Page 27 of The Lies We Believe

The tension in my shoulders eased but didn’t disappear. I pulled out the file from where I’d stuffed it down the side of the sofa and motioned for him to come closer to me. He didn’t have to, as I’d respect his boundaries, but I wanted to hold him, support him, as he did this. I didn’t know if it was right or wrong, but I felt compelled to do it.

As River moved closer to me, I kept talking to keep him calm and make this as painless as possible for him. “We can do this in a few ways,” I said, ticking them off against my fingers as I went. “You can look at them and text me. I could grab a pen so you can write on the images directly, or you can talk to me, whichever you’re most comfortable with.”

He regarded me for a beat, then held out his hand for the file, inadvertently moving closer to me. He sat cross-legged, his knee brushing against my thigh. It felt like a brand on my skin, eventhrough my jeans and his blankets. River’s spine was rigid, every muscle tight with tension as he went through the photos one by one. His lips pinched, eyes narrowed he passed a photo over to me and tapped it.

Who is this?

I choked on a laugh. “That’s Dahlia,” I said self-assuredly. “She’s the one who runs all the clubs.”

River gaped back at me, completely dumbfounded. He picked up his phone and started typing.

That’s not Dahlia.

I looked at his message, looked at him and back at the screen on my phone. “What do you mean?”

Why do you think that’s Dahlia?

I huffed out a breath and rubbed my damp palms on my thighs. “That’s who the Black Dahlia clubs are registered under. We have a file on her; driver’s license, social security number, everything that identifies her as Dahlia. We’ve verified and cross-referenced everything. Where she was born, parents, relatives, the whole lot.”

River shook his head, a resigned look on his face as he stared at his screen.

She might be a Dahlia but she isn’t *the* Dahlia.

“What do you mean?”

For a start, she’s too young. The Dahlia that picked me off the street is in her late fifties. This woman is too young. Her hair and eye color are wrong too. She even wears the wrong type of clothes.

“Seriously? Shit!” I lurched over and wrapped my arms around River’s shoulders, pulling him into my chest. He let out a little squeak as I held him to me and buried my nose in his hair and inhaled his delicious scent. I pulled back, my fingers gently massaging the taut muscles in his shoulders, and felt my face split in half. I was vibrating, this… this was the kind of break we were looking for. “River, I could kiss you right now.” He blushed, his thick lashes kissing his cheeks as his eyes fell closed. “This could change everything for us.”

River nodded, his tongue tracing his full bottom lip. My eyes tracked the movement involuntarily. It was only when he sucked in a deep inhale that I realized I’d closed the distance between us. My hand gently cupped his soft face, my thumb skimming over his sharp cheekbone, my lips a hair’s breadth from his. I could feel each stuttered exhale like a physical caress.

I sat there frozen, mesmerized by his proximity, the heat radiating off him, his scent. The flush of color that rose up his neck that made him look edible. Time seemed to stretch, seconds became minutes as our eyes remained locked on each other. The air became electrically charged. One spark, and we’d burn down the world. My heartbeat echoed in my ears. My whole body was aware of River, affected by him in a way I’d never experienced with another.

Heavy-lidded eyes at half mast, the deep green of his irises darkened with lust that licked across my skin. River moved forward slowly, his eyes flicking between my mouth and my eyesuntil he closed the distance between us and brushed his lips against mine. Every cell in my body lit up, and my nerves felt like they were hit with lightning. How could the slightest touch be so profound it altered every atom that made me?

When River moved back to give us space to breathe, it took my mind a few minutes to come back online. He sat on the opposite side of the couch once again, eyes glassy and unfocused as he looked at me. “That is not the Dahlia you’re looking for.” His raspy voice was like a gift from the gods. He swallowed reflexively and winced like it pained him to talk.

I bolted over the back of the couch to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of iced water, and handed it to him. “Drink this, it’ll help. I need to make a call and see if Daniel can come over. He’s a forensic artist. Could you describe the Dahlia you know to him?” River nodded as his guarded blank look walled off his emotions. “Thank you, angel.” I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then stepped out into the yard, my phone clutched to my chest, hoping this would be the breakthrough we needed.

CHAPTER 12

RIVER

When Bane said he’d call Daniel, the forensic artist, I didn’t know exactly what I’d been expecting, but it was not the young man who sat opposite me at the table. My mind had conjured some balding old man with white hair and round glasses. That was about as far from the truth as it could get. Well, apart from the glasses. Daniel looked like a cross between your typical nerd and a prince. He’d coiffed his light blond hair and hidden his bright blue eyes behind a pair of thick black-rimmed glasses, while a permanent smirk played on his lips.

For someone so small, he was extremely intimidating.

“I want you to give me as many details as you can. The more insight you can offer, the more accurate my impression of Dahlia will be.”

I nodded along as I listened to him explain that while hair and eye color were sometimes the most obvious characteristics people noticed, it was the little things like moles, scars, and imperfections that really helped in cases like this.

Bane set down three mugs of coffee and took the seat next to me. His hand dropped to my thigh and squeezed in that reassuring casual way normal people touched. I jolted, nearlyknocking my mug over as I tried to pick it up. I narrowed my eyes at Bane, who gave me an unrepentant grin and a firmer squeeze.

“Daniel’s right, Riv. It’s the little distinguishing features that people remember, like crooked teeth or a scar. It’s weird what sticks in people’s minds, and it can make all the difference when we run her through facial recognition.”

Daniel pointed at the surveillance photo that started all of this off. “You said this isn’t the Dahlia you know. Can you talk me through the main differences?”

I glanced at Bane, begging him to help me out, because I didn’t like it when people judged me for not being able to vocalize my thoughts. He cleared his throat and shot me a small smile before turning to Daniel. He mirrored Daniel’s pose and clasped his hands in front of him, resting them on the tabletop. “River is nonverbal. I can give you my phone?—”

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