A small gasp escapes her lips. She wants to push me away, but she doesn’t trust what she might do if she touches me.
“Interesting…”
“What is?” she asks defensively.
“I think this is the first time I’ve seen you truly scared.”
She looks skeptical for a moment. “I’d say I was pretty scared when you murdered an innocent man in cold blood.”
I chuckle. “‘Innocent man’? Kotyonok, what about him read as innocent to you?”
“Well…”
I can see her head spinning and I laugh. “You assume because he died, he’s a victim? He was a fucking arms dealer, Jessa. He’s killed more people than I have.”
She frowns. “Even if that’s true, it doesn’t make what you did right.”
“I never said it did. I assure you, I am not the good guy in this or any story. But neither was he.”
She shakes her head like that’ll change the facts of the situation. “If I give you back that phone, then I’m a sitting duck. You can kill me just like you killed him.”
I push my groin against hers. Her eyes go wide, but she doesn’t address the heat catapulting between our bodies. “Why would I kill you, beautiful girl? It’d be a waste.”
“I don’t trust you.”
I lean in so close that our noses are almost touching. “I’m going to ask one more fucking time—”
The thud of footsteps outside the apartment has my ears pricking up. Then comes the pounding of authoritative knocks on the door.
She jerks, her eyes shooting past me.
“What did you do?” I growl.
But I can see it in her eyes: she’s not quite sure what’s happening, either.
“Whoever is on the other side of this door, you better play along,” I threaten her.
The defiance in her eyes is unmistakable. “I don’t think you have much to bargain with right now.”
Another flurry of knocks, loud and fast and insistent. BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.
I give her a smile. “Your parents’ names are Connie and Brandon Gilmore,” I say quietly. “They live at 27 St. Michaels Street. Did I get that right?”
She freezes, but I don’t wait for her expression to catch up with the threat I’ve just made. I untuck my shirt and undo the top couple of buttons. Then I remove my shoes and place them next to the sofa.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demands, frowning at me.
“Grab me a beer from the fridge, will you, honey?” I call nonchalantly as I head towards the door.
I know what that kind of knocking means. And sure enough, I’m not surprised when I pull the door open and I’m faced with two policemen from the local precinct.
The older of the two is thin, with graying hair underneath his hat and a hard gleam in his eyes. The younger one is significantly larger in every direction, and he has that pasty, uncertain look of incompetence.
“Officers?” I say, feigning shock. “Is there a problem?”
The older one looks uncomfortable. “Evening, sir. I’m Officer Lewiston. This is Officer Branagh. We received a call about a domestic disturbance in this apartment.”
I glance back at Jessa. “Honey, do you have any idea what these officers are talking about?”