Page 25 of Pretty Stolen Dolls

“What did he do? Dear God,” she chokes out.

Frowning, I lean forward and take her hand.

“This man hurt me and my sister a very long time ago. But I have reason to believe he’s out there again. It may have nothing to do with your daughter, but I can assure you I won’t sleep until I find her. I’m personally invested in this case.”

And that’s why I shouldn’t be here. I’m risking my badge, divulging this stuff to her, losing my shit, and letting my memories steal me from the present.

Tears spill down over her cheeks and she squeezes my hand.

“Don’t let him hurt my baby girl. Oh God, please.”

“I won’t allow it, I promise,” I say, trying to comfort her, but it’s false promises. What if he already has hurt her?

“Thank you,” she chokes. “Thank you. I’m so sorry for whatever happened to you.”

Giving her a deceptive smile, I stand and nod. “Me too.”

“You gonna tell me what happened earlier today?” Dillon questions, his eyes on mine as he stirs way too much sugar into his coffee.

The man will have diabetes by the time he’s forty if he’s not careful. “It won’t make you sweeter.” I gesture to the sugar and he grins.

“You think I’m sweet enough?”

I snort. “Not what I meant.”

He nods his head and tilts it to the side “I know what you are trying to do. Not happening. Now, answer the question.”

“It was nothing.” My lie causes his brows to lift. There’s nothing getting past this guy.

“You flipping your shit is hardly nothing. I’ve been watching you for eight months and you’ve never lost it like that,” he says, his voice dropping a few octaves. “Something happened and we’re not leaving this coffee shop until you tell me what it was.”

“Watching me for eight months?” I query, humming birds vibrating in my stomach, though I don’t know why. Lowering his head, he coughs and pats his chest

“Working with you for eight months—working, not watching. You’re trying to stray from the topic at hand,” he accuses, not looking me in the eye.

My gaze falls to the napkin I’ve been shredding. “It won’t happen again,” I tell him, my voice firm.

Our eyes meet again. In the warm sunlight pouring in through the window, his are a molten chocolate brown. I’ve never noticed just how long his dark lashes are either. Dillon is handsome. I’ve seen the way the women at the station fall all over themselves to talk to him, but to be honest with myself, I’ve never paid too much attention.Liar.

He’s always treated me like a burden and I’ve responded in kind. Now that he’s showing concern, I see him in a literal new light—and it irks me. I don’t want our dynamic to change. I can’t handle him caring and wanting to get inside my thoughts. He won’t like it in there.

Dirty little doll.

He brings his mug to his full lips and sips on the hot liquid, never breaking our gaze. A five o’clock shadow dusts his cheeks, and it looks good on him. When he sets his mug back down, he runs his fingers through his overgrown dark hair and pins me with a stare that sayswe can sit here all day.

Understanding I’m not getting off that easy, I let out a resigned huff.

“You’ve read my file or know of it.”

A flash of anger passes over his features and he gives me a clipped nod. “Psycho.”

Benny orme?

“Ya think?” I bark out with a harsh laugh.

He takes another sip of his coffee, his dark brows furling together. I’ve never had his undivided attention and quite frankly, it unnerves me. I’m hyperaware of the messy bun I pulled my hair into this morning. Of the way my button-down shirt is undone one more from the top than usual to allow the cool air to kiss my flesh. Of the way I’d hastily slapped on makeup before walking out the door, not taking too much time to look pretty.

Pretty little doll.

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