smile? Hell, I don’t know. Whatever it is, it needs to stop. Angel Smith is just a paycheck. Nothing more. This is the end of the line for us. I got what I needed and so did she. After this, she’s on her own. I have my own shit to deal with.
Rubio’s not happy, but he nods and continues because there’s not a lot he can do about it. “To be honest, Miss Romanov, I came here because the department is rather speechless over what’s unfolded over the last couple of weeks. ”
Angel nods, sinking down beside me. “Join the club.”
“How is it that you’ve been right under our noses for fifteen years?” he asks.
It’s a leading question. A classic confidence rattler. I should know; I fucking invented them. I’ve clearly underestimated him.
“I mean, this is the age of media,” he continues, leaning forward. “During every milestone, news sources around the world ran countless stories about the murders”—giving a dramatic pause, he gestures toward Angel—“and about you . How is it that none of that prompted you to come forward? How is it that only when a million-dollar reward came into play, did you suddenly want to step back into the spotlight?”
Shit.
Sweat starts to bead across my forehead, and I can’t even risk a look over at her. Rubio is watching us too carefully. His dark eyes are narrowed, ready to catch any sign of a convoluted conspiracy.
Angel lets out a soft breath and swallows hard. That’s not good. I clench my jaw, watching as Rubio stares relentlessly at her. Almost as if he can glare the truth out of her. Hell, maybe he can. She’s an actress by trade, but a cocktail waitress by force. Maybe she’s rusty. It’s a fifty-fifty shot she can pull this off.
“Detective Rubio,” she says slowly, and I brace myself for what’s coming. “I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen years old. The group home I ran from is the only family I’ve ever known. Life hasn’t been kind to me.”
He regards her silently for a moment. “Interestingly enough, Angel Smith tried her hand at acting. Jade Saxton was it? So close yet so far. Especially when Mr. McCallum ruined your chances at stardom. I’d say he owed you one, wouldn’t you?”
Someone’s done their homework. I hope Angel pulls something out of her ass right about now because I have an aversion to steel bars.
“I don’t like what you’re implying, detective,” she snaps. “Until Dominic walked into my bar to interview another woman, we’d never seen each other before. Our chance meeting was the work of fate, not opportunity.” Her gaze remains stoic as she adds, “And in case you weren’t aware, let me be clear about something.”
What the fuck?
The sheer force of her tone is so passionate, I can’t not look at her. And when I do, I find a steely, unwavering confidence. Rubio and I are both so caught up in her spell, I don’t think either of us take a breath until she speaks again.
“I have no idea what is going on, or why I have no memory of being the person Dominic suspected me to be, but there is no disputing scientific evidence. DNA testing has proven with one-hundred percent accuracy that I am Alexandra Romanov. Do I remember my childhood, or the horrific crime that happened to my family? No, Detective Rubio, I don’t. And for that, I am extremely thankful.”
He takes it all in with a smirk. “So, you want us to believe you’ve just conveniently forgotten your life as Alexandra Romanov?”
Angel calmly folds her hands together and leans forward. “Do you have parents, detective?”
“Yes, but I don’t see how—”
“Brothers? Sisters?”
I have no idea where she’s going with this, and apparently neither does Rubio. His confident smirk has long since faded and now a deep vertical line has settled in between his eyes.
“A brother and two sisters.”
“What if you watched your parents take their last breaths?” she asks, tilting her head. “Then what if you watched the same people who killed them put bullets in both your sisters’ heads and between your brother’s eyes.” Rubio’s breathing becomes labored, his fists clenching by his side. “What if your body was so stained with their blood, you couldn’t wash it off?” Her voice drops an octave, the rhythm of her words becoming almost staccato. “Would you want to remember that? Or would you get down on your knees, and thank God all that exists in your head is static and silence?”
Holy shit.
I don’t know whether to stand up and clap, kiss the shit out of her, or back the fuck away.
I take back every snide remark I’ve ever made about Angel being a hack, or an ingénue, or a wannabe. If I doubted her acting chops before, I don’t anymore. That was some Oscar-worthy shit. She sold the hell out of that and saved our asses.
And if I’m being honest, freaked me out.
We rehearsed none of that. None. Not a damn word. That last bit about her family’s murder? Where did that come from? I never told her that two of her sisters were shot in the head, or that her brother took a bullet between the eyes.
She definitely has some explaining to do.
“No,” he says, clearing his voice. “I wouldn’t want to remember it.”
Angel gives him a curt nod and rises to her feet. “If that’s all then, I’ve had a very long day, and I’m sure you have work to do.”
Translation: Get the fuck out.
Rubio and I stand at the same time, still twisting in whatever web she’s spun. All three of us migrate to the front door, and as Angel’s flat stare bores holes in him, he pats down his suit until he produces a black business card. “This is my personal number. Should your memory start to return, please give me a call.”
Angel takes the card and folds it in her hand. “Of course.”
I open the door, ready to help him along his way with a boot in his ass when he stops and looks over his shoulder. “By the way, my father was Miguel Rubio.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll be sure to send you both Christmas cards.”
“You’ll have to send his to Valhalla Cemetery. He went to his grave still searching for you, Miss Romanov.”
I don’t like where this is going.
She clears her throat. “Excuse me?”
“Detective Miguel Rubio,” he clarifies. “LAPD. My father was the lead detective on your family’s murder case. First on the scene and last to care about finding you.”
Angel stiffens, her calm demeanor cracking. “Detective—”
“Until now,” he interrupts, letting the words settle for a moment before tipping his chin. “Have a good day, Miss Romanov.” Neither of us speak, watching as the salivating swarm of press rush toward him. Halfway down the walkway, he stops and turns around, a brittle smile on his face. “Oh, and welcome home.”