The question stalls me and the way he words it makes me laugh. Shaking my head, I hold out a hand. “Just give me the damn file, Cruz.”
“No.”
His sharp tone surprises me. “Why not?”
“Is she in there?” he asks, his voice tentative as he jerks his chin toward the door. “Is she the girl Savannah saw with you?”
Shit.
This is not good.
I’m not ready to involve him. I need more time. Time to talk to Elena. Time to warm her up to the idea of talking to a cop.
I glare at him. “Fuck off, Cruz.”
He meets my eyes once more and holds the file straight up, taunting me. “Maybe I should show her photo to Savannah,” he says. “She’ll ID her for me.”
I hold his stare.
He holds mine.
“I’m not playing this fuckin’ game with you, Cruz,” I say. “I don’t need your help with this one.”
“Right,” he says. “So you don’t need this file then.”
I consider telling him to fuck off again, but I refrain. I don’t say a word, merely holding my relaxed stance and his gaze, unflinching.
Sighing exasperatedly, he leans back on the banister, tucking the file under his arm. “Why are you looking into this guy, Jase?”
Offering him a slight shrug, I say, “I already told you, I’m working a case.”
He stares at me silently for a moment, before letting out a long sigh. “Tell me right now that you don’t have a missing person stashed in your house.”
“I don’t have a missing person stashed in my house,” I tell him immediately. It’s not really a lie. She disappeared by her own choice, so she isn’t missing, exactly.
He’s quiet, his eyes narrowing doubtfully as he searches my face, as though he’s trying to find the truth in my expression, but I force myself to keep it blank. After a long moment, he shakes his head and he steps forward. “Then you won’t mind if I come in and meet your new girlfriend.”
I want to remind him that it’s four in the morning. Not really a good time for a meet and greet, but I know that won’t deter him. I can see the determination lurking in his eyes, the doubt and the concern.
I wonder if I should let him see her.
Maybe he won’t recognize her.
More likely, he will.
I consider it for a moment longer before letting out an aggravated sigh. I’m sure introducing Elena to a cop—detective or otherwise—wouldn’t go over well. Especially not while she’s already unnerved.
She doesn’t trust the police. She made that point impossibly clear as she recounted her story for me.
No. Letting him in without preparing her would not go over well.
I have no idea what to tell him, so I tell him nothing. “We’re not talking about this anymore.”
His eyes immediately harden. “Yes, we are.”
“No. We’re not.”
He glares at me.
I glare back at him.
“I’m trying to help you, Jase.”
“You can help by giving me that fuckin’ file and letting me go back to sleep.”
My words shock him. He stares at me as though he’s never seen me before, as though he doesn’t know me and hasn’t worked with me for years. I guess in a way he doesn’t really know me. I’ve shown him what I want him to see and nothing more.
I stare at him pointedly, giving him time to come to his decision.
After a few long moments, he finally does.
Shaking his head, his shoulders drop, and he holds out the file. He doesn’t accept my response, but he relents in his argument.
“We’re not done here,” he says as I reach out and snatch it up. “Not even close.”
I nod, saying nothing. I don’t doubt for a second that this isn’t over. He’ll be back, poking around as soon as he gets some sleep. I’m sure of it.
Cruz walks away. I listen to his footsteps as he crosses the driveway and gets into his car. Relief eases some of the tension in my muscles as I watch him pull out onto the road.
I go back into the house, locking up the door behind me, and I stand there for a moment in silence, listening.
I don’t hear a thing from upstairs.
Not a footstep or a creak or a shuffle.
Satisfied that Elena stayed put as I asked, I move into the living room, taking a seat on the couch, and I glare at the file.
I wonder if there will be anything useful in it.
I wonder how she’ll deal with it if there is.
I wonder how I’ll deal with it if whatever is in the file leads to her going home.
Releasing a sigh, I flip it open and find myself hoping that Andrew Reed is a dead lead.
Chapter Sixteen
Elena
“You’re wrong,” I repeat for the hundredth time.
Jason is standing in front of me, and he’s doing an extremely poor job of explaining to me why my brother is a useless piece of shit. His words, not mine.
I’m sitting on the bed, legs crossed and hands folded in my lap. It’s still early, not yet five o’clock in the morning. I’m trying to wrap my head around what he’s found out, but it’s not working.
My shoulders sag. We’ve been at this for half an hour. My head hurts, my eyes are dry. I need a coffee or a drink. Better yet, a coffee with rum or rye or any kind of hard alcohol will do. Really, I’m not overly picky.
“I’m not wrong, darlin’,” he says. He rubs a hand over his head roughly, and sighs. He’s getting annoyed, but he also appears concerned. His jaw is bunched up, and so are his fists, but his eyes … they hold the same softness as they did the first night we met.
I don’t reply and wait for him to say whatever it is he’s going to say next.
Steadily, I’m growing more anxious, and I’m hyperaware of everything around me. The chill from the air conditioner. The softness of the sheets against my bare thighs. The scent of his cologne, woodsy and a touch sweet.
He holds up a manila folder then tosses it on the bed beside me. I don’t move for it. Don’t even look at it.
