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This one was different—a challenge. This would be a thrilling hunt. The exhilaration of it kept me hooked and alert.
“Who is it?” Irene mouthed as she closed her book with a thud. She arrived yesterday and would be staying with me for two days before she’d go back to her dorm. When Irene was here, my house always felt brighter; my life felt easier, just as it was with Katelyn. “Is it him?”
I pressed a finger against my lips with a nod.
“Hello, Yara. Is it a good time to call?” he asked. It was a kick to hear his voice. So intimately close, yet so far away.
“You tell me,” I said, smiling.
He laughed. “About Victor Bane and—”
“And my absurd autopsy report. Yes?” I asked as I took another sip of my hot chocolate. “Why are you so interested in Victor Bane, Mr. Sinclair?” I asked and almost yelped when Irene jumped up from the couch, looking enthusiastic.
“Sinclair?” Irene mouthed, her eyes eager. I threw a pillow at her when she made an absurd face. She caught it midair and pretended to make out with it, looking like an idiot.
“I told you to call me Ryden,” he breathed out. “I want to find out the truth,” he said, but there was a tightness in his voice that made me narrow my eyes.
“You like the truth, huh? Here’s one for you. Victor Bane was an evil man. He deserved what he got.”
He didn’t answer.
“Ok. Tell me this. How are you so sure that what I already gave you is not the truth?” I asked, swatting at Irene, who was still kissing the pillow. She reminded me so much of Katelyn, and my heart hurt when I looked at her.
We both lost so much that day four years ago.
“I just… Can we meet tomorrow? The same time, if you can?” he asked, clearing his throat.
“If you’re free tonight,” I said, biting my lips as Irene made rude gestures with her hand. My body flushed with heat and need.
“I’m free tonight,” he said. “Where do you want to meet?”
I liked that he asked me and hadn’t just assumed that I’d go wherever he asked me to go. Most men did that. Most men just automatically believed you owed them everything, even the world. Fuck most men.
“My house.” It would be better in my territory. He already flustered me once when he dropped by the medical examiner’s office.
There was a moment of pause. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he growled, as if the words themselves offended him.
“Why not?” I countered.
“You know why,” he snapped back, his voice laced with anger. I couldn’t help but wonder why he was hesitant now when he hadn’t been in the café.
“I don’t know. I’m not going to lure you into my secret lair and… do things you don’t want me to do, Mr. Sinclair. I prefer my home because it’s easy for me to be comfortable here.”
Irene mouthed something, rolling her eyes.
“You’re someone who’d be comfortable anywhere.”
“Yes, but I still prefer my home. I also think it’s best suited for what we’re going to talk about.”
“Victor is…”
“This time we’ll talk about The Strangler.” My body tensed, waiting for him to respond. Silence stretched uncomfortably as Irene stilled next to me, eyes wide, face bloodless.
He cleared his throat. “No.”
I knew he would say no, but I had no intention of letting him slither his way out. I wanted The Strangler—I wanted to see him go still under my hands.
“Yes. You give me something I want, and I’ll give you something in return. That’s how business transactions work, Mr. Sinclair.”
