Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 102184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Devereaux doesn’t touch me as he leads me to my car in the lot. He follows me to his place, and once we’re inside, I sense something is wrong because he’s not saying a word.
“Bad night?” I ask.
He nods once, and turns away, walking into the kitchen with quick strides. I follow and watch as he pours himself a glass of scotch.
“Everything ok?” I ask.
He takes a long pull and sets the glass on the counter. “Who are you?”
His question catches me off guard. “What do you mean?” Does he know?
“Who are you?” he asks again. This time his tone is a bit stern. More sinister. A tone I’ve never heard from him. “Tell me.”
“I… I’m Chloe.” I won’t be the first to break. I stare into his eyes but they tell me nothing about what he’s thinking.
“You’re a cop,” he whispers, and lifts his glass to drain the contents.
Shit.
“Devereaux, I can explain.” But he’s no longer listening.
He slams the glass down and walks away.
I trail after him, following him out of the kitchen. “Devereaux, let me explain. I never planned for any of this to happen,” I tell him, hoping he can see everything from my point of view. “I never meant to fall for you.”
He spins around, stopping right in front of me. “Never meant to fall for me?” He laughs, but there’s no humor there.
I want to ask him how he found out, but I know that’s not the most important thing at hand right now. “I’m sorry. I…”
“Are you investigating me?” It doesn’t take a psychologist to know what this man is feeling, it’s obvious. It’s written in the dangerous planes and harsh curves of his scowling face. He’s furious.
I decide to be honest with him. “Yes, I was. More like I was investigating the club. Investigating all of it.”
He shovels a hand through his hair. “And? You think I killed those girls?”
I step closer. “No, never. I don’t think you’re a murderer. I think we’re getting really close to finding out who it is.”
He drops his hand, his whiskey-colored eyes darkening. “Was it your assignment to fuck me too?”
My mouth hangs open. How could he think so little of me? “No. How could you even think that?” I’ve made a mess of everything and there’s no way I can tell him about the baby now.
“Chloe, I don’t even know what to think.”
“Devereaux, please let me explain.” I move forward, but he takes a step back.
“There’s nothing to explain here. I never want to see you again. You’re fired obviously, and you need to leave.”
I stand my ground. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”
He turns away, heading toward the staircase.
“Dev?” I call out, following him.
He ignores me.
“Dev, you can’t tell anyone,” I whisper as he stops at the bottom of the stairs.
“Please, leave,” he says.
A tear escapes as I think about what to do. This isn’t the time to spring a “Hey, I’m also carrying your baby in my belly,” on him, so I’ll hold on to that information a bit longer.
But I can’t leave.
I need Devereaux to see how I feel about him, to know I’d do anything for him.
But how?
He turns, his eyes blazing into mine. “You know who the killer is, don’t you?”
I nod slightly. “I might.”
“You have to tell me who it is.”
I close the short distance between us. “I can’t tell you anything.”
“You owe me that much at least.”
I reach for his hand but he slides it in his pocket, evading my touch. “I can’t tell you. This is my job, Devereaux.”
He laughs one quick burst of laughter. “This is my life.”
My chest squeezes tight. “I’m sorry, Devereaux. You have to believe me. I never meant to hurt you.”
His face is impassive, but his eyes hold his pain. “Who’s killing them?” he asks, softly.
I shake my head. “Please don’t ask me that.” I can’t tell him. I don’t know what he’s capable of doing. I’m still not even a hundred percent sure if Brandon is the one killing these girls. I can’t have Devereaux racing off with the Thorne twins to do some vigilante shit that could end up getting him killed in the process.
“I am asking you.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Tell me what you know.”
I want to tell him just to keep talking to him. I’m sure he’s already forgotten everything we’ve meant to each other over the past few weeks, but I haven’t.
I love him.
It’s obvious he doesn’t love me, and that thought makes me want to cry, but I won’t.
Not now.
“If I tell you what we have, you can’t rush off and go Tarzan all over him. Promise me you won’t get involved.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t promise that.”
“Then I’m not telling you.”
He’s so close to me, but so distant. I desperately want him to wrap his arms around me and tell me when this is all over he’ll still be right here in front of me.