Page 101 of Shadowed Obsession

Deirdre pipes up, “These are my cousins. Regina and Angie.”

“I was told you brought a man. I had to see it to believe it,” she adds, looking me up and down. “Brave.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Junior. They call me Angie, butyoudon’t call me Angie,” he orders, his tone lacking amusement.

Are they all this serious?

“Fair enough. It’s nice to meet you,Junior,” I say, putting emphasis on his name.

“Thanks, man. See how easy that was,” he says, looking at his sister and Deirdre.

Regina cackles. “Just because something is easy, doesn’t meanI’mgoing to do it. It’s been this way since we were kids. Stupid nicknames last forever. You’re Angie, I’m Gene”—she points to herself—“and Roxanne is Rocky,” she says, searching the room for her.

Deirdre asks her, “Where is my favorite cousin, Rocky?”

“Favorite?” She gasps dramatically. “She’s around here somewhere on auntie duty.”

Deirdre smiles to herself. “I’m glad you brought Audre and Andrea. I miss them.”

Regina’s dark-black hair flows down her back in loose waves, and she’s wearing a floor-length backless gown. Her eyes shift to me, and she steps forward. “I’m Regina Delvecchio, but I’m sure my reputation precedes me,” she says, reaching her hand out to shake mine. “I can smell the fear on you, kid. Don’t let the other sharks get a whiff,” she whispers, leaning in close. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, César,” she tells me when she pulls back with a smile.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

She’s more intense than I expected.

40/

her choice or mine?

Deirdre

9:28 p.m. | 14 minutes before ‘the last incident’

The party has dwindled down, and I’m thinking it’s time we go home, too.

That thought is interrupted when I feel a warm palm on my shoulder, and I turn around to find Angie wearing a look of concern.

“Hey, can we talk for a moment alone?” he asks.

“Of course. Let’s go to my office.”

I lead the way and punch in the keypad into the door. We step inside, and he shuts the door behind him.

“So, what’s up?” I ask, crossing my arms as I lean against my desk.

He sighs, grabbing a seat on the sofa. “How well do you know your date? I knew I recognized him from somewhere.”

My brows knit. “César? What about him?” I ask, maintaining a calm tone while my stomach drops to my feet.

“He ever tell you what he does for a living?”

“Yeah, he called himself a finder. Said it’s his job to know things,” I answer, my voice quivering with uncertainty.

“The fuck does that mean? That was good enough for you?”

“Get to the fucking point, Angie,” I grit.

“You ever see a job application for a fuckingfinder? The guy is a private investigator,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

---