Page 22 of My Beautiful Sin

“More? Who’ve you seen already?” The words are seemingly casual, but I hear the edge to them.

“No one, really. It didn’t pan out. We started at the SeaSide Inn,” I explain. “It turns out the owner had a stroke. He’s in a nursing home. His daughter manages the property now, but she doesn’t really know anything. So that was a dead end.”

“I knew about Mr. Taggart, of course.”

For a moment, I’m confused. Then I remember. “That’s right, guests at the foundation usually stay at the Inn, don’t they?”

“There are a number of hotels around town that we suggest, but we have a particularly good relationship with the folks at SeaSide, yes. Mateo Taggart was a genuinely nice man. And Regina’s a very competent manager.”

“Was she at the gala?”

His brow furrows, then he shakes his head. “Not that I recall. She would have been invited, of course. But I think she was out of town. Why?”

“I don’t know. She just looks familiar.” I shrug. “No big deal. She probably reminds me of someone else.”

“Well, if you do know her, I’m sure you’ll remember.” He says this in an offhand way, as if it doesn’t really matter. Which, of course, it doesn’t. “And what are you doing this evening?”

“I’m having drinks with Brandy and Lamar. Then I thought I’d go to my boyfriend’s house and make him dinner.” I wait a beat, then add, “Unless you’d rather I go to your place.”

He flashes a cocky smile, then pulls me close, hooking his arms around my waist. “You’re asking for it.”

“With you? Anything, any time.”

“I like the sound of that,” he says. “But I have a meeting tonight.”

“No big deal.” I keep my voice perky even though I’m disappointed. “I’ll just make another date with one of the many men I keep on a leash.”

He makes a growling noise, and I laugh. “Call me when you get home?”

“You could be waiting for me,” he suggests. “Preferably in my bed. Ideally naked.”

“I could, but I’m staying at Brandy’s. I think it’s best that I continue to stay there, don’t you? Whoever’s watching us probably shouldn’t believe that despite the warning, I’m still so comfortable with you that I’ve moved in.”

He nods. It’s clear, however, that the mention of my secret correspondent disturbs him.

I can’t say I blame him. It disturbs me, too.

Chapter Nine

I’m not doing more interviews today, and I feel a little guilty about the tiny lie I told Devlin. But I console myself with the fact that I told the literal truth. I said I was thinking I might try to meet up with more of Peter’s contacts. And here I am, totally thinking about that. Thinking about anything, actually, other than the fact that my feet are currently in stirrups as a nurse with a kind face takes a vaginal swab.

It’s not until she stands up and smiles warmly at me that I realize my facial muscles are practically frozen into a horrible grimace.

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“That depends. Is it over?”

A smile flits over her face. “All done. You can get dressed now.”

I pull my feet free and sit up. “When will I know?”

“I can’t promise, but we’ve been getting results from the lab pretty quickly. You might hear back as early as tomorrow afternoon. But it could take up to seventy-two hours.”

I wince, hating the thought of waiting. But it’s not as if someone wrestled me to the ground and stabbed me with an infected needle. I did this to myself, and I can suck it up. “Right,” I say. “Okay.” I keep my fingers pressed to the cotton ball and tape on my arm from the blood the phlebotomist already drew. “So, if I don’t hear by then, I should call?”

“Of course. But in the meantime, try not to worry. Worry won’t change anything. And here,” she adds, handing me a plastic bag with pamphlets and condoms. Like a party favor.

I thank her and assure her I’ll do my best not to worry. But I am worried. Hell, I have reason to be. Over and over again, I’ve battled my demons by using myself as the weapon. It’s not as if my modus operandi is a secret. It’s not as if it was something I’d been doing unawares. Fucking a guy in a parking lot or alleyway wasn’t something I checked out for. On the contrary, it was sharper than life, blindingly brilliant, and utterly meaningless. It was a battle. A statement. An escape.