Page 25 of Devotion

“Please?” he adds, biting his lower lip while awaiting an answer.

I glance toward Chief’s office again, hating that such an important conversation will have to wait. Then, my eyes are on Martinez again.

“Fine. Pick me up at seven.”

He arches a brow and smiles. “Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

Martinez orders for us both, then hands our menus off to the waiter. I’m a little shocked when he doesn’t reach for his phone, and then rests his arms on the table before giving me his undivided attention.

“Ready to talk about what had you so upset this afternoon?”

I set my glass back down after sipping some of my water. “Wasn’t important.”

“It didn’tlooklike it wasn’t important,” he shoots. “Itlookedlike you were pretty upset.”

I’m silent, and he shrugs.

“At least tell me you don’t feel like talking about it, so I know I wasn’t imagining things.”

“Fine, I don’t want to talk about it.” I flash an insincere smile that’s gone just as quickly as it came.

“And I respect that.”

I breathe deeply, pushing the memory of that call out of my head, how I was completely fooled into thinking the man I conversed with was just another of the regular Joes I hear from. Meanwhile, I had a fucking killer on the line and didn’t even realize it.

In my defense, I may be contracted by the police department, but I’m not a detective. Maybe if I were, he wouldn’t have slipped past me.

And… maybe I wouldn’t have inadvertently marked a woman for death.

“Still with me?”

Martinez raises a brow, and apparently, I missed something.

“Sorry. Got lost in thought. I’m back,” I say with a smile.

“Good, now tell me more about this… engagement dinner thing. Should I be scared to meet your friends?”

This time, when I smile, it’s a real one, triggered by thoughts of Dove, Eliza, and Isha.

“Oh, you shoulddefinitelybe scared,” I say with a laugh as a basket of chips is placed on the table.

Martinez thanks the waiter, still smiling at my answer. “Damn. Guess I’d better bring my A-game.”

“Up to you, but if you don’t, you’ll never hear the end of it.”

He digs into the food and the conversation fades, so my gaze wanders. For a while, I’m fixated on a couple out with who I assume to be their two children. The mom wipes the little girl’s salsa-covered fingers, and then playfully pokes the tip of her nose.

Watching moms with their kids always fascinates me, forcing me to compare the interaction with my own experience, finding it hard to recall similar moments. Ones filled with tenderness, love. Even when my mother had the occasional good day, I was on pins and needles, waiting for the inevitable, abrupt ending. Once the switch flipped, Dad and I were plunged back into the mania right along with her.

These dark glimpses into my past are the reason I’m sometimes grateful for my spotty memory of childhood. Perhaps it’s intentional, walls I’ve erected myself to protect me from certain truths.

The mom kisses her daughter’s forehead, and I’ve had about all I can take of their little display as jealousy seeps into my bones. My gaze shifts out the window next, scanning the small shops starting to close down for the night—a bike shop, a kitty café, a watch repair shop. One of theopensigns clicks off while I’m staring at it, drawing my attention to something else.

A shadow standing beneath the awning.

If I’m not mistaken… that shadow is focused intently on me and Martinez.

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