Page 30 of The Liar

When I’d moved everything I thought I might possibly want, I lugged the free weights through to the bedroom that was now West’s. I didn’t want to give him any reason to venture into my personal space.

I dragged the other small pieces of gym equipment through to his room, and then battled to maneuver the treadmill through the doorway and across the hall. We’d put the machine together in the room, so we’d never have to move it, but I wasn’t about to take it apart, because there was every chance I wouldn’t remember how to put it back together.

Kind of like our marriage, in a way.

West had broken it, and I was doing my best to reshape it into something that would work for us for as long as we were stuck together.

I collapsed on the single bed in the spare room and tried to read a women’s adventure novel. My stomach rumbled, alerting me that lunch had been hours ago, but I couldn’t seem to find the will to make anything for dinner. West was the cook in our relationship. At least that was still true. He couldn’t fake being a good cook.

But where had he learned to cook? From his mamma, as he’d always claimed, or from someone else? How would I know? I couldn’t be sure of anything he’d told me. Was he actually an orphaned only child? I supposed it would be easy enough to find out, but that was one reality I wasn’t ready to face yet.

By the time I heard the door open, and West enter, I was still sifting through facts I thought I’d known about him and attempting to determine fact from fiction. It was a losinggame, but at least it had reminded me of why I had to remain aloof around my not-husband.

With a deep breath, I gathered myself and strode out to meet him. I stopped abruptly in the living room doorway when the scent of fried chicken met my nose. I narrowed my eyes at West’s tall, strong silhouette.He must have stopped by the twenty-four-hour take-out place a couple of blocks from our apartment.

“You can’t bribe me with spicy fried chicken,” I told him, embarrassed by my petulant tone.

He moved into the light, the easy smile on his lips a massive contrast to the blue and purple bruise surrounding his left eye and the cut on his cheekbone. “I’m not trying to, but there’s no reason we can’t share a nice meal.”

“What happened to you?” My mind zipped to worst case scenarios. Had one of the dirty cops found out about the investigation and attacked him? Was he hurt elsewhere too? And why on earth did I care?

He shrugged one shoulder. “Zeke.”

“Ah.” I turned away so he wouldn’t see me smirk. I didn’t want him to suffer, not really, but I couldn’t deny being a little pleased that Zeke had defended my honor, however misguided the attempt might have been.

“He’s protective of you.” He held up the box. “Let’s eat.”

I turned up my nose. “I’m not hungry.”

My stomach growled, and I silently dared him to comment on it, but he didn’t.

“I’ll just serve this up then.” He took the box to the kitchen and emptied it onto a plate. “You’re welcome to join me at the table or you can watch from the sofa if you’d prefer.”

I contemplated sitting on the sofa just to spite him, but my stomach grumbled again, eager to be filled with one of its favorite foods. Traitor.

He placed the chicken in the center of the table and sat on one side. I took the other.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, all politeness. “Wine? Beer? Soda?”

“No, thank you.” I’d get myself a glass of water if I was thirsty.

“Suit yourself.” He grabbed a piece of chicken and bit into it. I resisted reaching for one of my own, at least for a minute or so.

“I’ve been thinking.” I steepled my fingers and did my best to keep my voice even.

He arched his uninjured right eyebrow. “And what have you decided?”

I blew out a stream of air, struggling to remain calm. I’d decided this was the best course of action; I couldn’t change my mind now just because it was uncomfortable.

“I’ll help with your case.” I held up my hand, urging him to remain silent. “If there’s a ring of dirty cops inside Chicago PD who are working for Carlos Ortez, then I agree that they need to be stopped.”

Some of the tension bled from his shoulders. “Thank you.”

I nodded in acknowledgement. “I’m willing to play along for two months. If it isn’t resolved within that time, we can discuss the matter further. But once your operation is complete, I don’t want to see you again.”

“No!” The protest burst from him unbidden.

My jaw tightened. “Excuse me?”

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