Page 49 of Crawl
She lets out a sigh. “Thank goodness,” she says. “I’d die of guilt if he did.”
I suck in a breath. The wilted arugula springs out my panini like little arms stretching for a lifeline. What am I supposed to do? Do I tell Jenna that I’m fucking himwillingly?Do I tell her I’m fucking himonlyfor the blackmail potential? Or do I wait until everything is done and he’s finally ruined, in jail, or dead?
What if it never happens?
“I was thinking,” Jenna says carefully, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin, her lipstick blotting the edges, “Maybe I could go back to his estate. Talk to him. For closure, or whatever.”
A weight crashes down on my shoulders. She’s back to her normal self. Why does she want to torment herself like that again?
“Why?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I talked to my mom about it. She thought it might be a good idea.”
“You talked to your mom about him?”
My heart rate increases. How many people are involved now? And what will happen when I tell Jenna the truth?
“I don’t have to go there when you’re working,” she offers. “I can go after hours. Or on your day off. Whatever works for you.”
“Is that a good idea?” I ask, a sharpness to my tone that I immediately regret. Jenna’s jaw drops.
“Really?” she asks, leaning forward. “You’re the one who chose to work for him. I can make decisions for myself too.”
“You’re right,” I mumble. The simultaneous urge to protect Jenna and Cashfromeach other burns inside of me. But none of this is right. Even when we part ways, both of us going back to work, I can’t make any sense of it.
I’m supposed to avenge her.
I promised myself that I would kill him.
At the very least, I’m supposed to ruin him.
So why can’t I stop thinking about crawling to him?
CHAPTER 12
Cash
The next day in my office, I click through the surveillance footage on the wide computer monitor, finding the front porch. A red-headed man with blue eyes stands there casually, like he’s stopping by to see a friend. He’s dressed in a sweat-wicking golf shirt and shorts, but helookslike a cop. This is the man Remedy’s mother keeps suggesting as a potential boyfriend. Peter Samuels. He’s a rival. I don’t tolerate rivals.
But killing a cop always gains more attention than necessary. Sadly, I can’t get rid of him like the ex-boyfriend. There has to be another way to deal with him. He knocks again, and the sound travels through the open windows. I quickly text an old associate to get a file on him. When you have shady obsessions, you find equally shady people, and with an associate like him, he can find enough information to bury even the best cop in hell.
I jog down the stairs. Luckily, I tossed Dean’s head in the woods by the college after the double date.
“Detective Peter Samuels,” I say as I open the door, offering my hand. He smiles, surprised that I know his name.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Winstone. May I come in?”
“Of course.”
I motion him inside, and we both sit across the long dining table. His eyes study the open windows, the breeze rustling the curtains. A diluted light shines through the space. It’s like a slice of paradise.
“You know there are rumors that you keep every window boarded shut,” the detective says.
I raise my brow. Rumors float so damn freely in the Keys. “Times change,” I say. “I didn’t take you to be a gossiper.”
“It’s my job to know what people are saying, even if it’s not true,” he says. He presses his lips together, pointing at the open windows. “You’re not concerned about the murders happening across Key West?”
Funny. He thinks I’mthatkind of recluse.
