Page 39 of Night Justice

His orgasm seized his body, and she could feel him spasming deep inside her. The last shudders of his hips triggered one last bout of delight. Her body melted into this last wave of pleasure, bringing her warmth and a sense of finality.

Limbs tangled in a tight hug, his heart reverberating into her own chest, Orla waited. Time stretched until she felt him take a deep breath. It was the signal it was over.

“I can’t offer you more than that, Orla. Ever again. I’m a criminal, but I still have some morals.” His voice was but a whisper muffled in her neck, a rasp across over-sensitized nerves and barely contained emotions.

Slowly, he loosened his hold on her until they no longer touched. The pain she felt surprised her, convincing her she’d feel bereft for a long time.

Covering herself with her nightshirt, she watched him fastening his pants, and she took one last look at his mouth before he covered it with his mask. Just as he was about to put his gloves on, he hesitated and reached inside a pocket in his body armor.

He took her hand and held it palm up. “I think this belongs to you.”

The silver glinted against his skin, and she saw the crescent moon that had adorned her neck for so many years. “My mother’s pendant. I searched for it everywhere. Where did you find it?”

“It got stuck on me, in the garage when we first…”

He didn’t have to finish that sentence, Orla remembered too well. “Why did you wait until now to give it back?”

He shuffled, hesitating. “I considered it my good luck charm. But now my luck has run out. I thought it should be returned to its rightful owner. And maybe her luck will pick up.”

Pocketing his gloves, he lifted the pendant and turned her around. Orla held her breath as he fastened it around her neck. His fingers lingered a moment over her skin, or maybe was it his lips?

When he stepped back, and cold replaced his presence, Orla didn’t have to turn to know he was gone.

ChapterEighteen

Damn sunlightwerethe first two words that formed in her brain when Orla woke. Why hadn’t she closed the blinds last night? That simple question was enough to finish waking her when she realized it had been opened for the last few days. She wanted to roll to her side, but her laptop, a bag of Cheetos, and two empty bottles of wine prevented her from moving.

The immaculate ceiling of her apartment was the perfect canvas to let her mind wander and wonder. Over the last few days, she hadn’t had the will to get out of her pajamas or even take a shower. It wasn’t depression or anxiety; just the irrepressible need to ignore the world and process the last few days. And hopefully, forget the fact she’d had incredible sex and a connection with a man she’d never see ever again. How depressing.

In the middle of a crisis she wanted to make sense of, time was the best remedy.

Orla had spent the last few days focused on the investigation, sorting through the bits of information she’d gathered so far. Immersing herself in the investigation, helped her to move on. It had been arduous, but she’d begun to remember little details and put them all together.

One thing she indulged in several times was her memories of the vigilante, until finally, she pushed them away, trying to reason herself out of the stupid fantasy. The man in charge of the vigilantes had made sense. She couldn’t fault him for living life according to his own rules. What kind of future could she have with a vigilante?

Orla almost kicked herself for thinking it. A future? They’d only fucked, that was all they had, all they were.

Why couldn’t she get him out of her head? That was the question she’d asked herself countless times, and it became even worse when her brain finally connected the dots and she’d realized who the vigilante was. Maybe it was easier to accept her infatuation with him know she the masked vigilante was Sam Ferguson.

The last twenty-four hours had been dedicated to digging up everything she could on him. From his time in Australia, she got basic stuff like date and place of birth, schooling, etc. He’d worked in the mining sector, more specifically opal mining, and had become a respected expert, even expanding his knowledge to other gems, becoming a consultant and assessor in high demand. Until he’d disappeared for a time, surfacing a few years later in America and resuming his job as a gem appraiser, but this time, under the umbrella of Noctem Consulting.

She dug more into the company, and Noctem looked legit. They offered a wide range of consulting services; everything any client could want and they guaranteed discretion. Including gem appraisal.

Sam Ferguson was Australian, and the vigilante had slipped a couple of times, both in accent and expressions, enough to confirm her suspicions. Same height, same build. And what confirmed it on an even deeper level had been the connection she’d had with him at the party. He stirred her senses on the same level as the vigilante. Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. However, what was she going to do with that information now? One way or another, she needed to move.

Ignoring her screaming muscles as well as the mess, Orla stripped and got under the shower spray. Her body felt like lead, and she turned up the heat. With each passing minute, she felt more and more human. Hibernating like a bear in a cave wasn’t something she did very often, but it wasn’t surprising how deep and fast she had shut down.

However, the danger was still in the front of her mind. Earlier, she’d had a message from Kelli telling her she was safe and sound at her sister’s place and would remain there for a while. At least Orla was reassured on that front.

As she enjoyed a couple more minutes of heat, her thoughts drifted again. Where was the vigilante? Was he safe? Had they managed to get White?

Orla turned off the tap and dried off quickly, wrapping the towel around her before entering her bedroom. Sitting on the bed, she realized she was in dire need of caffeine and real food.

Still, she sat, knowing that beyond breakfast, she needed direction. The investigation wasn’t over; the newspaper would require an article and the police chief her report.

What did she have to show? She had a lead, but she needed more proof. She could slide some information about the attack at the theater, and point them in the right direction. If only she knew what was in the briefcase.

Sitting in the middle of discarded clothes, Orla noticed the coat she’d taken when she escaped the party from hell. It would probably be wise to discard it, especially if the police got involved. She lifted the coat, and a phone fell out of the pocket.

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