Page 127 of When Lies Unfold

“All I’m gonna say is, I do what I can to keep people safe from ’im.” I plant a quick kiss to her lips, and it takes a colossal effort to tear myself away from her and rise from the bed.

I’d like nothin’ more than to spend the day with her here, but duty fuckin’ calls.

I stride toward my bathroom but pause in the doorway to make a last-minute decision. “I’ll be home later, after dinner, if you wanna wait for me.”

“And why would I want to do that?” Her sassy response has a smile pullin’ at my lips.

With my hand on the bathroom door handle, I toss her a glance and wink. “Why don’t you wait and find out?”

53

LOLA

I’m getting in too deep.

As if this morning wasn’t an indication of that, the man leaning against his truck outside the house I’ve just finished cleaning sure is.

I hope my smile appears genuine and not forced. “Nando. How are you?”

I can’t see his eyes behind those mirrored sunglasses, but his trademark smile appears a smidge dimmer than usual. “Doing well.” He straightens from the truck with Policia etched on the side in bold, blue font.

Casting a quick glance at the dark-tinted SUV that’s waiting for me, I prompt him, “What brings you here today?”

“You.”

“Me,” I repeat slowly.

Feet planted firmly, he crosses his arms, that shiny badge as pristine as his uniform. Even from behind those sunglasses, I know the instant he zeroes in on my shoulder, exposed by my tank top.

A cavernous crease forms between his brows. “What happened there?” With a lift of his chin, he gestures to it. It’s not pretty, but it’s scabbed over, and I want to let it “breathe” as much as possible to ensure faster healing.

“Nothing to worry about.” I offer this in an even but firm tone.

Brackets form on either side of his mouth, displaying his displeasure. “I’m not sure what you’ve gotten yourself into, but I can help you.”

“Nando.” My response is hasty. “It’s not like that.”

When he doesn’t say anything for a long moment, I toss another glance at the SUV. I can’t help but wonder if Diego’s reporting back to Santy as we speak.

“If it’s not like that”—Nando’s voice turns hard, unyielding—“then that means you’re with Hernández willingly.”

He slides his sunglasses to the top of his head and peers at me. A chill skates over my skin because he’s never looked at me like this before. Like I’m someone evil. Like I’m a criminal.

And I hate it.

“It’s not like that,” I repeat.

“No? Then what’s it like? Because I’m not sure what I’m supposed to think when you suddenly shack up with a piece-of-shit narco.”

“I’m not shacking up with him!” I explode. “And Santy’s not a piece of shit!”

Ohfuck. The instant the words escape from my mouth, I wish I could take them back. Because Nando’s expression morphs into abject disgust as he gapes in disbelief. “You’re defending him?”

My shoulders slump beneath the weight of this conversation. “Look, my life is my business, okay? Let’s just leave it at that.”

His eyes scour my features as if he’s desperate to find some useful clue.

My tone is muted. “I need to go.” But my feet refuse to move. My aversion to leaving things like this—especially with Nando—keeps me rooted to the spot.

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