Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Amelia batted her eyelashes. “I can’t confirm, but it’s just a thought I had.”
I glance down at the clock, noting that the prosecutor overseeing this case is in court until five. “I’ll reach out to the prosecutor before I head home. Maybe we can get the records tomorrow.”
“We should see if any of their known associates from childhood have medical or forensic knowledge,” Nate adds. “The scenes are unusually clean for just some asshole who gets off on torturing and murdering people.” He’s shaking his head. “Not even a fucking fingerprint or hair,” he grumbles.
“Okay, that’s good,” I say as I jot down more notes. “This has been incredibly helpful,” I assure both Amelia and Nate. “Thank you and if you have any other ideas or suggestions, feel free to pass them along. It’s going to take all of us to catch this fucker.” Of that I’m confident.
Briefly my thoughts drift to Damien, wondering why after two days of radio silence, he would send breakfast to the precinct. It is a sweet gesture, but it doesn’t make sense when he’s avoiding his own damn penthouse just to avoid seeing me.
Court is running late when I finish up for the day, so I head to the penthouse and make a note to speak with the prosecutor first thing in the morning.
It’s time I start making some plans to look out for myself.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Frankie
I step inside the penthouse, and I’m hit with the smell of roasted garlic. I inhale deeply and let it out slowly. Damien is finally back at home, though I don’t know what that means and it doesn’t change what I have to do, so I quietly make my way to the guest room and shower off the day. As much as I’m not ready to see Damien, I also really want to see him.
I’ve missed him.
Also, I’m starving.
Inside the kitchen, Damien is casual in black jeans and a plain gray t-shirt that hugs his back and biceps in mouthwatering fashion. He looks just as good, if not better, than I remember. God, I’ve missed him. But his absence over the past few days is very telling.
I made a huge mistake by blurting out my love for him and while the words are true, I regret saying them the way I did.
Damien turns and stops with a smile so bright that it warms me to the bones. “Frankie. I’ve missed you.” The words fall from his lips so easily that I want to believe him. I do believe him.
I flash a bland smile and glance around the kitchen. “What smells so good?”
“I’m making us dinner.” He looks so proud and so happy that no one would believe he’s been avoiding me for three days. A burgundy tablecloth is on the table with a single candle already burning bright and the low music are signs that this is a romantic dinner.
Romantic.
He’s romancing me—again—after avoiding me for three days. That reminder is just the cold water I need to stand a little taller and fold my arms. “Damien. I’m going home tomorrow. I’m pretty sure that all the cameras are gone, and at least I’ll be in my space.”
He freezes with a handful of mushrooms hovering over the sizzling skillet, his gaze slowly tracking across the room until it meets mine. “Why?”
My gaze narrows. “Let’s not do this, Damien. You’ll have your home back and I’ll have mine. It’s best for the both of us.”
“What about the killer? What about whoever was in your house?”
I shrug. “Staying here was a precaution, one I no longer think is necessary.”
He drops the mushrooms into the skillet while shaking his head. “Stay here as long as you need. I insist.”
He insists I stay, not that he wants me to stay. That’s okay. It’s fine, really. I flash what I hope is a polite smile. “We’ll see.”
Damien stops what he’s doing, removing the skillet full of mushrooms from the heat and turning to me. “Francesca.”
“Yes?”
He studies me for a long minute, and I swear it’s like the man can see down to my soul. “I reacted poorly in Napa, and I am so damn sorry.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. I didn’t mean to say it, anyway.”
His dark brows shoot up. “You didn’t mean it? It was a heat of the moment admission?” He doesn’t look so happy with that realization, and it gives me a small measure of satisfaction.
“I meant it and it was a heat of the moment admission. I realize it’s too soon and I’m sorry that it made you feel uncomfortable. Can we stop talking about this now?”
His smile spreads slowly and he rounds the counter until he’s standing right in front of me. “No, I don’t think we should stop talking about this.” He takes my hands and pulls me to my feet. “You love me.”