Page 14 of Destroyed With You

Then again, he didn’t recognize her, either. Physically, sure—at least he recognized her easily enough in the video. But the woman she was now? A woman who could so easily point a gun, fire, and then just walk away to leave the body to rot on a rooftop? He didn’t know that woman at all.

“Will someone be joining you?” The smooth voice of the hostess filled Winston’s head, and he turned down the volume on his earpiece as Bartlett replied.

“Yes. She should be—oh. There she is now.”

Winston couldn’t help it; he had to turn. He shifted just enough to look over his shoulder, then immediately regretted the impulse.

His heart had twisted when he’d seen her in the video, but that had been more from what she was doing than what she looked like. Seeing her now, in the flesh, it felt as if he was being flayed alive.

She stood by the hostess stand, her honey-blonde hair falling loose around her shoulders. She wore a pale pink dress with a fitted bodice and a skirt that hinted at the shape of her thighs as she walked toward the table, her eyes on Bartlett and her smile wide.

The smile she’d once aimed at him.

God, how could he have been so stupid?

“You look amazing,” Bartlett said, standing. He didn’t, however, pull out her chair. Linda would notice that.

Winston grimaced, frustrated with himself. This wasn’t about a jilted ex watching his wife go out with a new man. This was about averting a hit and recovering the laptop. And Winston would do well to keep that in mind.

“It’s wonderful to see you again,” she said, putting down a leather tote as she sat. Her voice felt like a low, sensual purr in Winston’s ear. “I was afraid you’d turn me down.”

“Not a chance.” Bartlett cleared his throat. “Well, okay, actually, yeah. I almost didn’t call you back. I’m not a stupid man, and pissing off Billy Hawthorne would be the epitome of stupid.”

He could hear the trill of her sweet laughter even without the comm. He’d always loved the way she laughed, and he had to force himself to turn away, knowing that he’d already looked too long and risked too much. Instead, he focused on the bourbon in front of him, swirling the glass and watching as the single ice cube began to melt while their conversation filled his head.

“Billy and I are just friends,” she said. “But I think he noticed the way I was looking at you, because when I told him I was coming to Austin for a work thing, he mentioned that you’d be here, too. And, well, that was too happy a coincidence to pass up. I hope you don’t think I was too bold calling you like that?”

Winston rolled his eyes as Bartlett’s voice cracked with his reply. “Oh, no. I—I mean, it was great to hear from you.”

“I’m so glad.” Her voice was low and intimate, and Winston had to force himself to relax before he cracked the whiskey glass he was holding.

“You’re from here originally, aren’t you?” Bartlett asked. “Texas, I mean. I hear a little bit of an accent.”

“I lived in West Texas when I was younger.” Her voice was flat, almost clipped.

“Do you miss it?” Bartlett asked, and Winston decided the guy was an idiot. Or at least too head-over-heels to actually pay attention to the signals she was giving off.

“No,” she said curtly. “To be honest, I try not to think about it at all.”

At the bar, Winston closed his eyes. That, he supposed, was something they still had in common. He didn’t like to think about his years in Texas either.

“I wouldn’t have even come to Austin if it hadn’t been necessary,” she continued, and despite himself, Winston smiled. That was two things.

“Oh.” Bartlett cleared his throat, apparently realizing he’d hit a sore spot. “So, where do you live?”

“Chicago,” she said. “Not far from Billy, actually. We met at a charity fundraiser.”

“Right. He’s, um, very civic-minded.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the clatter of silverware and the hum of ambient conversation coming through the receiver in Winston’s ear. He was about to turn and sneak another quick glance when Linda cleared her throat.

“Would you be upset if I said I don’t want to talk about Billy Hawthorne?” Her voice was as smooth as honey. The same voice that had urged Winston into bed so many nights. That had soothed him when he’d come home frustrated because something had gone wrong, either in the Sheriff’s department or in his real job fighting the Consortium. That sweet lilt. That sensual tone. Never once had it failed to compel him. To melt him.

Tonight, all it did was anger him. Because it had all been a lie, just as much as her flirting with Bartlett was a lie. She was here to kill Bartlett, after all. And though Winston might still be walking, she’d killed him, too, a long time ago.

The sound of Bartlett’s chuckle rang in Winston’s ear. “Trust me. While I’m sitting across from you, talking about Billy Hawthorne is the last thing I want to do.”

For a moment, she was silent. Then, very softly, she said, “I’m glad to hear that.”