Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
I set the box down on the polished wood dining table. “Looks like you’re half settled in. You staying a bit longer before moving on to the house?”
Delilah vanishes into the bathroom, disappearing with a switch of her hips and a flick of her hair.
Her voice floats back with the rustling bag.
“Just for a day or two, I guess,” she says. “Ulysses offered to get the house cleaned again for me, and he said he’ll help me move in.”
Fuck, fuck, also, fuck.
There’s no stopping the growl that boils up my throat, sharp and sudden and vibrating.
Delilah’s head pokes out from around the doorframe. She blinks at me.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” I mutter, zipping my damn mouth shut.
I do not need to be wondering why that Arrendell boy is pushing so hard to get close to Delilah.
Should be obvious, anyway.
She’s a gorgeous woman. She’s new. That makes her exciting.
Fortunately, I doubt she’s his type.
I’ve seen more than one Hollywood actress disappear inside that big damned mansion, gliding up the winding lane up the hill in their cars with blackout windows. The Arrendells rub elbows with money and fame. Women who wear dresses that cost more than Delilah will make in her life as a teacher, just to slum around for the weekend at some rich asshole’s palace.
A tough little New York brawler girl like Delilah?
Nah.
Not unless Ulysses is in it for the challenge—now there’s an ugly thought.
It just pisses me off more.
Imagining him working her over like a conquest, then tossing her aside like a piece of fucking trash when he 'wins.'
I shouldn’t be here.
I did my duty, brought her things up, and now I’m just hovering at her kitchen table while she saunters out of the bathroom, this time minus the shopping bag.
She stops with her hands on her hips.
“So. Anything new with the case? There’s a cold beer in it for you.” Her indigo-blue eyes drift over me. “I mean, you look like a beer guy. Stout, am I right?”
I raise a brow.
“You sure you’re not a cop yourself? Good call.” Still, there’s something hiding behind her sardonic tone and her wry look. Something troubled that makes me frown. “You’re invested in this, aren’t you?”
Damn right she is, the cop in me says. She’s probing you to see if you’ve figured her out yet.
I ignore that voice.
This job teaches you to be suspicious, sometimes for all the wrong reasons. You sink into that mentality too hard and soon every interaction, every relationship, becomes us vs. them, with us or against us.
That’s how you wind up hurting people without meaning to if you can’t control it.
That’s who I never want to be.
“Wouldn’t you be, in my situation?” Delilah shrugs stiffly.
“Yeah, but it’s more than that,” I say. “C’mon, New York. Forget the beer. How ’bout I trade you an answer for an answer? You tell me why, and I’ll tell you what I can.”
Why do I feel like I’m looking in a mirror?
Her walls rise instantly, this quiet discomfort like she’s in pain at the thought of being vulnerable.
Shit.
Maybe I hide it better behind a little sarcasm, deflecting the intimate questions. I know what it’s like to fear people getting close enough to actually know you.
So why the hell does that make me want to know her more?
She turns her face away, staring at the sunny window on the far side of the room with its plush blue-upholstered window seat, the same little nook where I’ve seen her curled up before. Doesn’t seem like she’s really seeing it, though.
After a minute she says, “Back in New York, people die every day. Nameless. Unloved.” Her face is expressionless, but her voice is raw emotion. Soft, heavy, lost, and sorrowful. “It’s such a beautiful city, but there’s so much death. So much indifference. I hate it, Lucas. I hate seeing lives thrown away every day, and people shrugging it off because that’s just how it is. If I could change one thing about the world, it’s that. Give everybody someone who loves them enough to come claim their body if the worst ever happens.”
Ah, hell.
No wonder it’s hurting her so much, seeing that girl dumped on the floor with no one coming to say they knew her.
“Did you lose someone like that?” I venture.
“No. Not really.” Her mouth creases in a bitter, self-mocking smile. “I’m sure I sound dramatic, right? But I can’t help thinking that before I found my mother... She was all alone. If I hadn’t gone looking for her, then one day my mom would have died like that. Alone. Anonymous. No one to claim her. And I’d have never known her.”
I don’t understand.
“What do you mean you found her?”
Those are the magic words.
Delilah doesn’t say anything.
If I thought her expression was closed off before, it’s a fortress now, sealed tight behind a cynical quirk of her lips.