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If there is, in fact, anything to know. Judging from her life resume, she sounds like a waste of oxygen. It seems the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Sensing my obvious irritation, Tony types faster, slapping his fingers against the keys. “She keeps to herself. Not a lot of information on the web about her.” A few more clicks. He clucks his tongue. That better mean he landed something worth hearing, or the consequences won’t bode well for his life expectancy. “She works part-time at a local diner.”
“That’s it?” The headache is a full-blown issue now.
“Pretty much.”
I don’t have time for this shit. “Do you at least have the diner’s name?”
“Mel’s.”
“Which Mel’s? There are several in the tristate area, for fuck’s sake.”
The urge to send him straight to the unemployment line grips me, but there are more pressing issues at hand. Like the fact that I care about these mundane details.
Fucking Roman.
How did I get myself into this mess? The dick pisses me off more in death than in life. And that’s saying something. Yet, here I am, lurking in a filthy alley in hopes of catching a glimpse of the mystery girl.
Fuck this.
Roman’s dead.
I owe him jack shit.
No reason for me to keep the promise I made to him. Not when I’m learning he kept half his life hidden from me.
I pivot to leave when I spot her through the window. Thick blonde locks cascade past her shoulders. She pushes them aside, reaching up to open the panes. Her petite body shrugs past the frame, slipping onto the fire escape. It creaks beneath her slight weight, more suited for a landfill than the stunning creature it holds.
And sheisstunning.
Andgorgeous, striking, magnificent—all unfortunate things I shouldn’t be thinking. It occurs to me that I’ve stepped closer without realizing it, unhappy with my distance. Too far to make out the exquisite details of Sasha Lennox.
The dumpster conceals my presence. It’s a new low—stalking a stranger amidst rotten McDonald’s, expired milk cartons, and soiled diapers. Apparently not low enough for me to stop.
I advance, edging close enough to enjoy an unimpeded view but far enough that she can’t see me.
The perfect voyeur.
What’s she doing out here anyway?
And you care…why?
Her legs dangle off the escape as she sits, lowering her head to her hands.
Is she crying? Did she hear about her brother?
Nope. That’s impossible. Roman’s body is barely cold. The cops haven’t even found it, and they won’t. Not until I decide it’s time.
My curiosity should concern me, but I’m too preoccupied with the view. The evening sun strikes down on her blonde locks, illuminating the little I see of her face. A halo of light reflects off the building, hovering above her head. She looks ethereal from this angle.
Temptation in the sweetest form.
When she removes her hands, her face comes into view, confirming my assessment.
A goddamn siren.
I don’t know what I expected, but she isn’t it.