I’m scared to see what’s inside.
I don’t want to know.
I don’t want to believe him.
I lick my lips; they feel as dry as sandpaper.
“Open it,” he coaxes, his tone calm, but his gaze full of anger. I don’t believe the anger is directed at me, but still, it makes me uneasy. “Take a look for yourself.”
I stare at Jason and attempt to seem uninterested. It’s a lie, though. I’m interested. More than interested, but I can’t look.
I just can’t.
His eyebrows raise in disbelief and he stares at me.
And stares.
And stares.
I can’t take it. I want to throw up.
“You’re wrong,” I repeat curtly. “My brother is not an informant. He is not working with Peck.” My words come out evenly, with conviction, but I don’t believe them. It wouldn’t surprise me if Andrew were working with the police, especially with a cop like Peck. He’s done a lot of shady things in the past, knows a lot of shady people, and he’s not overly loyal. If it’ll save his skin, he’d give up just about anyone.
I’ve got firsthand experience with that.
He traded a date with me, his little sister, to keep his ass out of jail.
Jason must see the panic building in me because he holds a hand up to me as though to say calm down.
I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s not an amused laugh. It’s wiry, strangled; it sounds like I’m choking.
I feel like I’m choking.
“Come on, Elena,” he says, exasperated. “I know you’ve had to have wondered about that night. Why would Peck take a risk like he did with you? I don’t care what kind of shit he’s into, I’m sure he’s not stupid enough to do something like this randomly. He knew you were a sure thing.”
I know what he’s getting at. I know, because I’m thinking the same thing, and it’s exactly that though
t that keeps me from looking in the darn file.
Because if Andrew is really working with Peck, then they knew each other. There’s a good chance that he wasn’t pulled over at random as they’d both made me believe.
It was planned.
Me going with Peck was the intended outcome of that traffic stop.
When I think about it, truly consider it, I remember the way he looked at me, as though he already knew me, and the familiar way he touched me when he helped me into the back of his cruiser while he questioned my brother.
As though he had touched me before.
As though he would touch me again.
Goose bumps spring up on my arms, but I’m not cold. I’m sweating; my skin grows clammy. I feel myself turn paler and paler until I’m certain that my complexion is ghostly white. I hear my own heartbeat, though, and it’s surprisingly calm.
I bristle for a moment. “Yes, I have thought about it, but I didn’t come here for you to investigate my brother.”
Jason glares at me so thoroughly and hard that it looks as though he’s about to burst a blood vessel in his eyes.
“No, you didn’t,” he agrees, after a drawn out moment. “But here’s the thing, it was your idiot of a brother that got you into this fuckin’ mess. The same brother who was supposedly arrested yesterday by the man you’re running from. Seems to me that starting at the source—”
I don’t let him finish. “My brother is not an idiot,” I snap. My words are hissed, snarled on my tongue.
Good God, why am I defending him?
Why?
What’s wrong with me?
Jason actually rolls his eyes at me. “We’ve got him working with Peck for a year before that DWI that ended with him walking away and you getting engaged,” he says impatiently.
I know what he thinks. That I’m just a senseless girl who can’t see what’s right in front of me. That I’m naïve. That I’m foolish. And maybe I am. But I can’t … I can’t hear this. My brother—the knowledge that he thought he was doing something good for me—was all that kept me going through the four horrid months I spent under Peck’s thumb.
I run my hands through my hair, scratching at my scalp. It’s a restless motion; something for my hands to do that does not involve looking in the darn file. I need to burn off some of the anxious energy that’s sizzling through me.
In the past hour since I woke up, I’ve gone through a wide array of emotions: contentment, panic, shock, anxiety. Now, though, all I’m feeling is anger. Anger that heats within my belly. Anger that twists my chest and closes my throat.
My heart starts thudding as I watch Jason pace casually, as though he’s not sticking a knife into my chest and twisting.
He knows what he’s doing.
I see the recognition in his eyes.
He looks like he’s struggling with something. Struggling to stay calm? Struggling not to strangle me? I don’t know. Right now, I can’t really think about that.
“Will you sit down,” I say sharply. “You’re freaking me out with all this pacing.”
He laughs and looks at me disbelievingly for a moment, before his expression goes entirely blank. “Elena,” he says, his voice slightly guarded. “Just look through the damn folder. Blind loyalty can only take you so far.”
My eyes tear up as my gaze falls to the file. “I don’t want to,” I whisper. I don’t want to see the proof. I don’t want to know. I prefer ignorance. It’s bliss. Truly it is.
But still, I feel it. I left everything to keep my brother safe and I feel his betrayal cutting through me like a jagged knife.
Jason steps toward me and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “You know what the worst part of betrayal is, darlin’?” he asks.
I shake my head. What kind of a question is that?
A damn good one, I suspect.
He reaches out, brushing his fingertips across my cheek. “It always comes from the people you love and trust.”
I blink, momentarily confused. “What?”
He looks away for a beat, and then his gaze comes back to mine. I can’t read his eyes and I don’t bother to try. They are dark, far darker than I’ve ever seen before. “Enemies can’t betray you because you never trusted them to start with.”
