Page 37 of The Perfect Deception

“Of course. See you Tuesday bright and early.” I walk out of the precinct.

As I step into the sun, I chuckle. If Damien likes this dress half as much as the captain does, I’ll have him talking in no time.

I’m not sure what Damien has planned, but his text said to pack summer clothes and beachwear, so that’s exactly what’s sitting in my suitcase by the front door of his penthouse. Well, technically, his message was more specific:“I want to see you in nothing but a bikini all weekend.”

As we slide into the hired car and the driver loads our bags, Damien’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “I thought you mighttry to get out of it,” he says, and the relief in his tone is almost palpable.

“Nope. I went to talk to Captain Butler about a few things and to let him know I was going away, but I want to be called if another body drops.” I spent most of last night trying to find a way out of an amazing weekend with Damien until I came to my senses. An amazing weekend with an amazing man is just what I need.

And answers.

I spend most of the ride to the pier deep in thought, wondering why Damien would lie about the photo. It’s clearly him in the photo and even though I’ve never seen his sister, I’m sure the woman Zeke identified as Jane is her.Why lie?It just doesn’t make any sense.

“Hey, you okay?” Damien’s hand lands on my lower back as the limo comes to a stop. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

I shrug and flash my best smile. “Just enjoying my last few minutes of obsessing about work before the vacation officially starts.” That part’s true. From this moment on, I’m determined to play the role of the attentive girlfriend who just wants to know her boyfriend better.

Not the detective trying to grill him for answers.

Damien studies me for a second, and I can tell he doesn’t quite buy it, but thankfully he lets it slide. He wants me to relax, recharge, and forget about work for a while. And honestly, that’s a good thing, I remind myself. Having a man who actually cares about me and my career? That’s rare.

“Okay, let’s get on the yacht and grab some champagne,” Damien says, his tone easy, his hand slipping into mine.

“Hell yeah!” I laugh, pulling him up the ramp with me. We’re surrounded by pure luxury, and I’m determined to enjoy every second of it.

So, enjoy it. That’s the plan.

Once on deck, I down the first glass of champagne like the middle-class girl I am, letting out a satisfied sigh. “Another, please.”

My request makes him grin, and the butterflies in my stomach do their usual happy dance. Making him happy makes me happy. “What the lady wants,” he says, grabbing two glasses from a passing waiter with a nod. “Now, are you ready to tell me what’s really on your mind?”

I nod slowly, taking a long sip, letting the expensive champagne warm me from the inside. “I don’t want to fight, Damien,” I admit as the yacht starts to pull away from the dock, the party just beginning.

“Then let’s not fight. But I need to know.”

“Fine,” I snap, the words coming out sharper than I intended. “You say that isn’t you in the photo, but if I can see the resemblance, other people will too, Damien.”

He starts to speak, probably gearing up for another denial, but I cut him off.

“Let’s say I believe you—it’s not you,” I continue, even though deep down, I know it’s him. “But what if the killer thinks it’s you?”

He freezes and his smile fades. The shock on his face tells me the thought never occurred to him. “You’re worried about me?”

I roll my eyes, inhaling deeply to give myself a moment so I don’t flip my shit on this man who owns my heart in front of a yacht full of people.

“Of course I’m fucking worried about you,” I whisper. “This guy has killed several of the people in that photo with you, ornotyou,” I add, the sarcasm in my voice thick. “How can I not worry that you’re next on the list, especially when you lie to me about it?”

“I’m not lying,” he says, and there’s a little heat in his words.

“Whatever,” I growl in reply and knock my drink back. “I don’t want to fight about it.” Men are so fucking stupid. How can he think that I won’t worry that he’s on the killer’s list? That it only now occurred to him pisses me off even more.

He might be obscenely rich—and smart—but he’s not untouchable.

“I need to head to the restroom before this Welcome Aboard party kicks off.”

“I’ll be right here waiting, Francesca.”

Welp. Back to being Francesca. I hurry off to the restroom and glance at my reflection, scoffing at the frustrated woman staring back at me.

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