“Coming!” I call out, recognizing Olly’s voice at my door.

I greet him with a smile as he enters but it quickly fades. The handsome face staring back at me is marred with stress lines.

I fold my arms over one another. “What’s wrong?”

He slides a hand through his thick dark hair and paces the room.

I shove a glass of water in front of him and he takes a huge gulp, tugging on his tie to loosen it.

“You know if you don’t feel safe just call and I’ll come stay over. I don’t mind.”

I eye him eerily, his offer for protection coming out from nowhere and completely unnecessary. He looks in no shape to protect himself, let alone me, if I actually needed it. “Thanks, and I know, but I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine. Are you okay though? You look kind of stressed.”

“So no one strange has been hanging around?” He looks around the room as if a murderer is going to step out from behind the curtains.

“Honestly, no. You don’t need to worry, I’ve got this. What’s up with you though?” I rest both my hands on his shoulders and search his eyes.

He shakes his head. “I’m fine. Just been worrying about you.”

I wave an arm around the room. “Well, I promise nothing stranger than the usual is happening around here. The day of the court case I could have sworn someone was following me when I’d stepped out for air, but apart from that day, everything has been normal. Not going to deny still being on edge but I’ve got it covered. And with Mason worrying over me too, I think I’ve got all the protection I don’t even need.”

“Mason, huh?” Olly taunts, a tiny excuse of a grin threatens to appear and I take whatever shit he’s about to throw me because it’s the lightest I’ve seen him look in days.

“You’re on a first name basis now with that cop from the bar?”

“Kind of,” I respond nonchalantly while in my head I replay the memories of just how friendly we became during our last encounter.

Olly raises a brow, questions written all over his face. “Wait. Did he stay with you after court? Is that why you never called me?”

I sigh. He’s onto me and knowing Olly, he won’t give up until he’s rid me of all secret information.

I walk into kitchen. “Fine, okay, yes. He stayed, not that the guy gave me much choice in the matter anyway. He was my protection detail for that night. I couldn’t very well tell him he wasn’t needed, it would have looked suspicious.”

“And?” He stares at me, waiting for more details.

“He may have made himself comfortable in my bed at some ungodly hour of the morning.” I halt in my step. Turning around to Olly, I point in his direction. “Nothing happened, before you ask.”

“Lindsey, you’re practically sleeping with the enemy. What if he finds out you’re a gun for hire?”

I narrow my gaze at him, and sweep my hand in front of me. “He won’t find out. I’m not marrying the guy, Olly. Nor am I seeing him again, at least not until Ali’s court hearing and that’s been adjourned until she is out of rehab.”

“He’s a cop, Lindsey. It’s his job to sniff out liars and while you’d probably rock the orange jumpsuit, I can’t picture you happily swapping your Dior threads for it.” He waves a hand up and down the length of me.

I roll my eyes. “Oh, come on.”

He throws his hands up in defense. “Playing with fire, babe.”

He’s right. While entertaining the idea of one steamy night with Mason seemed like a doable option, deep down I knew the man ignited a fire in me I could get used to. One night could do irreparable damage to both of us.

Mason

Unease winds its way up my body, clogging up my veins with tension. I don’t have a good feeling about this. And my gut is usually right. Seeing her face near his made me see red as I gripped the file tighter in my hands. He’s a dangerous man. Did she know who she was dealing with?

The devil was on the other side of the table. Did she realize she could be his next meal? He’d swallow the mercy from her soul and chew her out, just to watch her burn.

“You okay?” Roamyn asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

I regain focus on the photos spread over my desk. “Yeah, man, just can’t for the life of me even find a connection between these two.” I look up, making eye contact with Roam. “You find anything?”

He shakes his head, eyebrows drawn in. “Nah, she’s clean.” He trails off. “Maybe it’s something innocent. She may have no clue who the guy is. It’s likely she doesn’t. Can’t say she seems the type to be having a casual coffee date with a dead mafia man.”

He’s got a point. Lindsey tensed up whenever she had been in the same room with any of the Marino men, so why would she feel comfortable with a Baccarelli?

I run a hand through my hair. I was missing something and no matter how long I stared at these photos and records, I wasn’t getting any closer to answers. “She did mention hating the fact they had Alison under their thumb.”

He puts his hands out, huge fake–ass smile plastered on his face. “See, probably innocent.”

I frown back at him. “You’re shit at trying to be positive, you know that?”

Roamyn slaps me on the side of my arm. “Come on, man, you know what it’s like. We’re cops. The shit we see doesn’t leave us looking on the bright side of things. It fucks with us until all we see is the bad. All I know is this woman is the first one in years I’ve seen you make an ounce of effort with. You’re a good judge of character. Have some faith she’s one of the good ones.”

“Hope you’re right.”

“Always am.” He smiles and this time it’s real.

“Cocky bastard.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Lindsey

Love. Just saying the word makes me twist in agony. He makes me feel too at ease, too comfortable. Comfortable develops into feelings, and feelings create unachievable hopes and dreams to consume the heart with love. A love that will eventually be ruined, leaving no one liable for my own stupidity but myself. How can I allow myself to feel such a way in the first place? Why do we yearn for something we know will always hurt us?

“Can I help you, hun?” an elderly woman asks when I reach the reception area of the clinic.

I clasp my hands together, resting them on the sleek modern counter in front of me. “Hi, I’m here to see my sister, Alison Jenkins.”

“Alison sure is a lucky girl today.” She sifts through paperwork on the desk before handing me a pen and clipboard with a visitors’ log attached. “Just sign in here with your name and date and then these two gentlemen,”—she motions toward the two NYPD officers sitting behind the counter further down from her—“they will check your ID. When you’re done, just head through to room nine, that’s hers.”

“Thanks.” I take the log from her hesitantly, my mind preoccupied by her previous comment.

“Why is Ali a lucky girl?” I ask, confused.

She beams at me a sweet smile. “You’re her second visitor for the day.”

The pen fumbles in my hand and I drop it to the ground. “I’m her second visitor?”

“Yes, that sweet man of hers keeps coming to visit. He’s such a charmer. I think we all look forward to the days he visits.”

Quickly, I pick the pen up off the floor and find the next available line to write on. Scrolling down the list, I freeze when I recognize a name.

What was he doing here?

***

The corridors are all the same, white walls, trims and doors. Yet as I walk by rooms with opened doors, each is different on the inside. Much like the people living in the rooms. To everyone else, they all looked the same. Lifeless, bloodshot eyes, pale skin and scrawny figures. But on the inside is where their reality is, where they choose to hide. I just have to hope Alison is prepared to let me in.