I don’t know what to say to that so I decide to say nothing. From the look on his face, it’s obvious he knows I’m trying to get my head together.
Jason leans in and kisses my forehead. He’s so noticeably angry that I’m shocked by the tender action and I lean back.
“What was that for?” I ask.
He shrugs.
That’s it.
He only gives me a shrug.
The room isn’t well lit. Only the small table lamp beside the bed is on, but I’m pretty sure he’s looking at me with something that resembles longing mixed with a touch of sadness.
I can tell he’s uncomfortable and that whatever it is he’s thinking I’m not going to like. I can feel it in the air, like pesky static clinging to my hair, and even though I’m certain I don’t want to know, I ask, “What’s going through that head of yours?”
He smiles at me, but it’s entirely fake, no dimples at all. “I want you to meet an acquaintance of mine.”
“What kind of acquaintance?” I ask cautiously, feeling every muscle in my body tighten. I don’t like the way he’s watching me. Cautious and gentle, as though he suspects that I’m going to jump from the bed and hide at any second.
“A detective I work with,” he says.
A detective.
I stop breathing.
Um … I do not think so.
My eyes narrow and my lips thin. “No way,” I say. “Forget it.”
“Elena—” he starts, giving me a look that is not amused.
Oh my God.
No. No, no, no.
I do not want to hear this.
I will not consider this.
“No,” I say. “I am not meeting a detective. It is not happening.”
Jason gets close to me, shuffling on the bed until he is completely in my space, placing his hands on either side of me, trapping me between his chest and the headboard.
I lean back, tilting my head up to meet his eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Do you think I’d put you in a position that would hurt you?” he asks.
My eyes narrow as I try to read his expression. I take in his hard gaze, the relentlessness blazing there, and quickly stammer out a response, “Um n … no.”
He isn’t finished. His gaze hardens further. “Do you think I’d do something to alert that prick to your whereabouts?”
I shake my head, unable to find my voice.
“Words, darlin’,” he says. “I want to hear the words.”
“No.” I swallow, shaking my head. “No, I don’t think you would.”
“Meet him, darlin’,” he says. “Feel him out, listen to what he has to say, and then you can tell him whatever you want.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he says, his voice softening, “to put the guy in jail we’re gonna need a cop on our side.”
He has a point there. I hate it. I don’t want to admit it, but he does.
I sigh, dropping my gaze from his. “Okay,” I mutter. “I’ll meet him.”
His lips curl up into a smile. “Thank you.”
I expect him to move back, but he doesn’t. Instead, he brings a hand up to my hair, taking a curl and twisting it around a finger. His eyes focus on his hand, watching my hair as it wraps around his finger. His expression changes, softens, warms.
It feels … nice. Warm and sweet.
But also … uncomfortable.
Intimate.
Close.
Too close.
I stare at him, swallowing hard. “Um, can you move back a little?”
“Yeah,” he says, but he doesn’t move, still toying with my hair.
“Okay,” I say, swallowing again. “Maybe you could do that now.”
He g
rins and chuckles. “Sure.”
I wait for a moment, but still he doesn’t move. “So shouldn’t you move then?”
He keeps grinning, his gaze turning soft and warm. “Kiss me.”
My belly flutters. It’s not just with butterflies, but excitement and anticipation and lust. Yes, hot, steamy lust.
I laugh, trying to keep my cool. “Um … I … What?”
“Kiss me,” he repeats, his voice deepening.
My belly flutters again, so does my pulse. “Jase—”
“Kiss me, Elena,” he says firmly, and then his tone softens and he says, “Please.”
I hesitate, licking my lips, staring at him. He’s looking at me as though he wants much more than just a kiss.
My body heats, my belly buzzes.
Jesus, I want more than just a kiss, too. I know I said it was too soon, that I wasn’t that kind of girl last night, but …
I do it.
I kiss him.
I have no idea why. I know I probably shouldn’t, but I do it anyway. Maybe it’s because his expression tells me he’s not moving until I give in, or perhaps it’s simply because I really, really like kissing him.
Either way, I do it.
I shimmy closer to him, wrapping my arms around his neck and hesitantly, cautiously, I lick my lips, and then press them against his.
His mouth opens as soon as my lips touch his, and I go for it, parting my lips as well, and I slide my tongue along the edge of his teeth.
Jason takes control of the kiss as soon as my tongue breaches his lips. He leans forward, maneuvering me until I’m flat on my back and his warm weight is pressing me into the mattress. One of his hands comes up to my hair, fisting the curls at the back of my head, while the other slides under my tee, bunching it up at my hips as he cups my bottom, pressing us closer together.
It feels so good, my body pressed in close to his, and I squirm a little, wrapping one leg around his thigh, trying to get closer, as one of my hands finds its way under his tee at his waist.
He pushes my tongue out of his mouth and slides his into mine. His hand slides up my side, groping and fondling my bare skin under my tee, and when his hand caresses the underside of my breast, I moan. It’s throaty and soft and it seems to spur him on. His fingertips brush my nipple as his lips work mine, and I moan again, this time louder.
Two Truths and a Lie Page 13
