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I do.
Honor. An unspoken code shared by men who live among the shadows. They move in and out of the dark, effortlessly, avoiding the bright light like it’s the enemy—and in many ways, it is.
“Do you want to call your father?” he asks, his eyes softer. “He’d be happy to hear from you.”
I’d love to call him, but it’s not a good idea. He’ll want to know when I’m coming back to London, and I’m not ready to have that conversation. “He’s probably gotten wind of it by now, and he’s going to want to discuss the particulars with someone other than his daughter. You should call him.”
Rafael nods, watching me through a mournful lens, as though he shares my inner turmoil.
“I thought I’d be so happy they were caught, and I am, although more relieved than anything. But it also feels almost surreal.” I glance at my laptop. “I’m not even sure what I should do now.”
“It felt surreal for me too—so much so that I began to question whether it was real. Everyone needs some time to process it—especially you. It’s not like winning a prize. They caused terror and misery for nearly two years, and women are missing. Their capture and death does nothing to change that fact.”
“Do you think they’ll find any of the women?” Please say yes.
He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “I think it’s a long shot, at best.”
My shoulders slump as another wave of emotion threatens to pull me under. There’s no happy ending, Lexie. Face it.
Rafael tips my chin up until I meet his eyes. “Why don’t you finish what you’re doing.” He points to the screen on the wall. “The more we understand the similarities, the better chance that we’ll be able to figure out who they all are—even the early victims. We might never find a single woman, but we’ll know their names, and we can let the families know what happened. That’s important too.”
Rafael knows firsthand what it’s like to be a victim’s child, who wakes up every day wondering. My father, too. Although Dad knows what happened. He just doesn’t know who’s responsible. Rafael, on the other hand, knows who’s responsible, but he doesn’t know what happened to his mother. I think that might be worse.
I run my fingers over the stubble, gracing his jaw. “I agree. It’s vitally important.”
He takes my hand and slides it to his full lips, placing a tender kiss on my fingers. While he holds my gaze, his mood shifts, and he seems distracted by his thoughts—or perhaps by his demons.
“Hey,” I whisper. “Where did you go?”
33
RAFAEL
When I shared Russo’s news, she leaped at me without thinking. She trusted that I’d catch her. She trusted me. It filled me with a sense of purpose—and a swarm of other feelings I’m not prepared to name.
I knew as I held her against me that I’d never let her go—that I had to make it work. Somehow.
“Have dinner with me, tomorrow. I’d like to take you to one of my favorite spots.”
She cocks her head. “Like a date?”
“Not like one, Angel. An actual date. It doesn’t seem right that you’ve let me have so much dessert without buying you dinner.”
We both snicker because it’s such an outdated concept. But she deserves more, and with the danger lessened, I have no excuse not to give her more.
“You’re right,” she teases. “You should have to work for treats, like the dog you are.”
I snort and take her silky hair between my fingers. “No matter how fucking entitled I act, you should always make me work for it. Don’t put up with my bullshit.”
“You mean like when you threaten to scoop out someone’s eyes for looking at me?”
“That’s not bullshit. You’re mine, and nobody gets to look—or touch—if they want to keep their body parts.”
She draws back to punch me in the arm, but I catch her wrist before she can land it and go in for a kiss. At the last minute, the little vixen turns her head and denies me.
“Dogs who piss all over everything to mark their territory don’t get treats.”
“I’m going to rue the day I told you to make me work for it, aren’t I?” I murmur, before pinning her bottom lip between my teeth.
