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“Trust me,” I tell her. “I’m coming right back.”
Naomi is ready to say more, to disagree with me, or maybe say she’s started to track my cell to keep tabs on my whereabouts, but only nods her head. “Fine, be safe. Come back soon.”
She’s a good cop and a decent woman, and it’s not fair for her to be saddled with me. An unlucky draw of the lottery in which she’d been assigned to stand at my side, and I haven’t been letting her do her job properly.
I palm the keys to the car, heading down the elevator to the parking garage.
She’s been trying, too, god love her. Trying to get to know me and to step into some very large shoes left behind by the detective who used to own her desk. It’s not fair for me to keep punishing Ellison for the past.
It’s enough that I’m doing it to myself.
The drive takes a little more than an hour with midday traffic. Businesspeople and friends heading out to grab a bite to eat before returning to their holes, and now they’re clogging the lanes in front of me. Areas that used to be farmland are now apartments, all decorated the same, trees downed in favor of parking lots.
Eventually, I turn off the highway onto the busy roads leading to the Galleria and park the car in one of the last available spaces in the lot, my walk to the front doors giving me a great view of the place. There are places like Panera, cafes, fancy clothing stores, and even a Jimmy Choo retailer.
The Galleria is not the Syndicate’s usual place. I wonder if she’s here on business or pleasure. Which one would be strong enough to get her away from Broderick for even a few hours?
What kind of person looks like her and yet works for the worst kind of person? Broderick Stevens is a monster with no heart. And her lack of history…it suggests a sweep, a deliberate erasing of information.
Have the other officers of the law and I been looking at the Syndicate the wrong way? Turning over rocks while they were building castles?
Thinking about it gives me a headache.
I stash my sunglasses in the pocket of my jacket once I’m inside, hands following as I take in everything. There are tea rooms and fancy purses that cost more than my apartment. Up a level is the Coach store, where Kimmy had wanted a cute little clutch and begged me to get it for her.
I’d been all love eyes and rolling tongue then.
Now, the thought of Kimmy fills me with shame.
Aria’s location shows up as a small blue dot on my phone’s map. I follow it until I’m standing directly outside a coffee shop andthere. There she is at a table all alone, her laptop open in front of her and her fingers flying over the keyboard.
My blood starts to boil as I watch her.
Whether she’s actually a part of the Syndicate or not, she is beautiful, which makes me angrier for some reason. All auburn hair trailing down the back of her chair, her hands delicate as they move with lightning speed. She reaches behind and scratches her back, and even the ordinary movement has grace.
Her neck cranes to the side, swan-like, her eyes closed, and her lashes dark against her pale cheeks.
I stare at her, waiting until she gets up and pushes away from the table to stretch her arms overhead. She’s going to be in for the surprise of her life—
Moving through the crowd, I grab the back of her neck from behind and squeeze to halt her movement. Her arms slowly lower.
Without looking at me, I hear her whisper, “Detective?”
My cock twitches.
“Shut up and come with me if you’d like to avoid making a scene,” I say in a low voice.
“Of course,” she answers smoothly. “Anything for you. Let me grab my stuff, and then I’m all yours.”
She might have agreed with me, I think as I steer her out the front doors and toward the car. But she doesn’t wait long before she yanks away from me in the parking lot and whirls. Glaring, snarling, growing a few inches taller like it will somehow intimidate me. She’s wearing those heels again, and they add a good four inches to her height.
She’s a spitfire, for sure, but she’s still bite-size.
“You want to tell me what this is all about?” she snaps out.
I stare her down. “You were at the scene of a crime, and I’ve got a couple of questions for you. Figured you’d be more likely to talk to me rather than anyone down at the precinct, especially since you seemed disinclined to come with me yesterday. A pair of handcuffs can sometimes zip lips, I’ve found out.”
“Personal experience, I bet.” She laughs. She fucking laughs in my face. The cold air has already brought color to her cheeks. “You couldn’t have just called to tell me?” she asks.
