Chapter 23
ADRIAN
Iget zero seconds to prepare.
“What the fuck?!” I explode as the painful blast of hot liquid hits my face. My eyes instantly begin burning, my nose running, and I stumble back, my dick still hanging out of my jeans.
“You fucking weirdo!” she screams, dousing me with another round. I shove my mask off my face, desperately rubbing at my eyes. I have no idea what’s happening.
Did she not just fucking come? What is this?
“Pepper spray is not fucking murder play,” I exasperate, my authentic voice piercing through the chaos now playing out in my living room. “Why are you doing this?”
“What the fuck?!” Her voice is even more high-pitched than before, but all I can think about is the fact that I. Can’t. Fucking. See!
I stumble toward the kitchen, nearly tripping over my own two feet, as my phone starts ringing from somewhere in the room. I knew I was being reckless when I let the hookup come to my house, but goddamn, I just needed a way to decompress after this shitty day.
And that did not include a face full of pepper spray.
I hear the front door slam, and wince, the dread of her seeing my face now a real thing. Not to mention, she knows where I live.
I’m an idiot.
I rip my hoodie off my body and start the sink. Desperate for relief, I begin splashing my face with water, trying not to rub it to make it any worse. It’s been fucking years since I’ve been sprayed.
And I had no intention of ever experiencing it again.
What the fuck is wrong with her? The question reverberates in my head over and over, but I can’t put my finger on it. Something fucking set her off. Maybe it’s the fact that I took control.
But I gave it back to her. I touched her when she asked. I never do that.
My phone keeps ringing, over and over, but I just keep focusing on making the burning sensation stop.
I could literally bang my fucking head against the sink, and it would feel better than this fucking shit in my eyes and nose.
And my dick. I shove it back in my pants, the sensation nearly causing me to double over.
Fuck her for that.
And fuck my phone for the way it just keeps ringing.
Finally, after a few more painful moments, I can see well enough to take in the living room. It’s as if she were never here.
Something about that bothers me.
I cross the space to the coffee table, where my phone sits untouched. I sweep it up, seeing five missed calls from Parker. I ignore them, quickly navigating to the messages to New User. However, when it opens…
They’re fucking gone.
Her entire profile is now dark, a ghost of what it was.
Shit. I’m not sure if she blocked me or just deleted it. I do a quick check, unwanted tears running down my face from the spray. I log out of the app and create a new profile, using a fake email, so I can get in and search for her. Just in case I was blocked.
But she’s really gone.
What the fuck? What the fuck?!
I replay the sex back in my mind. It was almost vanilla, for fuck’s sake. There were no knives, no choking, and nothing that I can think of that would get me in trouble.
But what if it makes it back to the force?
Panic starts to flood my system, and my phone starts ringing in the palm of my hand.
Parker. Again.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I answer it, putting it up to my ear, and then start to pace my living room. “What?” I don’t even bother to be pleasant. “Can you not give me fucking five minutes to get to the phone?”
“We’ve got a body.”
“What?” I shake my head, trying to follow. “What are you talking about?”
“Marta Samuels reported Marissa, the intern who was sleeping with Blueson, missing a few hours ago. We just found her body.”
“Where?”
“Guess.”
“Don’t make me play a game,” I grunt, blinking back more tears. “I’m really not in the fucking mood.”
“Yeah, you sure as hell don’t sound like it.”
I don’t say anything, heading for the master bedroom to change into work clothes. It’s going to be bad enough showing up with pepper spray remnants.
“She was found at the art gallery,” Parker finally says, catching the hint that I was waiting for it. “In Liliana ’s studio.”
I purse my lips together as I put the phone on speaker and toss it to the bed while I go through the motions of pulling on a pair of slacks and a dress shirt. I have no idea what the hell I’ll tell Parker when he sees me.
I don’t think he’ll buy the allergies story.
“Anyway, the medical examiner thinks it happened within the last hour or so. It’s fresh. I don’t know where Marissa was before that.”
“So what? Wilson was holding her captive?” I can’t seem to wrap my brain around that possibility.
“We’re sending a team with a search warrant to her apartment, and I’ve already sent officers to pick her up and bring her in for questioning.”
“This is fucking wild,” I run a hand over my face, and instantly regret the burning sensation that follows. “I just can’t see…”
“Scrubbed footage, connection to her father’s defense attorney, and oh,” he pauses. “We got the recorded phone call between the two of them. Liliana sounded pretty unstable, talking about something she did.”
