Page 38 of Wicked Lies

“Put on a jacket and shoes.” He spat out the order, leaving no room for argument.

She cocked her head, then did as he asked, like she’d been waiting all night for him to say those exact words.

“Let’s go.” He snatched up Cheryl’s hand and pulled her behind him. When they reached the parking lot, Nick chirped the locks of his SUV, and they got in. They only exchanged a few stilted sentences as Nick navigated the light traffic of the early morning hours, heading to his East Side highrise. They remained completely silent as they traveled up the private elevator and into the foyer of his penthouse. Her suppressed panic crowded the room and radiated onto him, filling his chest with fear, making him dread her story.

He nodded at the sofa, and they sat down next to each other. “Tell me what’s going on with you and the real reason you came looking for me that night.”

Nick had to find out the truth. Her original story had too many holes, and he had to know if she was connected to Frank in some way.

When she didn’t say anything, he prodded further, “I can help you if you let me.”

She shook her head in a jerky movement. “I don’t need your help.”

“I never met anyone who needed it more.”

* * *

Shit.Nick’s simple statement drove a wedge under her restraints as his dark foreboding eyes bore into her, seeing her guilt, knowing her truths.

“I’m fine.” A crazed laugh threatened to escape, but she squashed it.

“You’re not fine. You always look ten seconds away from running—like you're gonna bolt any minute. Now tell me why.”

His persistence sent adrenaline rocketing through her, and all her stifled emotions from the last few days bubbled to the surface like some frenzied volcano on the verge of exploding.

“Stop stalling, and tell me what’s going on?”

Cheryl’s gaze flitted around the trendy apartment as her brain engaged in a tug of war. Frank was Nick’s boss, so logically they would be working together on the same side. Maybe Nick already knew Frank killed Jimmy. This might be just another setup, and now she was sitting alone with him in his apartment. Too bad she hadn’t thought of that a half hour ago. Unfortunately, one look at this man and all her skills and self-preservation jumped out the window.

“It's complicated.” Her list of bad choices tormented her, and coming here tonight topped that list.

“Start at the beginning.”

Maybe Nick really wanted to help her, and if he did, dragging him into her mess would be the ultimate act of selfishness.

She drew a deep breath. “Like I told you, Jimmy and I had a fight after you left the Pit.” Truth.

“And he hit you.” He motioned to her bruised eye, which she’d covered with makeup.

Right, he already knew that part. Now she had to figure out a plausible story with enough drama to make it believable without admitting to seeing Frank commit murder.

“Jimmy was all messed up after you came to collect. He’d been losing big at the track. Like you said, he owed everybody.”

Perfect. Pin the drama on a dead guy.

“He’s a fuckin’ loser.”

Her heart thumped in her throat. Cheryl fought off what had become an unwelcome reaction whenever she visualized Jimmy bleeding out in the alley—his breaths shallow and labored.

“Are you all right?” Nick asked.

“Just a little thing I get sometimes.” Her mind screamed for control, but her nerves refused to listen.

“You sure?”

Nick pushed off the couch and returned with a tumbler filled with amber liquid. “Drink.”

She sipped at it then cradled the glass between her palms. “I’m fine.”

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