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Where before I'd thought her sweet, innocent and kind, it couldn't be further from the truth, could it? Yet, some of that sweetness still clings to her, to her expressions and the way her doe-like eyes regard me with deeply entranced sorrow.
But it's all an act.
She's sweet, but only to lure me into her clutches.
Cisco had known that all along. And as that thought crosses my mind, I pick up my phone again, dialing his number.
"DeVille," he answers promptly.
"Noelle. What did you mean before when you said I don't know her?"
There's a pause, a faint chuckle echoing on the line.
"So, you finally figured it out?"
"What did you mean by it?"
"Meet me," he says, clicking his teeth. "At the end of the week at my home. Four in the afternoon."
"Why not say it now?"
"Because I can't possibly summarize a lifetime, can I?" he drawls in a languid voice. "But if you're calling, I'm guessing you've had some kind of epiphany about her. Who did she kill?"
My eyes widen in shock at his direct question.
"Ah, I see I'm right," he continues when I don't reply. "Noelle is…complicated."
"She killed Ortega," I state, curious to see his reaction.
"I was wondering if she would. She got the address from me, you know. Broke into my house and all that," he whistles.
"What? When?" I frown at that piece of news.
"When you were in the hospital," Cisco chuckles. "She's quite the chameleon, isn't she?"
"End of the week at four. I'll see you then."
Cisco continues to laugh.
"Be careful. You're safe since you're her weakness. But anyone else… You might want to put a leash on her."
"Right. I'll take that under advisement," I add drily before ending the call.
My lip twitches in annoyance at Cisco's blasé attitude and his sick sense of humor. But of course, he'd derive amusement from his sister being a psychotic killer. Aren't they cut from the same cloth?
At the same time, his words echo in my mind—that Noelle had broken into his home to get Ortega's address. And then she'd gone and killed him herself.
Why, it's clear.
For me.
She'd killed him for me. Because he'd hurt me.
I bring my fist to my chest, banging lightly before rubbing at the spot over my heart.
Fuck, but I must be equally as sick to find that gesture sweet. Yet I can't deny that the thought that she'd go to such lengths for me makes me…hard.
Shit.
