Page 18 of Sinner’s Game

My head snaps up as I say the words, realizing how ridiculous they sound. “I’m a little freaked out,” I admit.

“I’d say you have reason to be.” He, of course, is perfectly composed, and his calmness works on me like a balm.

I draw a breath, then watch as he continues to examine the body, looking but not touching.

I lick my lips again, then ask the question to which I already know the answer. “That’s a bullet hole in his head, isn’t it?”

Of course it is, but until Ronan says so, I don’t think any of this will feel real.

“It is. I’d say a nine millimeter. Close range. Possibly a .357.”

“Oh. You just know that?”

“Yes,” he says. “I just know that.”

“Right. Of course you do.” It doesn’t matter. The guy’s dead. But I’m rambling, craving the normalcy of conversation even though it feels like nothing will ever be normal again. Like it’s me, and these things just happen. One bad thing after another and another for my whole stupid life.

A hot tear leaks onto my cheek. I reach up and brusquely swipe it away.

“This was a hit, right? Not like a regular break-in. And now whoever did this is gone?”

“That’s what it looks like. One bullet. Nothing taken.” He’s speaking firmly and directly, which I appreciate. But there’s also a gentleness to his tone, which I appreciate even more.

“But why was he even here? He’s not supposed to be here when I am, and I didn’t get any notice at all—oh!”

“What?”

“Maybe someone got wires crossed and he thought I had been given notice that he was coming. Maybe that was why he was yelling at me. Because he thought I’d be out of town? He probably knows I usually go to San Diego to visit my parents during his weeks.”

“It’s a possibility,” Ronan says.

“We need to call the police. Lamar will be—”

“Not just yet.”

My eyes go wide. “Why on earth not?”

He just looks at me. That steady, unshakeable gaze locked on my face. Then he straightens, pulls out his phone, and sends a quick text.

“Devlin?” I guess.

He nods.

I swallow, hugging myself as the reality of the situation bonks me on the head. “Do you really think this has something to do with Saint’s Angels? How would that even be possible?”

“I make it a rule to never assume anything.” His expression is deadly serious when he adds, “You got sucked into our world once before. Do you really want that again?”

“No.” The word is a whisper, and I take an involuntary step back, as if at any moment someone’s going to grab me and pull me back into that place. As if this entire surreal afternoon is just a precursor to more pain and terror and—

“Hey.” Suddenly, he’s rounded the couch and is standing right in front of me, his hands gently gripping my arms. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.” He releases one arm long enough to tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear. “Don’t you know that I’d—Devlin, too—we’d give anything to be able to turn back time? To have kept you safe from all that.”

“I know.” A tear leaks from my eye, and I suck in a breath as the pad of his thumb swipes it away. “I do. It’s just—”

“I get it. And it kills me to see you hurting and scared.”

His words flow through me like warm cocoa. “You make it better,” I confess.

For a moment, he says nothing, then he takes a step closer, his hands tightening on my shoulders. We’re only inches apart. I can practically feel the air sizzle between us, and all I want is for him to hold me close and let me cling to him.