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"You paid for dinner," she says quietly.
"I also pay your salary. Don't be crass."
She rolls her eyes and turns to leave the cab. I don't want to make a scene—not out in the open—and so I toss the driver a couple more bills.
"Give me twenty minutes," I tell him. And then I make a swift exit.
At her door, she fumbles with her key so much that I'm half tempted to get out my copy.
I stand behind her, pressing my chest to her back. My mouth is just inches from her ear. I stroke away honey waves—partly because it pleases me to touch her, and partly to check for one of her pesky little cameras—and lean in to whisper. "Don't panic, sweetheart."
"I'm not panicking." She shoves the key into the lock. "Beer makes me anxious sometimes."
"You're a terrible liar."
The key turns, crunches, and the door slips open. A shrill alarm wails; she stumbles forward to tap the code into the keypad above her hall table, where her old phone still sits. The screen looks dead, blank, unresponsive. She scoops her newer phone from her handbag and puts one beside the other, along with her keys.
I make my way into the kitchen—without switching on lights—and find the camera I remember is mounted on one of her wall units. With a quick snap, I sever its wire, rendering it useless. That's that taken care of. Then I find the box of chocolates I sent her, laid neatly on the counter beside a clear bag containing a new SilentWitn3ss prototype. I can hear Leo unzipping her boots out in the hall. The scent of cherry liquor wafts up as I peel the lid off the box; it reminds me of cough medicine that I took as a child. The untouched chocolates stare back at me with burst eyes, cherry innards spattered across their dark, smooth tops. I dig my finger into the middle of one and shake into the cool ooze of it.
"Oh, I see." Leo pads into the room on bare feet. "You came for the chocolate."
Without heels, she's shorter than I'm used to, which only serves to make her seem more vulnerable. I like this. My cock likes it. I've been half-hard all evening and now I'm alone with her, the front of my jeans is looking pretty damn full.
I retrieve my scarlet-stained finger, hold it up to the tapering light from the hall. "Why aren't you afraid of me?"
She freezes. "I—I am."
"Why did you let me in?"
"I don't know."
I step forward toward the airborne echo of heat that is Leo. "Why did you fuck with me?"
She bites the gloss from her lip. "Because I could. I was curious."
"Bullshit."
"I wanted to know who I was dealing with." Her voice is barely audible. "I wanted to know if Rachel was telling me the truth."
"She told you that I liked to cut her while I fucked her," I say matter-of-factly.
Leo flinches. "Yes."
"Then she was telling the truth. There. Are you happy?"
She wraps her arms around herself and shrugs, her jaw trembling. Small girl in the grip of intrigue, as if she's on the edge of a road where two vehicles will crash and is resignedly waiting for impact. There she stays while I step toward her and wipe my cherry-stained finger across her soft mouth, leaving a trail of berry-red in my wake.
I grin down at my handiwork. "Beautiful."
"I said I wasn't going to fuck you," she retorts.
"Oh, like that means anything." I rub the cherry stain into her lips; she grits her teeth beneath them. "If I want to fuck you, I'll fuck you. That's been quite clear from the beginning and I don't see you doing much to prevent it besides spitting your bile."
She lowers her glassy black eyes, now shining with unshed tears; I follow their trajectory to the rise of her breasts, where her nipples have turned so hard under her sweater that they pebble against the fabric. The muscles of my thighs tighten, sending blood jerking through the veins of my cock.
I let my voice drop even lower. "You're the sexiest fucking thing, Leo. I swear to God. But if you'll excuse the pun...curious doesn't really cut it for me. I need a little more commitment to the cause."
"L-like what?"
"See what you think of tomorrow's gift. My last one. It will be on your desk in the morning." I drop my hand from her mouth and stand over her, sucking my finger clean. "You should try one of these, by the way. Fucking amazing."
"I'm sure they are."
I'm about to make an exit when I catch sight of the new prototype again. I swipe up the bag and fix my eyes on here. "Here's my real question. Why this? What's the surveillance issue?"
She folds her arms, frowning. "It's a great product. You like it."
"But I don't understand why you made it. Your entire company is made up of dudes, Leo—there aren't a lot of women who do this stuff." Especially not women who look like her. Not that I want to piss her off any further.
"Ha, I see. Surely there must be some deep-seated psychological reason for me going into a man's industry."
I snort. It's hard to take anything seriously when I've smudged crap over her mouth like a clown. "I don't know any other girls who mount cameras in their fucking kitchens. Why are you so paranoid?"
She throws her hands up. "Oh, I don't know, because there's a fucking psycho in my kitchen?"
"You baited me. You're the reason I'm here." I slap the prototype down on the counter and shove past her. "You don't want to be honest with yourself? Fine."
"Ah, you got me." Sarcasm tugs down her tone. "Maybe something horrible happened to me when I was a little girl."
I pause in the doorway. "Something fucking horrible is about to happen to you, that's for sure," I mutter.
"Maybe I wasn't a little girl."
"Uhuh. Right."
"Maybe I realised that the world's just this bleak, twisted corner of hell, and I need to protect myself."
"From men like me?"
She tips her chin indignantly. "All kinds of men. Even the nice guys are screwed up. Don't they say that the road to hell is paved with good intentions?"
"Huh." I chew on my lip before looking up at her. "Then I guess I'm going to heaven." Then I stride toward the front door, staring straight ahead as I call out to her. "Let me know if you want to come with."
SIX YEARS AGO
Police Station, downtown NY
Aged 26
Jesus, I smell bad. Thirty six hours of questioning at a police station will do that to a guy. I'd sell my shrivelled little soul for a shower.
I've been jostled to the phone by two bored, stale-looking officers who are enjoying feeling superior to me. One has a crooked nose and a beer gut; the other has a moustache like rolled up carpet, its grey tips stained yellow with nicotine. When they finally release my hands, it takes all the willpower I possess not to choke the pair of them.
"You've got a minute," says one in a strong Boston accent. "Sixty seconds and not a fart more. You understand me, sir?"
I try not to glare.
"One minute," he says, edging away.
Thank fuck for that.
My fingers shake as I dial the number. My new lawyer got me this extra call, though I barely have the energy to make it. Blaring artificial precinct lights sting my eyes. My mouth tastes like ass. I'm surviving on adrenaline and sub-par coffee.
Tuija picks up after a couple rings. She sounds exhausted. "Hello..?"
"It's me," I say quietly. "Still at the precinct."
"Aeron?" Tension pulls her voice tight. "Oh my God, are you okay?"
"Been better."
"Have they stopped questioning you? What's happening?"
"They aren't charging me. I should get out in an hour or so, my lawyer says."
She heaves a sigh of relief. "Goddamn. They saw sense, right?"
"Harvey came in with my alibi. One of his neighbours confirmed she saw me at his place, so...yeah."
"I knew it. We all know you're not a murderer, for crying out loud—I—I'm shaking. Oh God."
"Listen, firecracker. I need to know what's going on with the media. How bad is it?"
"We're containing it as best we can here. We ran your lawyer's statement. But Montgomery—"
