Page 62 of Remy

What the fuck is she doing?

I press the gun harder into her back, my pulse thunderous.

“I’ve had the worst day.” Her voice fills with emotion.

“Did he hurt you?” the crone asks. “Tell us what he did.”

I dig the gun harder. Press my hand tighter. “Careful,” I whisper into her hair.

She slides her palm over my knuckles and digs her nails into my skin. “He?—”

The flashlight reclaims my vision, cutting Ollie off with a flinch.

“Is that you, Mr. Costa?” the younger voice asks. “It took me a minute to recognize you.”

“And you are?” I blink through squinted eyes.

“Sorry, sir. I’m Officer Hawkins. We’ve met before.”

“You hear that, Ollie?” I murmur against her ear. “He’s on the payroll.”

“Let her finish,” Lesley demands. “Can’t you see she’s under duress? I’ve known her for three years, and not once have I seen her act like this. I’m telling you, that man is responsible.”

“That’s not the case.” I keep my tone level. “Olivia has already explained that we’re friends.”

Ollie remains quiet, her breaths increasing. She wants to sing. Does she have the balls?

“Miss?” the Boston accent asks. “Can you tell us what you were going to say?”

She shakes her head.

“He’s crowding her,” Lesley demands. “Tell him to step away.”

“She’s cold,” I snarl.

Fuck. If I’m forced to move, Ollie will run, and this shit show will turn into a slaughter scene.

“Fix this,” I murmur under my breath. “Now.”

She clings to her silence, letting me drown in a disaster of my own making.

“I swear to God, Ollie?—

“Lesley, please just stop,” she finally pleads. “This isn’t about Remy. It’s my dad. He had a fall last night and was taken to hospital.”

Something warm and expansive takes over my chest. Relief? Victory?

“Good girl,” I breathe.

She shudders, and my dick twitches as if her response was made in pleasure and not disgust.

“It’s been a heartbreaking twenty-four hours.” She shifts her hips away from mine. “I didn’t realize until I arrived at Johns Hopkins that he’s been battling cancer. He’s even had chemo without telling me. It’s a whole big mess that I’m struggling to get my head around.”

“Oh, Liv.” Lesley awkwardly peers over the fence. “I’m so sorry, dear.”

Ollie’s hand slides from mine, her arms wrapping around her middle. “Remy was checking on me because I didn’t take the news well. I swear, there’s nothing inappropriate happening. You can even call the hospital to confirm. My father—Carlo Pelosi—spent the night in the oncology ward.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, miss.” Boston turns off his flashlight, his short, pudgy silhouette exposed in the moonlight beside his taller, leaner partner a foot to his left. “But I appreciate the clarification. I’m happy to write this off as a misunderstanding and let you get out of the cold if you’re certain you’re okay.”

---