“You want me at the crime scene or the station?”
He lets out a sigh. “I’m here at the gallery. Meet me here. Once they’ve picked up Liliana Wilson, we can head for the station.”
“Yeah, okay.” As soon as I say the words, Parker hangs up the phone, and I’m left trying to put the pieces together in my head.
And they just don’t fit.
We’re still missing something.
Or maybe I just want to be missing something. After all, Liliana was all I could fucking think about while I fucked New User’s tight little asshole.
I’ll deal with her later. I have resources. I have contacts. And I’ll find the woman I fucked and ensure she stays silent. I grab my coat, phone, wallet, and badge, then head for my front door. But as my hand grips the doorknob, my eyes drop to the floor, catching sight of something out of place.
What the fuck is that?
I reach down and pluck it up, my stomach knotting up as soon as I see the canister.
And my initials.
The room spins as I roll it over in my hand. I know where this came from, which means that somehow, the woman, whom I just bent over my couch and ass-fucked, got this pepper spray from Liliana Wilson.
Well, or she is Liliana Wilson.
Liliana, the name echoes in my brain, and as it does, the little blip of sex that I couldn’t remember comes crashing right back into my brain.
Oh shit. I’m fucked.
I pick up my pace, rushing out of my house and toward my unmarked car parked a couple of blocks away. I did it on purpose, but now, with the way my eyes are burning—and the fact that I think she knows exactly who I am—I think the whole move was essentially worthless.
Fighting the urge to wipe my eyes again, I slide into the driver’s seat and pick up my phone, staring at the screen. I don’t even have Liliana Wilson’s number. I can’t call her. I can’t do anything.
But I do know one thing.
If Liliana was the woman bent over my couch, she couldn’t have killed Marissa at the gallery. I’m her fucking alibi.
And that is complicated.
I pull into the front of the gallery, seeing the place already taped off like a proper crime scene. Parker stands just outside the front door, his expression grim as he talks on the phone. I climb out and head in his direction, slipping under the tape.
Do I tell him what happened? I can’t even be sure it is Liliana.
Fuck, that makes things even more complicated.
Parker eyes me the moment I come into his peripheral, and the way his eyebrows raise makes it apparent the mace still hasn’t worn off. “Uh,” he says into his phone. “I’ll call you back in just a minute. If you get ahold of her, let me know.”
I clear my throat. “So, the body is in the studio? You weren’t shitting me.”
“Covered in paint and blood,” Parker says, his eyes taking in my face. “Looks like you got into an irritant.”
I purse my lips. “Something like that.”
He doesn’t even smirk, leading the way to the door. With a gloved hand, he opens it for me, and it’s like deja vu as I step inside. I halfway expect to see the burly body of the attorney lying under the art, but instead, the area is spotless, complete with a new floor.
“Studio,” Parker repeats, as if somehow I’ve forgotten. Granted, fuck knows what he’s assuming I’ve been up to in the last few hours since we parted ways for the day.
I follow him down the hallway, careful to note there are no signs of blood anywhere. In fact, everything looks pristine…
Until Parker swings open the studio door.
Well, fuck.
Marissa lies sprawled out in the middle of the floor, her throat gashed open. She’s fully clothed. Behind her, there’s a painting of a mask.
And I recognize it immediately.
My throat grows dry, and I step carefully, not wanting to mess up any part of the crime scene. I lean forward, taking in the white mask, surrounded in hues of purples, pinks, and reds.
“It’s beautiful,” one of the CSI techs says from behind me. “Even if the woman is a killer, her artwork is gorgeous.”
I nod, my brain filling with images of the real mask depicted in the painting. She carried a knife. My eyes jump to Marissa, her throat cut. But why would Liliana kill Marissa?
Again, I already know the answer—as long as the woman I fucked was Liliana, of course.
It has to be.
I turn to the ME, who’s scribbling onto her clipboard. “Hey, what time did you say the time of death was?”
She snaps her head up. “It’s hard to say for sure, but the body was warm when we got here about an hour ago. So, it’s very recent.”
I turn to Parker, who’s standing with his arms across his chest. “Has anyone pulled footage from the camera yet?”
Parker shakes his head. “Nothing on it. It’s been scrubbed.” He pauses, then, pulling out his phone. “Ah,” he looks back at me. “It looks like we’ve got Liliana in the interrogation room, ready for us.”
I swallow hard, my hands already starting to sweat.
Fuck.