Page 60 of The Perfect Stranger

Chapter Twenty-One

She moved like a part of her had been destroyed. In a way, it had. I understood that feeling all too well. Nina had lost a best friend and colleague in the most heinous of ways. The Baja cartel had done a number on Garcia, and now Nina was left to pick up the pieces. Closing the cab door, she swiped at the tears. The driver took off down the now quiet street leaving her on the sidewalk. She seemed lost, confused. When she turned to unlock the foyer door, I started to cross the road. I wanted to console her, to take her in my arms and breathe her in until she had no tears left to cry. But I stopped. We were the only two people in the area, and she had no idea I was standing behind her. I could have been anyone.

I could have been Baja cartel preparing to blow her face off.

But the truth was, I wasn’t Baja. I was Los Santos, and it was me who would be her ruin.

Nina Cross was a force to be reckoned with.

Later that morning with the sun high in the sky, I followed her through town to the station. She was on a mission. This puzzle wasn’t making sense to her. The brutality of Garcia’s slaying had raised more questions than answers, and she was taking it upon herself to solve the crime. When she emerged shortly after, her face revealed the truth.

Frustration.

Anger

Doubt.

Betrayal.

I leaned against the wall of a kebab shop on the other side, the rank smell of the subway wafting past. She tilted her face to catch the last rays of the sun before they disappeared behind the buildings.

Nina was an incredibly beautiful woman, but today there was a deep sadness in her face. One that would be etched there for quite some time until the grief faded with each new day. She started to walk, bypassing the hordes of cabs along the way. There was quite a distance between the station and Nina’s apartment. It was a reckless decision. With the murder of her partner less than twelve hours ago, she was taking no precautions. I followed at a safe distance, and while she was blind to it, I noticed many eyes on her. Eyes belonging to cartel soldiers skulking behind building corners and in the shadows of protruding awnings. When they noticed her, they soon noticed me, and if any fell into step behind her, they just as quickly fell out knowing I was on their tail. I wasn’t going to let them at her, and I would do everything in the world to ensure both Los Santos and Baja kept their distance.

Her long hair blew in the breeze and her black dress looked far too beautiful to be worn at a funeral. Nina stood among her colleagues, some there out of respect for Garcia, others purely out of obligation. She took turns wiping away the tears and looking for whoever she could feel watching her.

I stood among the procession of black cars waiting to leave for the wake. It was a hot day. The sun was high in the sky, and people were moving, agitated, shifting weight from foot to foot. A line started with some opting to throw dirt on the coffin before embracing each other in comfort. At that point Nina turned and faced me head on. We stood in a silent stand-off, her pretty face squinting against the sun as she tried to fit me into the equation. She tapped Delacroix on the shoulder perhaps to ask if he knew who I was. That was my cue to leave. She would know soon enough.

The door slammed closed and she sighed, heavy and resigned. In the kitchen, keys clattered on the counter and soon her silhouette came walking through the bedroom door. With her back to me, she switched on the small nightstand light which cast a soft, warm glow over the room. From the shadows in the corner, I watched while she ejected the magazine from her service gun and stowed the separate pieces in the drawer.

I shook my head at why she would ever consider that a smart move.

She was a rookie, still trying to gain her experience. But surely after Garcia, she would feel the need to protect herself in her own environment.

Reaching for the hem of her dress, she inched it over her ass, revealing the beautiful curves I had admired from behind so many times. Pulling it over her head she tossed it to the side before her movements stilled. She was frozen in place.

Perhaps she’d heard my sharp inhale.

Perhaps she could feel my eyes roaming her smooth tanned skin.

What she wouldn’t know was how I itched to slide my hand into her lace panties and have her fold underneath me.

And now I waited. Above the silence, her shaky breath could be heard. Her shoulders squared but still she didn’t move.

“Don’t stop there,” I finally said, my voice huskier than usual, evidence of her effect on me. She quivered, and I gained a sense of perverse satisfaction. Slow and cautious, she turned to face me, eyes narrowed to make out my features in the darkness. I was sitting, my ankle propped on my knee. She absorbed me, torn between that familiar look of lust and now pure terror.

“How did you get in here?” she trembled.

She looked so beautiful in this vulnerable state. So fragile, like a porcelain doll, and yet so incredibly enticing. When I took my time responding, fear flashed across her face.

“Why do you disarm your service gun?”

“What?” Her voice was a mere breath.

“You shouldn’t leave yourself unprotected.”

“My partner was killed with his own Glock.” There was a flicker of sadness, and I wanted to reprimand her for being so callous despite her partner’s murder.

I moved forward in the chair, my face revealing itself. Nina followed my gaze to the Glock perched on my knee and recognition of her mistake shone from her pretty eyes.

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