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“And they didn't know there was a woman in the car and not a man?”
“I don't fucking know,” he snaps, not bothering to apologize as he normally would. “My point is, just because it wasn't us doesn't mean it wasn't somebody else who worked with us at the time.”
Now he’s got my attention. “Somebody who wanted to take the pressure off of us because he was stirring shit up, and their association with us could get them caught up in the investigation.”
“Exactly. I mean, how many associates do you work with? How many deals have you put together over the years? It could have been any of them.”
“And, of course, if he ended up blaming anybody, it would be me,” I muse. “Since he wasn't after them, per se.”
“In the end, it might scare him away. Thus it wouldn't blow back on them.”
“And if it didn't scare him away?”
“They knew he had a wife,” he murmurs. “What else did they know about him?”
I can't bring myself to entertain the thought. What if it had been Bianca? A man, cruel and cold-blooded enough to murder an innocent woman, probably wouldn't back away from the idea of killing a kid.
“Fuck me. I'm actually pissed I didn't think of this sooner.”
“Yeah, well, you're not a complete fucking animal like some of these people.” I can't disagree. Profitable animals, animals I would rather have on my side. Animals, though, nonetheless. And at the end of the day, an animal will do whatever it takes to survive.
“That would’ve been… let’s say we go back fifteen years, maybe sixteen.” There’s a headache brewing, and I rub my temples hoping to fight it off. “I’ll have to go back through names. Contracts.”
“What happens after we put the list together?”
Good question. “We need the list first. Then we'll have to do some deeper digging and make some phone calls. One way or another, we’ll find out who killed Charlie’s wife and hopefully be able to give him some peace.”
“Part of me worries that it’s too late for peace.”
I look up at him and grimace, “I really fucking hope not.” Otherwise, a future with Bianca will start to disappear like grains of sand through my fingers.
I've never believed in ESP or telepathy or any of that, but there are times when I think it might be possible. Just maybe.
Prime example: the soft knock at the door. It’s like she heard me, felt me thinking about her. Worrying about her.
“I'm sorry. I didn't want to interrupt.” Bianca steps into the room, offering a shy smile. I wasn’t aware of how dark the room was until she stepped into it, lighting up everything around her. My heart swells, and my breath quickens. Mine. She is mine.
“Sheryl made lunch—and she told me you never had breakfast.” She arches her eyebrow, paired with a smirk. Scolding me without speaking. “Can I bring you some food?”
“Better yet.” Pushing my chair away from the desk, I stand, forcing a smile. When, in actuality, I want to apologize for having unintentionally pulled her family and future into my world long before she ever made friends with Tatum.
I'm sorry the ripples of my actions spread so far, to the point where they brushed against her in the worst way.
No, I don’t know this for sure. Not yet. Although it feels right, somehow. It makes sense. Even if I’m not the one who pulled the trigger, I’m still inadvertently responsible for her mother’s death, which kills me.
“We could have lunch out on the patio,” I suggest. “It's supposed to be beautiful today. I mean, if Tatum wouldn't mind missing you for a little while.”
“Oh, she's sleeping.” She glances at Romero, and I can't place my finger on it, but it seems a silent message appears to be passing between them. I wouldn’t say I like it, but there isn’t really a reason to dislike it. Fuck. I’m being irrational.
“Right. I heard she wasn't feeling well.”
Romero stands, nodding to both of us. “I'll be in my office, if anyone needs anything.”
Yes, he has plenty of work to do now. Work involving the girl whose blue eyes light up when I reach for her, steering me back to this moment where we are alone. I hold her close and remind myself that she’s here and mine.
Until she finds out the truth. No, she wouldn’t reject me. I know her heart too well. I need to believe that, so I hold onto the hope as tightly as possible.
She wouldn’t reject me.
She told me she loved me.
I have to hold onto that.
“I truly am sorry to have interrupted your work.” Still, she's beaming up at me, arms around my waist. “Nonetheless, I do like the idea of having lunch outside. A little sunshine and fresh air would do you good. You can't spend your whole life behind your desk.”
