But he didn’t come then, and I think I know why.
Because of Bowie.
He couldn’t risk going after a cop’s wife. Especiallythatcop. The one who arrested him. He would’ve been a suspect from day one. And with his record…
But my divorce was finalized two years ago.
So why now?
Why wait?
Ugh. My brain hurts. I can’t ask him. If I bring it up, he might rememberexactlywhy he hates me, and then Ghost might come crawling out of that beautiful skin of his and drag me straight back into hell.
I need to stop thinking.
This house is already spotless, but fuck it. Cleaning is better than spiraling and crying. Better than remembering.
Ghost
I walk into Bones’ office like always. No knock, no courtesy. He hates it. I love that he hates it.
He’s been living in his own personal hell for four years now, and I’m about to pull him out of the flames.
He mutters a curse, but doesn’t look up. He keeps staring at his screen like the answer might finally reveal itself if he stares long enough. Probably scanning the same files from the previous investigations for the hundredth time, chasing whispers of Elyna, desperate for a breadcrumb.
There’s nothing there. Not unless she fucks up. And that woman? She won’t. WITSEC is airtight unless you have God or a one in a million hacker on your side. And God is definitely not on our side. Not with what we do.
“You need someone who can break into sealed government files.”
My words have no effect on him. He still doesn’t look at me.
When he speaks, his voice is low. Gritted. “You say shit like I don’t already know it. There’s no one who can. I’ve looked. I’ve fucking looked. Paid more money than I care to admit. They all failed.”
I nod. “The Romanos recently hired someone.”
That gets him.
He goes still, his jaw tight. Then his head turns slowly, his eyes locking on mine, dark and feral like a wild animal barely restrained.
“What?” he hisses.
I toss a stack of photos on his desk.
“They won’t help you. Not willingly. They’re protective of their shiny little secret. But I got you an in.”
He flips through the photos, his fingers stiff, trembling with tension.
“That’s Theresa Virelli,” I say calmly. “Sweet little thing. Pretty. Quiet. Innocent.” A pause for effect. “And Luca Romano’s mistress. Has been for years.”
He narrows his eyes. “Get to the fucking point. A mistress means nothing in their world.”
Shit. He’s seconds away from snapping, which means I have about ten more before he either pulls a gun or lunges across the desk. And I’ve got a wife now. One who probably wouldn’t be too thrilled about stitching me back together. Or worse — she’d use the blood as a distraction and bolt.Fuck.The thought short-circuits my brain for a second. It’s jarring. Too real.
I lean in, voice dropping.
“She doesn’t know who he is. Doesn’t know he’s a Romano. And she doesn’t know he’s married.”
His mouth twitches. Rage or glee, I can’t tell.
