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One thing I know for sure is that, if nothing else, I’m not telling Craig. That sort of admission would be like opening Pandora’s box. He would never let me live it down, especially if he found out how long I laid there unconscious in a room where Luca could’ve done anything to me while I was out. He could have even searched through my bag and found my badge. No. He would have killed me on the spot, but I was here and very much alive.
Right on cue, a shiver runs through me at the mere suggestion of the man whose kiss is seared in my memory. I’ve never been so surprised. At first, I was repulsed. But not for long. Some things are stronger than principles, and his kiss qualified. I was no match for its power and dominance.
I’m a detective. I’ve made it my mission to put an end to that man and his family and all of the pain and senseless loss they’ve caused. I have no business getting flustered over him, no matter how skilled he is with his lips and tongue.
“Are you listening to me?” Craig snaps fingers close to my face, something he knows I detest. “I asked if anything else happened that night. Did you leave soon after, or did you stick around?”
“I left after another half hour or so.”
“Did you see Luca or anybody else?”
Shaking my head, I lift my cup to my lips and hope it helps hide any guilt that might show up on my face. “No,” I report after swallowing. “He never came back.”
What are you doing? Protecting him? I push the idea away just as far as it can go. I would never protect Luca or any of his kind. It’s called self-preservation. I can’t exactly go around accusing someone of murder when I have no proof whatsoever. I don’t know who was in the chair—if anyone was there in the first place.
As if I didn’t have enough reason to hate Luca before now, he’s made me question myself. He’s planted doubt, and that is not something I can afford.
“All’s well that ends well,” he offers, and I’m glad he feels that way.
I, on the other hand, wonder if this weekend’s increased activity had anything to do with the man who may or may not have been brutally beaten to death on Friday night.
A thin, cold drizzle hits my shoulders and the hood of my jacket once I step out of the corner store with a bag of groceries. The gray skies and dampness don’t do much for my already dark mood, but they encourage me to hustle my way down the street, my head ducked, shoulders hunched against the light but incessant onslaught of raindrops. A small, soaked cat hides beneath the sparse shelter of a trash can lid propped against the side of the can, and I wish I had something to give it to eat, but I doubt frozen pizza and ice cream is its preferred diet.
This is the sort of day junk food reigns supreme. Not that I’ve ever been accused of being the healthiest eater. Whatever is quickest is what I usually settle on. Besides, why go to all the trouble of fixing a big meal for only myself?
I don’t like using the hood of my jacket since it limits my peripheral vision. My nerves are on edge, and I’m too jumpy, suspicious of every man I pass. They’re only people like me trying to get home where it’s dry and warm, yet something in my head wants to identify them as a threat. More than once, I turn to glance over my shoulder when the hair on the back of my neck lifts in a warning.
I really fucked myself over, didn’t I? The man got in my head and put down roots. Spending the weekend looking into his background didn’t exactly help things, either. He’s been on my mind, front and center. Is it any wonder I’m jumpy as I duck into my building?
“That you, Emilia?” I briefly close my eyes and have to draw a steadying breath at the sound of my neighbor’s voice once I climb the three floors to my apartment. Ours are the only two currently inhabited out of the four on this floor. She’s nice enough but lonely and doesn’t have much to occupy her time. I know it makes her feel good having a detective living next door. And I would swear she sits by her door and waits for me to come home.
She opens the door as far as the chain lock will allow, and I give her a little wave. “Hi, Mrs. Henderson. Yes, it’s me, just getting home.”
“What about this weather, huh? It has been raining nonstop since yesterday afternoon.”
“Yeah, but I’m sure we need it.” Because isn’t that what people always say at times like this?
“Anyway,” she continues while the bag I’m carrying gets heavier every second. “I’m surprised you were out.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your TV was on this morning. I figured you were home sick or took the day off for once.”
“My TV?” I look toward my door, which is closed like I left it this morning.
“Yeah, and it was loud too. Playing some game show.”
“I’m sorry if I bothered you. Maybe there’s something wrong with it,” I mumble, my tone uncertain.
“Could be. Who knows nowadays, right? Back in my day, you had a big set with a tube and got up to change the channels. Sometimes, I wish we could go back to that,” she shares, but I honestly just want to go home and check things out.
“Well, I better put these things in the freezer.”
She lets me go without any fuss, closing her door while I unlock mine. There’s no sign of tampering, nothing broken, no scuff marks or scratches. Still, once I have the door open, I don’t step into the apartment right away. I wait, watching, listening, expecting someone to jump out at me.
Someone with Luca’s face.
Get over it. He’s not some omnipresent bogeyman. I doubt he remembers I exist. Just some idiot who walked into his office unannounced, one of many women whose throat he’s stuck his tongue down. Still, I hesitate before removing my holster and hanging it from the coat rack by the front door. I’ve never questioned whether I need to be armed in my own apartment… until now.
