Page 19 of The Perfect Deception

“It takes time to catch guys like this, right?” he says, without looking up.

“Yeah,” I say, taken aback by his understanding. “Unless they make a stupid mistake, most are notoriously hard to catch. It just takes time.” I feel the usual frustration rise in me, something the brass forgets the moment the mayor rants about optics, headlines and poll numbers. “It’s dragging out longer than I expected, but we’re getting there. Progress is progress, I guess.”

He glances over his shoulder. “What happens if he just stops?”

I shrug, trying to sound more casual than I feel. “Then some rookie who’s still in high school right now will probably end up solving this string of cold cases years down the line.” I offer a half-hearted smile. “Honestly, I’d be fine with that if it meant no more dead bodies.”

He turns, surprised, picking up the glass of wine. “You really mean that.”

“I do,” I say, meeting his gaze. “Less hurt and suffering…that’s always a win.” It feels good to talk about my day without divinginto crime scene details or procedures. “Work’s been keeping you busy lately, too.”

“Yeah,” he says, transitioning into a rundown of problems with software interfaces and brain recognition.

I shake my head, smiling. “I don’t understand a damn thing you’re talking about, but it sounds frustrating.”

“It is,” he replies with a small chuckle. “On both accounts. But, as they say, idle hands are the devil’s work.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You surprise me. I didn’t realize you were religious.”

“Oh, my beautiful Francesca,” he says, his eyes darkening with that familiar, dangerous charm. His voice dips low as he steps closer, the air between us crackling. He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch making me shiver.

“There’s a lot you don’t realize about me.”

CHAPTER NINE

Damien

Things are settling down after a few weeks of chaos—like the discovery of the cameras in Frankie’s home, her staying with me, and the unexpected love bomb she dropped in Napa.

Now, as my life returns to a semblance of normalcy, I find myself focused on a new task. Tracking Adrian Sharma without his knowledge and uncovering the secrets he believes are hidden from everyone else.

His favorite drink is Stella Artois. He focuses on his arms and abs more than his legs and back during his three weekly trips to Fitness World. I also know he talks trash with his work friends, but they don’t really like him and gossip about him behind his back. In that sense, he hasn’t changed much from the asshole kid I knew in passing at Hope House.

Tonight, Adrian skips drinks with his friends as he leaves the office, his eyes glued to his phone while he crosses the parking lot. I’ve already cloned his phone onto mine, and glance at it,seeing a text from a woman named Lea asking if he’s coming over tonight.

“Of course, babe.” He replies smoothly, so easily, as if he doesn’t have a wife at home who loves him.

A quick search tells me a little bit about Lea, a beautiful woman smitten with the single guy she met at a bar. I wonder if she really believes he’s single or if she’s convinced herself to believe his lies for the sake of being in a relationship with him.

Maybe she knows and doesn’t care. Doesn’t matter to me one way or the other. Lea isn’t my problem. She might be an obstacle, but she’s not my target.

I follow Sharma to a small hilltop apartment building in Silver Lake. He parks in Lea’s guest spot right out in the open, not a care in the world if someone sees or notices his car.

Bold. Or stupid, depending on how you look at it.

Sharma bounds up the stairs with more energy than he has going into the house he shares with his wife. The door opens and a redhead jumps in his arms to greet him, kissing him like he’s a soldier who’s been off fighting wars. The kiss lasts for several minutes before they separate, grinning at each other like giddy fools, then disappearing inside.

His infidelity disgusts me, not because I have some moral high ground but because Sharma hasn’t changed.

He’s still the lying, conniving asshole he was when he was a teen.

I shake off those thoughts and keep my mind on what’s next. After they’ve been inside for a few minutes, I move in to get a closer look, watching as they move around the small apartment like two people in love. He’s helping her cook dinner, thoughin reality, he’s doing more touching and kissing—more teasing than actual cooking—but Lea doesn’t seem to mind. Her smile is bright. Love radiates from her face.

And I would know because I see it in Francesca, the way she looks at me or the way she smiles attentively when she’s listening to me. She might not have meant to tell me she loves me, but she’s not doing much to hide it.

I see it though. I see it and I know it, the same way I’m sure Adrian does.

My phone buzzes and I see on the screen it’s Frankie. “Hello?”

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