Page 85 of The Hunted
Santino nodded. There was no use in denying anything. He’d practically dragged her to a crime scene—something he got chewed out for after the fact but didn’t really give a shit about. He didn’t want her out of his sight. He liked spending time with her. It was rare that he enjoyed being around someone for long periods of time.
Martin whistled. “She seems perfect for you. I think the added bonus of it pissing Amra off also adds to the appeal.”
Santino smirked, eyeing Martin. There was that tick again, and he had bags under his eyes. His usual put-togetherness seemed off. Even in the gym the man seemed to try and ooze sex appeal because to him, he never knew who he might run into. He always had to be on, but these last couple of days he seemed agitated almost.
Was it the case or Amra?
“You still fucking her?” Santino asked, wondering if the appeal for him was her being as arrogant as him or because she wanted Santino.
Martin chuckled. “You asking for details?”
“Nah,” Santino shook his head. “I’m just curious why. I can’t quite figure her out but you,” he started to unwrap his hands, “is it the challenge because she doesn’t like you, and you know somewhere in her mind she might not like me but feels oddly entitled to me?”
Amra had been one of the few people who had the intelligence to fear him and know he wasn’t like the rest of them. But somewhere in her mind, be it biology or just plain human pheromones, her fear of him didn’t outweigh her want for him. It also helped he was one of the few who didn’t throw themselves at her feet. He’d seen her sell water to a fish and talk a suspect into confessing with an ease that baffled him. But for him she held no appeal whatsoever, especially not enough to share his secrets.
But Silva can.
He shut that thought down quickly. While Silva had potential to bare all his secrets to, it was still too early to tell.
“I can’t tell if you’re asking because you’re curious.” Martin cocked his head to the side like he was trying to piece together something about Santino, and it made his skin crawl.
Martin for most of their working relationship had been very devil-may-care and seemingly not sharp. But this last case there had been glimpses of an intelligence that made Santino question what else about his partner he may have missed.
“Or because this is your version of jealousy.” Martin waved his hand, cutting off Santino’s rebuttal. “I’m not saying you are. I actually don’t think you even know how to feel that emotion.” He leaned in. “No one ever seems to have something you remotely want. But, to answer your question. It’s not so much that she doesn’t like you. You just don’t stroke her ego like everyone else does.” He clapped Santino on the shoulder.
Why did he insist on touching me?
Santino gritted his teeth, stopping the knee-jerk reaction from breaking his partner’s hand.
“That makes her want you. She wants to be the one who puts you on your knees, whether that’s in bed or being the prime suspect in this case.”
Santino made a show of groaning, even though he wasn’t surprised. Martin laughed. “Don’t worry, between the Coffee Shop Killer and having an alibi the night of Denise Miller’s murder, she’s grasping at straws. You want to spar a little bit or keep hitting the bag before we head back?”
“I can hit. Wait, what alibi for the night of Denise Miller’s murder?” Santino wondered if he missed an updated file on her cause of death and time. He thought the coroner had said her time of death was before they all met up at Luther’s. Had that changed?
He knew he was in the clear for the coffee shop murder because he didn’t do it. But he was also with Silva all night when it happened. Thanks to the cameras here at the gym, he had actual footage of the time he came in and left. But mysteriously, there was no footage of who had come in and watched them. It pissed him off because he was sure he had heard the door that night.
Martin shrugged. “I told Amra we were together all night. But I’m sure she’ll try and find a new way to connect you.” He shook his head. “Maybe you should just kiss her ass so she can get over whatever her hard on is.”
Santino sucked his teeth. “I don’t even think that would work. We’re way past that,” he mumbled trying to figure out why Martin had lied for him about his whereabouts the night of Denise Miller’s murder.
They weren’t together.
They hadn’t met up until after the fact.
It wasn’t lost on him either that the footage from the door cameras had magically disappeared too. So there wouldn’t have been a need for an alibi.
“Martin, where did you grow up again?” Santino blurted out the question with the finesse of a child let loose around glass. But something wasn’t adding up. He had that sinking feeling that he was being watched again.
Something flashed in Martin’s eyes before Santino had a chance to catch it. He’d be really pissed off with himself if he was staring at the Reaper and never fucking knew it.
“In Long Island, born and raised. Are you okay?” He was looking at Santino like he sprouted another head. “You met my parents. Twice. You had your coffee today?”
Santino tried to shake his head to dislodge the loud ringing in his ears. He went through his Rolodex of memories, looking for the one of him and Martin’s family, but something was blurring his vision.
He rubbed at the center of his chest. His breathing was choppy, and he was starting to get lightheaded. He was hot and it had nothing to do with the workout he’d just endured.
“They like me better because I’m smaller. But I won’t always be small. I’ll be big like you, and then we can both make them pay for hurting us.”
