Page 132 of Desperate Actions

He’d exhaled hard, like he was trying to hold something in. Like he didn’t want to lie but also didn’t want to tell me the truth

“Of course, I’m okay.”

Then, as if sensing my hesitation, he’d added, “Why don’t you invite some of the girls over? Order dinner, watch a movie? We can send cars.”

A distraction.

That’s what it was.

Just a distraction. And I let him do it. I let him brush me off.

“Okay,” I’d whispered.

But I wasn’t okay. Not then. Not now.

Something is wrong.

And I need to find out what.

The second five o’clock rolls around, I don’t wait. I don’t linger by my desk, hoping Sammy will show up to say goodbye.

I just leave.

Santos is already waiting in the garage, standing by the SUV, his posture rigid as ever. He doesn’t say much, just opens the back door for me.

“We waiting for Mr. Ramirez?”

I shake my head, slipping inside. “No.”

That’s all I give him. No explanation. No elaboration.

Sammy might trust Santos, but I don’t know him, not really. And right now, I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone.

The doors shut, and as soon as we pull out onto the street, my phone buzzes.

Sammy.

I should answer.

But I don’t.

I don’t want to talk to him in the car.

Not with an audience. Not when I know my voice might betray me.

A text comes through next.

Sammy

Where are you?

I exhale softly, rolling my lips together before typing my reply.

Me

On my way home alone. I figured you’d be busy getting ready for whatever it is you’re doing tonight.

There’s a longer pause this time before his response comes through.

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