Page 135 of Dark Romeo

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Me: Roman, call me when you get this. It’s important.

JULIANNA

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Me: Why aren’t you answering my calls? Call me back. It’s urgent.

JULIANNA

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Me: Please, Roman. Where are you? Just tell me you’re okay.

JULIANNA

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Two days.

It was now two damn days since I’d left Roman that early morning at his secret apartment. I’d had no messages. No missed calls. Not a word from him.

I couldn’t sleep the last two nights. I kept tossing and turning, staring past my open curtains, willing that his familiar figure would darken my window.

He never came.

My stomach was so twisted in knots I couldn’t eat. I just kept thinking that something…something terrible had happened. I could feel it in my twisted gut.

Why wasn’t he answering his phone? Was he hurt? Was he…dead? Wouldn’t I feel it if he’d been ripped away from this earth?

“What’s up, girl?”

I shook myself out of my thoughts. “Huh?”

Lacey stared at me, her thick eyelashes blinking, the fluorescent lights of the morgue causing shadows in the creases of her frown. “Have you even heard a word I said?”

I gave her a sheepish look. “Sorry. Just things on my mind.”

“You don’t say.” She gave me a once-over. “Care to share?”

I shook my head. “It’s nothing. Just tell me what you’ve found out about Eddie.”

Lacey stared at me for a moment longer, lips pressed together. She seemed to be debating whether to push me.

“It’s just personal stuff. Family stuff,” I said quietly.

Lacey nodded, then turned to the body lying on the slab, a large Y-incision stitched up with thick thread making him look like Frankenstein’s monster. I could have hugged her for letting it go so easily.

“See all this bruising?” She pointed to his ribs and cheek. I could almost see Roman’s fists as he made those bruises. “Somebody worked him over pretty good. But the bruising was done hours before death.”

“So it’s possible that whoever beat him up, didn’t kill him,” I said, my heart skipping a little.

Lacey lifted a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Sure. It’s possible.”

My head was already whirring. I bolted out of the morgue calling thanks over my shoulder.

I glanced around me as I sat at my desk. Espo had up and ran off somewhere a few minutes ago after he’d gotten a phone call. No one was paying any attention to me. I opened the phone number tracing software on my computer. It was a risk I was taking. Every search created a history log. But I was desperate.

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