Page 7 of Criminology of a Character

“Can you look at me?” He finally broke the silence, and Bel propped herself up on his chest to stare into his eyes. Her fingers reached out of their own accord and traced the line of his chiseled jaw as he studied her.

“What’s going on in there?” She tapped his temple, but he shook his head, refusing to answer. “Too intense?” she asked.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“So, you want to look at me and think it instead?”

“Guilty.”

She grunted and planted a quick kiss on his lips. One day she’d be ready to hear the thoughts fighting to escape his head, but for now, knowing he thought them was enough.

“I’m going to shower.” She stood up, her bathing suit twisted sideways and pulling at all the wrong angles, so she peeled it off. “You coming?” She threw a smile over her shoulder, but before she could finish her invitation, Eamon dragged her into the steaming water with a kiss hot enough to fog the mirror.

The next weekpassedin a whirlwind of romance and sunshine. Secluded beaches, frozen cocktails, award-winning chefs, a silent art auction to benefit the charity, nights tangled in the sheets, and a thrilling helicopter rideflownby Charles Blaubart himself had Bel contemplating asking Eamon to make island trips a regular thing. She wasn’t with him for his money, nor did she want him to think she was using him, but vacations like this made up for her normal life when men with drug-laced tattoos tried to blow her up.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?” Eamon asked as he tucked in his polo shirt. His outfit was still all black, but the golf attire had her struggling not to laugh. Polos and dangerous predators were not a complimentary match.

“Hey.” He pointed a warning finger at her. “Stop that.”

“I didn’t laugh,” she protested, her voice seconds away from giggling.

“Tell that to your face.”

“I’m sorry.” She stood up and smoothed his collar. “People associate millionaires with golf, but this isn’t your look.”

“You can say that again.” He captured her hands and pinned them against his chest. “Do you know how hard it is to pretend I can’t get a hole in one every time? I can see straight across the green. I can read the wind’s speed and know exactly how much power to put behind the swing, but I haveto aimlessly whack the ball so no one catches on. In the first ages of men, I was born and bred to kill, and now I’m awkwardly hitting a mini ball for fun.”

“I’m glad I’m not going with you. I’d tease you the entire time.”

“Gee thanks, Detective.”

“You’re welcome.” She patted his chest. “And to answer your question, I’ll be fine. How awful can a spa day be?”

Drs. FrankVictorsand Charles Blaubart had invited Eamon to play a round of golf with them, and since they were personal guests of Frank’s, they felt it was only right that he accepted. The wives had persuaded Bel to join them at the spa, and she’d agreed since MaryVictorshad been the one to ask. That, and she’d never gone to a spa. It wasn’t something an NYPD homicide detective did on their days off, so she was eager to experience the hype, and judging by Eamon’s expression, she’d been dealt the better afternoon.

“Okay, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Eamon kissed her before grabbing his clubs. “Have fun, and text me if you need me.”

“Will do, and Eamon?” she called after him. “Do me a favor. Please get at least one hole-in-one. Preferably the hardest one.”

“Sure thing, Detective.” He winked. “I’ll video it for you, too.”

The afternoonat the spa had been magical, and Bel sat at their table, practically melting into her seat. The heavenly calm made lunch tolerable, but as the meal came to a close, she found herself checking her phone often. Eamon still wasn’t back, and without an excuse to leave the gossiping group, her post-spa blisswas evaporatingfaster than she preferred.

Bel

Dad, can you call me?

She texted her father as Anne pulled her packet of gum out of her bag, and Bel leaned closer to see the label. The blue color was unique, which confused her. She shouldrecognizesuch a distinctive candy, but Anne slipped the package back into her purse before she could read the brand’s name. Like at the fundraiser dinner, Anne popped the gum into her mouth before nervously fidgeting with the wrapper until she folded an origami butterfly.Bel had never seen someone fold a gum wrapper so meticulously, but based on her precision, this had beenanervous habitof Anne’sfor years.

Bel’s phone vibrated, and she jerked to attention, snatching it off the table as the women all glanced at her cell.

“Hi, Dad,” she answered.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Reese asked instead of saying hello.

“Wait, what happened?” she asked. “Sorry, Dad, it’s loud in here. Let me leave so I can hear.” She pretended to place her fingers over the speaker as she addressed her companions. “Sorry, ladies. It’s my father. I have to take this.”

The women nodded their understanding, and Bel stood up and collected her bag. She fumbled a moment longer thannecessaryso she couldsnap a photo of Anne’s origami, and then she exited the restaurant to find an empty lounge chair by the pool.

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