Page 20 of Sinner’s Game

“You’re doing great. Entirely in one piece,” he says. “And for the record, according to the rule book, you’re allowed to break down when confronted with a dead body in your living room.”

“Section A, Part Three?”

“Exactly.” We share a small smile. And for a moment—one tiny, wonderful moment—I feel calm again. I smile again as a silent thank you.

He stands, then returns to me. “We’re going to figure this out. Do you believe me?”

I nod. How can I not believe this man?

He takes off the gloves, pulls out his phone, then dials. “Hey, Tamra,” he says a moment later. “I’ve got a situation to deal with tonight. Can you do me a favor? I have a flight scheduled for seven. Commercial. … What? No. Devlin offered, but this is personal. I just need you to call and change it for me. … Yeah, tomorrow, before lunch. … Great. Appreciate it.”

He smiles at me as he taps out a text.

“Ronan, no. I’ll be fine. Don’t change your plans. I don’t want you to—”

“Done,” he says. “And I just told my people in Chicago that I won’t be there until tomorrow. I’m not leaving you to deal with this on your own.”

I start to protest, but he cuts me off, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Tomorrow is soon enough.”

I nod, more relieved than I want to admit. Honestly, I don’t even want him gone tomorrow, but that’s just silly. “Okay, then. Thank you,” I add, then jump as the doorbell chimes. Ronan’s hand tightens on my shoulder, the pressure calming me.

“It’s probably Devlin,” he says, then glances at the clock. “You’re not expecting anyone, are you?”

“No—Oh! Yes. Lamar. I told him we’d be here if he wanted to stop by.” I wince a little at that. “I told him we’d have a drink and celebrate my non-drippy sink. Sorry.”

“Not your fault. Sorry about the sink.” He grins, clearly trying to lighten this whole thing up for me. I smile back, grateful.

The bell rings again, and I glance at the video feed on my security app. “Lamar,” I confirm. “And he has the key code,” I add. “If I don’t answer, he’ll let himself in, figuring we’re so deep in sink repairs we didn’t hear him ring.”

“Shit.” Ronan drags his finger through his hair. “Go answer the door.”

I nod.

“And Brandy, we arrived right before him. Saw the body, checked the house. I was just about to call 9-1-1 when he rang. Got it?”

“I shouldn’t just get rid of him?”

He shakes his head. “We can’t keep this from the cops. And I’d rather Lamar be the first on scene than someone we don’t know.”

“Right.” I hurry that way, then fling open the door and throw myself into Lamar’s arms before he even has a chance to speak.

“You’re here,” I say. “Thank goodness you’re here.”

Chapter Eight

Thank goodness you’re here.

Brandy’s words rang in Ronan’s head as he returned to the body, slid the gloves back on, then efficiently pulled out the man’s phone again.

“Fuck,” he muttered as his second attempt to unlock it failed as soundly as the first.

The curse wasn’t directed at the phone, however. Instead, it was directed at Lamar, whose soft and reassuring tone Ronan could hear, though not the actual words.

But what did Ronan care that Lamar was the one comforting her? Lamar was one of Brandy’s closest friends and a detective—of course she’d be relieved he was on site.

He sucked in air, not mollified, as he positioned the phone over the dead man’s face, then grinned in triumph as the facial recognition software unlocked the device.

“Lamar. Good to see you.”