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Instead, they’d believe every one of them before confirming the truth. Not once had they given me the benefit of the doubt, so not once had I given them an inch when it came to presenting myself as the dutiful, conformist daughter as my two older sisters, Eva and Daphne, had managed to accomplish.
Why couldn’t Mom and Dad see that ninety-five percent of what they believed about me wasn’t true? All I wanted and needed was for them to take my side just one time.
What the hell was I doing? I couldn’t let them fuck with my head in here. I had to keep it together.
The cops were playing mind games with me. I shouldn’t do it to myself.
There was no getting around the fact that I’d fucked up when I left my damn fingerprints in Keith’s apartment. It gave just enough evidence for probable cause.
But the cop saying “everywhere,” that was a damn lie.
Wait. There was no way I could have left any fingerprints.
I traced back through every moment of that stupid night, from the moment Lizzy came to my apartment and demanded she join me in whatever I’d planned for the evening, including the time we spent dressing up as high-end call girls to entering Keith’s penthouse to us hiding from security and calling Damon to rescue us.
Not once had I taken my gloves off. Plus, after Keith discovered his destroyed collection and called security, the cops would have dusted every surface of his penthouse for prints. Wouldn’t they have come after me then?
I refused to go down for a crime I never committed.
Yes, I vandalized the bastard's designs before Fashion Week, but murdered him?
Hell no. I wasn’t guilty.
And on top of everything, no one would tell me how he died. Was he stabbed, shot, run over by a car?
That wasn’t the point; I had an alibi—a solid one.
But, if I revealed the truth of my whereabouts, it betrayed my oath to Suzette and the people I protected. I wouldn’t betray them. Those women and children had suffered more than enough.
I refused to bring problems to the doors of the shelter.
A chill worked through my body, and I rubbed my hands up and down my arms.
No matter what I did, I was screwed.
“I want my damn phone call,” I muttered to myself, knowing full and well there wasn’t any hope of getting one any time soon.
“You never know. They may give it to you now that I’m here.” A woman with a Russian accent said as she strode in and stopped before me. “I won’t bother with my call. I doubt Nikki would help me in any case. He wants me to cool off.”
Cocking my head to the side, I took her in.
Beautiful to describe her was an understatement. Tall, almost six foot, by my guess, with long reddish blonde hair worn in waves down her back and golden eyes, reminding me of a tiger.
There was something familiar about her. Was she a buyer for a fashion house or a model? A socialite?
She scrutinized me as intensely as I did her.
She wore a designer outfit that had recently graced one of the runways during Fashion Week. The expression on her face told me coming into this holding area was more an annoyance than worrisome.
That was when I saw the giant rock on her left ring finger. The diamond and its accompanying stones probably ranged in the ten-carat range. Whoever she was, her significant other had fabulous taste in jewelry and the bank account to get her out for whatever she’d done within the next few hours.
“What did you do that you’re my roomie for the night?”
“I informed a handsy asshole to keep his body parts to himself on the dance floor of a club.” She shrugged. “He didn’t like my delivery method of communication.”
I followed her glance down at her shoes, which had a few drops of red on them.
For a split second, I could only stare. Then the only thought that came to my mind was,Oh, I liked her.
