17. Scarlett
SEVENTEEN
SCARLETT
Irefused to stay at Jasper's, despite his insistence, when he demanded I get some rest after the complete shock of my actions.
The minute we pulled into my driveway, he was reminded of my punctured wheels.
He angrily protested my decision, but I was at my threshold of what I could handle, without a complete mental breakdown, and I was afraid I would confess that it was actually me who punctured them.
I quickly exited his vehicle without a backward glance, locked myself in my house, and allowed my body to slide down the nearest wall, until I was cradling myself on the floor.
I was finally able to take a deep breath when I heard his car pull away.
I'm not sure how long has passed since that happened.
My exhausted body has been bombarded with chaotic thoughts and trepidation.
I try to replay everything that transpired before I realized the gun was in my hands over again, but it's as if it occurred to someone else, and I was watching it happen from the outside.
The terror of the memory is still too fresh and close to the surface, and I'm terrified to close my eyes and have to relive it once again.
Why is this happening to me? Could it be what Jasper is suggesting, just a result of all the pressure and stress I'm under?
I've had difficult cases in the past, none as high profile as this one has become, but I don't ever remember blacking out like that.
The reminder that I woke earlier, with no recollection of how I got home, or where I'd been, brings a further element of dread.
I drag my hands down my weary face, and force myself up from the floor, determined to start a cup of tea, and see if that helps settle my frazzled nerves.
Just as I walk into the kitchen, my doorbell rings, and I let out a huff of frustration.
I knew he wouldn't stay gone for long, or even listen to my request for time alone.
I march back to the door and rip it open, a bratty remark ready on my lips for Jasper, when I'm brought up short 'cause it's not him.
Instead, a delivery man stands on my stoop with a large white floral arrangement.
"Scarlett Lyssa?" He questions, practically thrusting the flowers into my hands.
When I nod in confused confirmation, the idiot pulls out his phone, snaps a picture of my aghast mouth, the flowers pressed to my chest, mutters something about the delivery being fulfilled, and rushes to his delivery van, then speeds away. What the serious fuck?
I close and lock my door before bringing the heavy arrangement back to my counter and staring at it.
White lilies? Who the hell would send me these?
Don't they know that's traditionally a funeral flower?
Jasper? Somehow I can't see Jasper sending me flowers, and besides, he just left. When would he have had the time?
A white card, with my name scrolled along the surface, catches my attention, and I pull it out. I hesitate to open it. For some reason, a sense of foreboding fills me. "Get your shit together, Scarlett. It's just a card and flowers. It's not going to fucking bite you."
I open the card and notice my hands are trembling, and that makes me irrationally angry.
A moment of weakness will lead to two. I need to stop how I'm reacting to the world around me, before I'm down on the ground in the fetal position, and no longer able to cope.
Besides, fear never stopped anything bad from happening to me.
The card falls to the counter, and I quickly lean over to read it. The script is masculine and neat.
Agent Lyssa,
My sincerest apologies for my earlier conduct. I shouldn't have targeted you or your partner. I allowed my frustration to overrule my professionalism. We all just want to catch this guy and stop the killings.
I have some information that might be useful to your investigation. I know I don't deserve it, but please meet me for dinner. I promise to be on my best behavior.
Xavier Poine
My first reaction is to rip up the card and throw the flowers straight into the trash, but I hesitate, reading over his message once more, and noting the restaurant's location, and the time he's jotted down at the bottom.
What if he does have something that could lead me to Ashmaker or his accomplice, and the bastard is holding it back, hoping to get a scoop? Can I risk that?
There's zero chance he sent a similar note and flowers to Jasper.
The dangling carrot of information is just a ruse.
No, Xavier has gone for who he thinks the weaker of the two of us is.
He thinks he'll be able to use his good looks and charm to get me to slip up, and give him something juicy about Ashmaker because I'm a woman.
"I won't be played like a fool, not by you, Xavier, or anyone else," I whisper to the silent room.
I crumple the note in my fist and drop it back on the marble counter, trying not to let the insult take over all my emotions.
I need to stay in control, and can't risk another episode like the one that happened back at the office.
I quickly glance at my watch and realize that if I'm going to make it, I don't have much time to get ready before I have to leave.
A smile crosses my face as I consider turning Xavier Poine's plan against him.
Two can play at this game. He thinks he'll seduce me into ruining my career, but let's see how he likes the same methods used against him.
I'm not naive or oblivious. I know that the opposite sex finds me attractive, and in the past I've used that to my advantage.
It's a tool, one of the meager ones I was given that I didn't have to earn through sweat, tears, and blood.
I move into my closet and stare at my mostly business attire.
It's not like I have the time or inclination to go on many dates, so my wardrobe is a tad limited in the seduction department.
More like there seems to be just one man you're interested in bedding.
An image of Jasper's expression, before he slammed his lips to mine in his vehicle, tries to derail my thoughts, but I shut it down.
My fingers skim over a red knee-length dress I bought on impulse last year, with a tight-fitting silhouette, a decent scooped neckline that exposes my cleavage, and strategic cut-outs at the waist that reveal my pale flesh.
I'm not sure even now why I bought it. It just seemed too pretty to leave in the store, and the vibrant red color called to me.
I drape it on my bed and pull a pair of my black skyscraper heels out, going over the outfit in my mind, with a critical eye on whether it will be distracting enough, and give me an edge against Xavier Poine.
Yes, that should do nicely. Xavier Poine wants to play games with me, but he should have remembered: you play stupid games and win stupid prizes.
In his case, he'll be lucky if I allow him to escape with just his career in tatters.
Something tells me Jasper won't be so kind after the shit he pulled at the crime scene.
The thought of the two men throwing punches at each other has my core clenching tightly.
Fuck, that would be a sight. Maybe one day I might even get to witness it.
I rush to get ready, suddenly excited for our meeting, and already planning to order the most expensive shit on the menu to eat and drink, and then not touching any of it.
Fuck you, Xavier, you've chosen to play with the wrong woman.