Page 50 of Heartless

“Ask me,” he prompts. “Ask me why I killed Carissa. You’reso close.I think you’ve figured it out, but I know you. You’ll make up some other excuse. You’ll give yourself a reason not to believe it, so ask me, Winnie. Let me clear things up for you once and for all.”

I can’t move. His hands on my face hold me in place, but even if they weren’t pressed to my skin, I wouldn’t be able to move anyway. Not with the way he’s looking at me. “Did you kill Carissa because she was trying to protect me from you?” I finally barely manage to ask.

His grin is immediate and twisted; menacing and definitely not pleasant. “Yes, Winnie. I killed Carissa because she wanted to keep you from me. And nothing,nothingwas or is going to do that. Not your mom, not Lou”—he presses closer, until his lips brush mine—“and not even my own sister.”

Chapter

Twenty-One

My phone rings somewhere nearby, but it’s not enough to break me out of this moment. My mind is at war, trying to figure out if I’mterrifiedor something else that’s definitely not okay.

Or both.

Sure, it’s petrifying to learn Cass killed his sister to stop her from keeping me away from him. But it’s also…well, it’s also something else.

A nervous grin twitches at the corners of my mouth as I look at him, meeting his gaze as he pulls back from brushing his lips to mine. “So what you’re telling me is…you suck at planning,” I murmur, amused when I see the flood of incredulous surprise on his face, his eyes widening. “Let me finish. You decided to kill Carissa to stop her from telling everyone how messed up you were…only to get caught, thrown in a psych ward, and not get let out until you were eighteen. Is that about right?”

Cass closes his eyes with a snort. “God, Winnie,” he grumbles as my phone goes off again. “You really are such a fucking brat, you know that?”

“Well, I like to think of myself as—” The doorbell chimes, ringing through the entire two-story house. But for a momentall I do is stare at Cass, confused, as if he’ll have the answer for who’s at the door. I’m certainly not expecting any visitors, or any deliveries. I have a few hours before I need to go to the diner to work, so I’d planned to spend it in bed, sleeping, or bothering Cass.

The doorbell sounds again and I lean back, extracting myself from Cassian’s grip. “If it’s Mormon boys, I’m going to scare them away with talk of Satanism,” I mutter, pulling on a hoodie over the t-shirt and shorts I slept in. Cass snorts and flops back down on the bed.

“Can I go back to sleep now? Or are you planning on asking me more uncomfortable questions before breakfast?” He groans, burying his face in my pillow.

The sight of it brings me up short, and I realize Ilovethe sight and the idea of Cass in my bed like this. Fuck, that has to mean there’s something really wrong with me.

He opens his eyes to look at me as the doorbell rings again, the bright blue pinning me in place. I don’t want to leave him. Especially when I’d rather go back to sleep right now, instead of being awake at all.

But the doorbell sounding again makes that impossible. I groan, tossing my head back, and turn to stomp across the landing, scooping up Doom and draping him over my shoulders as I stride heavily down the stairs. “I’m coming,” I call, when the doorbell is pushedyet again. Every time I hear it, I’m a little bit closer to kicking the person on my porch right off.

With my luck, it’s a random delivery from my mom, who still hasn’t called or really texted beyond some polite, perfunctory greetings and updates.

Like I care what her new condo looks like. She’ll certainly never invite me to it.

Absently I yank the door open, prepared to force myself to be polite to whoever is way too eager to get me here.

Only for the words to die on my lips at the sight of Detective Trudeau on my doorstep. My confidence falters, and I hold on to Doom as I look at him, feeling suddenly much more away than I had before.

“Miss Campbell.” He tips his hat at me like he’s going forcharmingorhonest.To me, it just seems arrogant and overplayed. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“You did,” I yawn, leaning on the doorframe with my cat over my shoulders. “Can I help you, officer?”

“Detective.”

“My bad.” Tilting my head against the frame, I meet his eyes. “So can I help you with something?” I’m not afraid of him, precisely. But he’s definitely not my favorite person in the world, and not my first choice for surprising me at my front door.

He’s close to my last, honestly.

“I was hoping I could come in and talk to you. There was a report of a bit of an incident atManic Manora few nights ago…” His eyes drift to the bandages on my hands. “And I was hoping you could give me a few more details on it.”

I have no idea how he knows about that. Or why it’s taken him this long to show up, if he’s actually concerned. It doesn’t feel…right.“Umm…” I look down at the ground, trying to get my thoughts in order and come up with a plan for how to steer the conversation. “It was a pretty minor thing, actually?—”

“I think you should let the detective in. He’s really going above and beyond in his job, you know?” Cass’s smooth voice is the only warning I get before he wraps an arm around my waist, standing half-behind me in the doorframe.

Trudeau’s face jerks in surprise, nostrils flaring and eyes widening by millimeters. But he pushes the expression away, choosing to study Cassian carefully before speaking. “Mr. Byers, right? We’ve never had the pleasure of meeting in person. I have to admit, this is the last place I would think to find you. Forgivemy surprise.” He certainly doesn’t sound apologetic, and his lips press together in a thin line as he looks Cass over.

“Hayden Fields is just full of surprises, as I’m sure you’re realizing,” Cass replies with a low chuckle. “And you’re more than welcome to come in. I, for one, would love to know the details of what happened at the haunted house the other night. I’ve only heard about it secondhand.”

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