Page 14 of The Devil's Weakness

Fuck. I was hoping to get a name.

“I want to know who this number belongs to.” I hand the paper over to Turner and point to the number of the girl who called at five twenty-three.

He takes the paper and searches his computer. It takes longer than I would have liked for him to find the information, but I know the moment he does because his face turns a sickly shade of green, and he swallows nervously.

“What’s wrong?” I demand.

He clears his throat before answering, “Uh, no—nothing. I’m just having a hard time finding—”

I cut him off by turning his computer monitor around until it’s facing me. When I do, I immediately wish I didn’t.

Fuck.

The face staring back at me belongs to the girl that has consumed me for the past two years. The one who has starred in all of my deepest, darkest sexual fantasies. The one whose face I picture every time I’m balls deep in a Club whore.

SoCo’s words from earlier come back to me.

“We passed a blue hatchback just before finding Iron. We thought nothing of it until seeing that paint.”

I was so worried about Iron, the car’s description didn’t sink in until just now.

“You’re positive this is her?” I look at Turner, even though I already have all the confirmation I need.

He remembers our briefmeleebehind the diner that night, and he knows that no one who interferes or fucks with us is ever afforded a second chance.

Let alone a third.

“She’s a good person, Connelly, and she’s been through a lot. You don’t know that she did it. Maybe she only called it in.”

“There’s light blue paint on Iron’s bike, Turner.”

“So?” he shrugs.

“Check out her registration. Tell me what color car she drives.” I challenge him.

He bites and looks it up. Before he can answer, I see his expression drop.

“I’ll bet you a million dollars it says she drives a blue Plymouth Horizon.”

His only answer is to continue staring at the screen.

“I need her address and a copy of her license and registration,” I demand.

I already have this information tucked away in the far corners of my fucked-up mind, but Stone will want a copy for himself. Another five minutes, and I’m walking out of the police station with the fucking smoking gun.

Sasha Marie Cooper. Age twenty-nine. Drives a motherfucking light blue, 1989 Plymouth Horizon. I’ve done everything I can to forget about this girl since the first time I saw her, but it looks like the universe has other plans.

I study Sasha Cooper’s small license photo as I walk to the space where I parked my bike. Her hazel eyes seem sad and tired.?

Like my own.

My body stirs like it always does when I see her, and I don’t like it at all. I force those feelings away as I pull out my cell phone and call Stone.

“Tell me something good,” he answers on the first ring.

“I got her,” I declare, pressing my eyes shut.

I don’t want my brothers anywhere near this girl, but there’s no way I can keep this a secret from them. If they ever found out I lied about this… it won’t be the first time they’ve turned on one of their own.

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