Page 15 of Vicious Hearts
Iwasn'tprepared. Not for this. Not forher.
Roxy isn't even looking at me. She's rummaging through her haversack, shuffling papers.
Her hair isn't as light a blonde as it was when I saw her last. Her skin has paled, and she has purplish circles under her eyes. As I look at her, she seems to hold herself strangely, as though she's in pain.
She's fuckinggorgeous.
Every time I see her, I'm dazzled all over again. And I haven't seen her since that night. The night I've played in my head a thousand times.
After a moment or two, she looks up. Her face is blank for a moment, but then her light blue eyes flash with recognition, and her lips curl into a sneer.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," she says. "Of course."
"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask. "I got back yesterday, and you're on my doorstep?"
"Believe it or not, this isn't a social call," she says, pushing past me.
Fuck this.The last thing I need is to be dragged into some drama with Roxy at the center. It can only lead to trouble.
End this quickly and get her out of here.
"What do you want?" I ask, closing the door.
I move back into the kitchen area and pick up my wine glass. Roxy has already helped herself to my armchair and is pulling out files, flicking through them.
"I'm working as a trainee counselor now at Always Home, you know. The kid's charity? I'm also volunteering in the justice system, advocating for prisoners."
"Fucking fascinating." I sip my wine, resisting the urge to chug it. "You barged in here to give me your updated resumé?"
Roxy shoots me a look but ignores me. "One of my clients is Simon Farraday. You know, the—"
"—The Dollmaker. I know."
"Right. Except Farraday isn't The Dollmaker, and I know it for sure." She continues to rifle through her documents. "I've been helping with his appeal, and the only person who still needs to give me their two cents is the profiler."
Roxy stops what she's doing and looks at me. I realize I'm tapping my toe, a tic I get when I'm stressed unless I consciously focus on overcoming it. Roxy glances from my face to my foot and back again.
"You're the fucking profiler," she says. She slaps her hand on the table, skimming a stack of photos onto the carpet. "I can't believe I didn't catch on sooner. Bratva fixer, the man with the connections, the insights. Always knew how to get people to do what you wanted. So now you're working for the law?"
"Not quite," I say. I sit on the couch, cradling the wine glass in my hand. "I picked up a freelance gig. I have every right to do that."
"Simon Farraday has rights, too," Roxy says, frowning. "He was found to be criminally insane and locked away in a hospital, probably forever. The case was bullshit from the start. How can a crazy man's confession be treated as the headline piece of evidence in a murder trial?"
"Why not? He knew things about the murders, because he was the murderer. Simple as that.”
"He didn't do it."
I narrow my eyes at her. How dare she imply that my profile is wrong? I gave Hillard my report, and The Dollmaker was in custody and singing like a bird just a few days later. What's that if not a perfect result?
"Yes, he fucking did, Roxy. I have nothing to contribute to your little crusade. Take your amateur theories to someone who cares."
I look into my glass, swilling the wine. I'm waiting for a snarky comment, hoping she'll say something rude so I can feel justified in tossing her out on her ass. Nothing.
When I look at her, she's shaking.
5
Roxy
