Page 14 of Wicked Sin

When we get upstairs,I don’t know where to start. Panic rises again, and I try my best to channel it into a blithe indifference. It comes out as bitchy, I’m pretty sure. “How long are you going to hold me hostage?”

Vasquez shrugs. “That might be up to the Feds.”

“You didn’t explain why the LAPD is doing this.”

“No. I didn’t.”

“Is that because you don’t know?”

His eyes flash to my face. I grin. “Got it in one, didn’t I, detective?”

“Pack your bags, princess. The clock is ticking.”

“You could call me Ms. Reid.”

“I could.”

“Are you hoping I complain to the police superintendent and get you booted off this detail?”

His jaw twitches.

“What?”

“What do you mean, what?”

I point. “Your jaw twitched. Why?”

“No reason. Do you need help packing?”

“You’re laughing at me.”

“There’s no such thing as a police superintendent in the LAPD. So I’d enjoy you trying to figure out who you should actually complain to about me when I’m just trying to keep you alive.”

“So who should I actually complain to, then?”

Now he laughs out loud, not even trying to hide it. “No offense, Ms. Reid, but that’s not how it works.”

I’m pretty sure he’s wrong on that score, but whatever. I’m not actually going to try to get him booted off this case. I don’t know what to make of him, exactly, but as far as cops go, he’s not bad.

He’s got an attitude, anyway. I know how to deal with attitude.

“Well, cops aren’t really my thing, so…”

Another twitch. “Rich people aren’t mine. And yet here we are, so…”

This time I don’t reply to the obvious goad. I just stare at the twitch. At his jaw. Dark skin stretched taut over muscle and sinew. Five o’clock shadow at precisely five o’clock.

Detective Vasquez is a handsome man.

I hate that I notice.

I hate that I’m conditioned to notice, that I can’t help it, that deep down, there’s a part of my twisted soul already working on a way to use that to my advantage.

Handsome men are easy marks, in a different way than wealthy men, and different again from men who have obvious soft spots.

Handsome men think they are God’s gift to women, and they couldn’t be more wrong. This blind spot is exploitable.

It was one of the first lessons my mother ever taught me.

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