Page 113 of Sinner

For once, there was no anger clawing to escape, no sense of hungering for violence to right whatever perceived wrong.

There was only sorrow.

CHAPTER 32

Jessica

There was nothing wrong with being wicked. Was there?

“Hey, Stephanie. How tight are you with that detective you said you once dated?”

She laughed. “Oh, girl. Tighter than ever. He came to my house with flowers. Can you believe that? Some men are romantics at heart.”

I laughed softly, the evil side of me smiling from the inside out. “That’s so good to hear because I need a favor.”

“O-kay. What are you plotting?”

“Oh, just some revenge. Are you up for it?”

“Against Xander?” She seemed surprised.

“No. I’m trying to help him. I think only you can do that. Are you willing?”

She purred. “You know I am. What would you like me to do?”

As I told her my plan, it felt as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Maybe I was playing a little dangerous game of my own, but what the hell. No risk, no reward. Isn’t that what a man known as Sinner had told me?

I was no good girl.

I’d come to that conclusion and was fine with it. I had more of my father in me than I’d wanted to admit before. At least I’d stopped moping, determined to get everything I wanted.

Vindication was first on my mind.

The job of my dreams was the second.

And the man? Well, the jury was out on that. A slight tremor shifted through me as I stepped onto the pavement. Thoughts of Xander were never far from my mind.

The truth will set you free.

I continued to think about the phrase as I stared down at my iPhone and the GPS application. The truth might free some people of the heavy burdens they carried, but for me, using a few little lies had been necessary and had proven fruitful.

In my naughty act of sleuthing, I’d discovered where Dorn Franklin preferred writing his scathing articles. What I had to say to the asshole couldn’t be said in the office he shared with about four dozen other hacks working on articles for one or ten different magazines. I never knew co-ops existed for writers who couldn’t afford an office of their own, but they did.

Cool idea, but I wasn’t about to walk into the coffee shop to praise him for his choices.

My visit on the slimy day was exactly the opposite.

Rain had started falling before light had crested over the horizon. I’d remained awake most of the night, finally concentrating on the pitter-patter of drops against my window. I used to enjoy the sound. For some reason, the pings had given me chills. My thoughts had drifted far too often to what my father had admitted about Xander, the ache in my heart more painful than almost anything I’d felt in my life.

Almost.

The moment I glanced over my shoulder, a smile crossed my face seeing another vehicle driving in. I could only pray my plan wouldn’t backfire on me.

I hurried to the glass entrance door, prepared to launch into the fucker. Not that anything I had to say would matter. I wasn’t expecting some reversal or an apology. I was going to demand it. Fuck him. I’d done a little sleuthing on the man prior to conning the poor assistant who I’d learned in the conversation handled ten of the pricks all by herself into telling me where Dorn liked to write.

I’d also managed to weasel enough out of her to formulate a dirty plan that might put a fire under him. Of course, that had been after I’d put some pieces together about the man. After all, I was a whiz with a computer. With Stephanie’s help and with the assistance of her detective boyfriend, I had a feeling Dorn’s world would soon be rocked.

What a shame for the poor guy.

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