“You work with him or for him?” He seemed to consider it. “Either way, he has access to your office. He has access to the parking garage. He has access to the cameras. You have a relationship with him as a co-worker if nothing else.”
“What are you saying?” I asked him. “There is no relationship,” I reminded him.
“I’m saying, Ms. Balan, if it walks like a duck, looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, my hunch is that we need to talk to Onyx Santo and find out if he’s the duck.”
I closed my eyes in despair. When the officers finally left, it was two in the morning, and I had no idea how I was going to tell Onyx that Nashville PD were intent on treating him as a person of interest in my home break-in.
Or aduckof interest.
I snort-laughed. I was losing my mind because that really wasn’t funny.
Fuck, I needed to tell him before they did.
I knew with every bone in my body that Onyx Santo had not broken into my home. It was beneath him. Plus, I didn’t warrant that amount of attention from him. As he said, if he wanted to scare me, he would do it more permanently. Thank God I hadn’t told the officers that.
Turning my cell over in my hand, I wondered if I should call him now. He’d be sleeping. My memory took me back to the night I slept with him. He told me he was an insomniac. He had been so open and honest, and I had been so at ease with him, so much so that I had committed the cardinal sin of having sex with a guy I had just met.
I just hadn’t known then that everything he said was a lie, until the next morning when his friend had high-fived him for winning him three hundred bucks.
Familiar anger rose within me. Onyx Santo pissed me off, but if I was honest with myself, I was angrier with myself for letting my guard down and falling for his bullshit.
As I paced my kitchen floor, I kept looking at my phone.
Fuck it.
Grabbing it, I scrolled to his name and pressed his number. As the phone rang, I almost hung up twice, and then he answered.
“You better be dying to call me at this hour.”
“Hi.”
“Get to the point.”
“The police are going to come by the office tomorrow to ask you some questions.”
Silence.
“I, um, I had to call them—”
“You’re calling me at two-thirty to tell me the police are coming to talk to me about your tires?”
He was right to sound pissed, and I knew he was about to be a whole lot more than pissed. “Well,” clearing my throat, I plunged on, “it’s more than that.”
“Have I ever given you the impression that I’m patient?” he snapped at me. “Get to thepoint.”
I’d been about to tell him everything, but his tone, his complete assholeness was enough to make me swallow my words. “That was it, just that they may contact you about the tires.”
I heard the disconnect and knew he had hung up.
Asshole.
Standing in my kitchen in the early hours of the morning, I looked around, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel safe. Someone had been in my house. Someone had been in my house and had been through my things. The police had taken the lingerie, and thank Christ they had, because if it was still here, I may have just set fire to the bed.
I was so tired. Rational thought told me to lie on the couch and try to sleep, but all I could think about was that someone had been in my house. Someone had a key to my house.
Pulling on a cardigan, I opened the back door and crossed the yard quickly to the shed. Trying not to disturb my neighbors, I found the tools I needed and the two deadbolts I had bought when I first bought my own home. I hadn’t needed them, but now I was so glad I was one of those people who had “just in case” items in her storage shed.
Back in my house, I prayed I was quick as I drilled holes quickly in the door, and within fifteen minutes, I had a deadbolt attached to the front and back doors. Only then was I able to lie down on the makeshift bed on my couch with any chance of sleep.
The morning came too soon, but I was so happy to leave my house behind. It saddened me as much as it relieved me.
