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“Yes. The captain says we’ve got nothing to hold you. He doesn’t seem to think your proximity to a known drug lord is cause to keep you here and”—This is killing me—“your record is clean.”
“Poor Detective. I know you were so hoping for something. Sorry to disappoint you.” Her smile crows. “Sorry to make you drive all the way out to the Galleria to get me for nothing. At least you got something good out of it. What did I get?” She lifts her wrist. “Handcuffed.”
I took them off of her inside the room, and there isn’t a bruise or a scratch marring her perfect pale skin.
“I know you didsomething. You’ve got skills with a computer. How did you wipe your record clean?”
She blinks guileless, wide eyes at me. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
I could strangle her. “Yes, you do.”
She shrugs. “Sorry to disappoint you. I’ve worked hard to keep my nose above ground and shining, Tough Guy. My record reflects years of struggle.” The smile grows. “Only a few speeding tickets. A few parking tickets. Right?”
“I know you have a connection to the Black Market Syndicate.” I drop my voice low. “I’m going to find out what it is, and then you’ll be back in this room.”
“Unless you have something on me, then I suggest you keep your sweet talk confined to the car.” Her meaning is clear. “You shouldn't have brought me in, as I told you before, but you refused to listen to me. How did it taste to have your superior hand your ass to you and force you to eat it? Humbling?”
It’s infuriating, and I’m pissed off at having to let her go without getting anything. I’ve wasted my time. Everyone’s time.
Aria peels herself out of the chair. “I’d ask you to walk me outside, but I’m sure you have work to do, and I don’t have a car. I was given a ride here,” she replies.
“I can have one of the other officers drive you back to the Galleria,” I reply reluctantly.
“Oh, no need. I’ve got people.” She pats me on the cheek on her way past me. “Try not to get too worked up, will you? You’ll give yourself a heart attack.” Her hand slips down my shoulder, and I shrug her off. “Maybe not. You seem like you keep yourself in excellent physical shape. From what I’ve felt, anyway. So many delicious and hard parts of you.”
She’s driving me out of my goddamn mind.
And her damn little arrogant wave on her way to the elevator is the punctuation at the end of a pointless sentence.
EIGHT
aria
I don’t letout a breath until I’m several blocks away from the police station. Alone with the oddly comforting stench of hot garbage coming out of one of the sewer grates mixed with a clearer and pungent decay from the dead leaves, I bend at the waist. Hands on my knees. Fighting against the beating of my heart that has yet to slow since Devan showed up at the Galleria.
I played it well.
I made sure to have everything about my fake online persona in place and ready to go live if necessary. The real Aria is nothing but a mystery. Anyone searching for my face would come up with zilch, and I like it that way.
Except, letting the detective see me at the crime scene was a misstep, and I’d had to take steps to rectify things. Now, when people search for my face, they come up against a profile as strong as it is fake. A few changes, a press of a button, and Aria Darklyn is born. Complete with a birthday—not my real one—and a social security number.
The old me is dead and buried.
The new me is impenetrable.
Doesn’t stop me from losing my shit.
“Fuck!” I blurt out the word, lifting my face to the now overcast sky overhead. The clouds moved in somewhere on the drive to Empire Bay and took up residence in the entire expanse of blue.
That was close.
Too close for comfort and not an experience I plan to repeat. Well, the car handjob can definitely be repeated if the good old detective is willing to play with me again. But right now, I’m mad at him. Mad and worried he’ll dig his own grave by acting like a stupid dumbass. Making mistakes. Looking in places he has no business looking and calling it justice.
I shouldn’t worry about him. He’s a grown-ass adult capable of making his own decisions, as moronic as they are, and he’s a cop.
Rule number one to surviving in the underground—steer clear of the pigs.
I’ve violated that rule and my personal one, which is not to get involved sexually with other men. Or women. Or anyone except my handy vibrator. I’m sure Broderick would take offense to my playing around with the toy, too, considering how possessive he is of me.
