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For a second, I'm torn, my hand on the lock to throw them open, and my feet cemented to the floor. Letting him in sends a clear message, doesn’t it? It shows that I’m willing and all too able to talk to cops. I hate having Devan even know about my personal sanctuary. He’s in my territory.
It gets my back up immediately.
But if I don’t open the door, then it looks suspicious, and any reason Devan has to bring me back to the station is one he’ll use without hesitation. Even a small inconvenience, such as me not wanting to let a cop into my house at midnight.
“Aria, I know you’re in there, and I know you’re listening,” Devan starts. “Open up, please.”
His rough voice sounds even more gravelly through the door. The kind of voice that sayslet me in, or I'll huff and I'll puff, and I’ll blow your house down.
Is it wrong I want to answer with yes, please, give me more?
“There’s no one home but us chickens,” I reply.
“I won’t take up much of your time, I swear. I only want to talk to you. The two of us.”
I blink, sniffling, scrubbing at my eyes again. “Why do I not believe you?”
“I left my badge at home.”
The statement sends a shiver along my spine. His badge is at home, eh? Then why is he really here?
Going on instincts that may or may not be right, I throw the deadbolt and the chain lock to the side and open the door a crack. Enough to stare at him and gauge his current state of mind. There are bags underneath his eyes, a layer of stubble gracing his strong chin and above his lips.
“This is a bad idea,” I warn. “You should not be here.”
Man, he’s even taller in person. He towers over me, his caramel trench coat dappled with a few dark spots that speak to evening rain.
“You and I have unfinished business. I needed to come and talk to you and apologize.” He offers the last word grudgingly and swallows hard, forcing my attention to his bobbing throat.
“Well, good evening to you, too,” I grumble, closing the door behind him. Forgoing the lock this time, too, in case I need to toss Devan out on his ass.
As if I have the strength for it. I’m barely five feet five, and he’s …a giant. Compared to me, at least. And he’s in good shape. I’ve felt the lay of muscles even before I watch him move across the apartment, taking in the finishing touches and decor.
“You? And florals.” He shakes his head. “Not what I expected. I thought something modern and classic, with a lot of sharp corners and clean lines.”
I cock a hip to the side, hands going down to the dip of my waist. “You’re interrupting me at midnight to razz on my decor? I thought you said there was going to be an apology for me somewhere in there.”
Devan turns to look at me. “I really wanted to talk to you about Broderick Stevens.”
The air goes right out of me, and my heart clenches to the point where, for a moment, I’m lightheaded. “Broderick Stevens? Why would you want to talk about him? I told you I’m not connected.” Didn’t I?
For some reason, I’m having trouble remembering now.
“Because I’m going to take him down, and I think you’re the key to do it.”
Laughter bubbles out of me and erupts before I can stop it, my head tilting back and my eyes closing. “Oh, wow, sexy and a sense of humor. Not to mention you know your way around a pair of handcuffs. If you weren’t such a complete jackass, I’d call you the total package.”
Devan stands in the middle of my living room, his expression hardening. “I’m not making a joke,” he informs me gruffly.
I might as well get comfortable because I’ll surely grow old and die waiting for him to get on with the apology. Not inviting him to sit or offering him anything to drink because he’s clearly in my house for a personal reason, and it’s not to bring me cookies, I plop down on the couch. My arms are flung out behind me along the back. “Well? Get to the point, then. Otherwise, you’re wasting my time, and I’ve had a long, hard day.”
More than long and more than hard, but Devan doesn’t need to know any of those things. The mask has to slip back into place the way it always does, so the only thing he sees is the cocky and sometimes brash woman who has a firm grip on her reality.
Not the mess underneath.
Not the woman so broken she had to reinvent herself, and now she sobs into bags of fake fruit-flavored gummies.
“You know more than you’re saying in regards to the case, and there might not be an actual trail to follow, but I’m positive.” Devan scratches the side of his head, standing in the middle of my living room, looking at an utter loss.
