Page 18 of Vision of Justice

“I’d stake my badge on it.” He could be straight with Wright. She didn’t play department politics or make judgments without facts. The weight of responsibility was heavy against his shoulders. He should take himself off the related cases now that he was involved with Sasha, but he was invested for so many reasons. One of them was his heart, the last thing he should be thinking about at the moment. He needed to take a step back from the relationship they’d started to develop. Sasha had said she didn’t want ties. It was over, and that was the most depressing thought he’d had in a long time.

Chapter Eleven

Sasha took one last look in the mirror of the hotel powder room, smoothing the layers of the beaded tulle gown that reminded her of morning fog. She’d taken a heavier hand than usual with her makeup, dabbing healthy drops of concealer beneath her lower lashes. The last week had kicked her ass. When Detective Wright, accompanied by an officer she hadn’t recognized, knocked on her door and explained that Jefferson and Sons and Haven Security were connected, she’d been shocked, speechless. She had two more interviews, one with the FBI in regards to the kidnapping, and the other with the homicide unit about a string of murders that happened in the same timeframe as the abduction. She’d cooperated, knowing there was nothing to hide. That didn’t mean the experience hadn’t been intimidating. Her nerves were frayed, and her stomach was perpetually twisting and churning with too much coffee and too little sleep.

After tonight’s silent auction, she was postponing all other engagements until she had a clearer picture of where the investigation was going and if she would continue to be part of it. Added to the stress was battling away growing feelings for Gus, and she’d meant what she’d said the morning after their first night together. She couldn’t be in a relationship. It appeared he was serious about staying away, too. It was for the best that he’d stayed true to his word and hadn’t come to see her since that night.

She drew in a long breath, focusing on new air entering through her nose while exhaling the negative energy through her mouth. Then she stepped out into the splashy foyer of the hotel. Crystal chandeliers glittered over white-gloved waitstaff passing hors d’oeuvres and champagne flutes to guests. She was among ten artists who donated their work for the children’s hospital fundraiser. The night was always long, but the cause was more than worthy.

The space was a sensory explosion. Chatter hummed through the air, heavy with the scents of competing perfume and cologne. Light glinted off the jewels on women’s wrists and necks, rich fabrics rustled through the crowd, and flowers spilled from gold vases on the scatter of high-top tables.

And then she stopped in the center of it all, heart thudding.

Every cell of her body stilled as she sensed his eyes on her back. She turned slowly, and her eyes met Gus’s across the room. Wings beat against the walls of her stomach, and a whole-body shiver raced over her skin. The sea of guests instinctively parted for him as he crossed over to her, the aura of power and confidence making people take pause. Interested glances followed his movements, not that she could blame them. Gus was James Bond debonair in a satin-detailed tuxedo, but it wasn’t the eveningwear that made moisture pool in her mouth, it was the intense look in his eyes. A gaze meant only for her. One that spoke to a heated night and intimate touches, frantic kisses and a desperate sort of lovemaking that had left them both breathless. This was the first time she’d seen him since the interview. Her hands were shaking, body instantly responding to his presence in the room.

Gus stopped right in front of her, not touching but intimately close. Butterflies banged around in her stomach, even as a liquid pull settled between her hips. Then he leaned in closer. “You’re stunning, Sasha,” he whispered, breath tickling her skin and stealing her own. She loved the way her name sounded rolling past his lips, like it was something sensual and exotic.

No ties, no feelings. Despite the constant mantra, her body grew feverish. Why did a logical mind have to be at odds with her irrational body? “Thank you.” Her voice was lost among the booming laughter and competing chatter surrounding them.

Gus looked so good, she was having trouble stringing words together, but that was the last thing she should tell him. She stepped back, needing space. Her throat tightened, and annoyance flashed through her. She swore she’d never want or rely on someone like this, and it made her feel powerless and weak that she did. After more than a decade spent cementing walls around her heart, he was beginning to drill them down. She couldn’t let that happen. “Excuse me. I need to mingle.”

“Wait.” His voice had gone all authoritarian. He wasn’t here because he wanted to be. She was just a job now. That was how it should be—it was what both of them wanted—but a little part of her wished he was there of his own free will because he was proud of her. Maybe she’d longed for him to break his promise and return to her house, to her bed. She’d never admit that it stung to be so easily forgotten. Agent Nilsson thought it was a smart idea for someone to follow her movements. That maybe someone would be lurking in the crowd at the silent auction. She was basically human bait. “You need to stay in my line of sight. Don’t run off.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m an adult, Detective.” Using his title helped to erect more walls. Protection for her heart that suddenly was splintering. She hadn’t allowed herself to feel hurt when she’d sat in the cold, sterile interview rooms over the past week. Gus’s presence would’ve soothed her, but he wasn’t there. Each accusation thrown at her, the endless line of questions, she’d fielded on her own. She didn’t need him, and he hadn’t been there anyway. When there was a tap on her shoulder, she opened her mouth to speak, but she turned to see the banquet manager, a petite woman with a short cap of black hair. Something about her expression paralyzed her vocal cords.

“Ms. Frost,” she said, voice tinged with nerves. “The event coordinators need to speak to you right away.”

She nodded and followed the manager through the crowd and into the empty ballroom that was scheduled to open after cocktail hour in just fifteen minutes. She didn’t turn to look for Gus, knowing instinctively he’d be right on her heels. What was that crowd of people staring at? Her heart started to hammer. That was where her booth for the auction was set up. Hospital staff surrounded the area where her paintings were displayed. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose as they approached. Oh, God. Her heart plummeted into her gut. The canvases framed in gold were in tatters, cut into ribbons, and smashed. The slashes looked like knife strokes, some straight, some jagged, all of them cutting straight through to her heart. It was violating.

She poured herself into her work, and it was part of her. And these pieces … these were special. She’d selected her very best to get the highest bids for the hospital. She glanced around the room, eyes stopping on the other displays. Only her work had been touched, all of it destroyed. A flush of heat scorched her cheeks, and she pressed her hand to her heart. Gus swore through a hiss of breath as he stood stiffly beside her. She turned away from the pitied glances, shielding her face, and took a few shuddering breaths. She was vaguely aware of Gus giving her arm a brief reassuring squeeze as he walked past her and started taking control of the situation. Somehow, the pity emanating from Gus made everything worse. She didn’t want his emotions, any of them, to have power over her. How could she continue to put up a brave, independent front around him when anger was clawing at her insides?

Gus’s gaze, bright with carefully controlled fury, flickered back to her momentarily, and she tried to swallow away the tightness strangling her. Something else was wrong. She put one unsteady leg in front of the other, needing to see what put that smoldering anger on his face. Whore was crudely painted in russet letters over the cream table skirting. She stopped short and sucked in a breath as the scene gut-punched her.

Inside, she was sobbing, screaming, but she squared her shoulders and paced across the room to the hospital liaison, Liza, who she knew from her years of participation.

“Oh, Sasha. I can’t begin to explain this. It’s awful. Just awful. I’m so sorry. We take security precautions, had the hotel staff keep the ballroom locked, I—” The woman’s coral lips trembled.

“This is not your fault.” Rage was simmering beneath the surface, and only years of locking away her emotions helped her fight through the red haze and do what needed to be done. There was too much riding on this fundraiser. She turned to one of the hotel employees.

“How quickly can we get this table out of here and replace it with a fresh one?” she asked. The weight of a calloused palm rested against her bare shoulder, and she angled her head to look up at Gus.

“That’s evidence. It needs to stay here. The police are on their way.” His calm voice was a contradiction to the storm in his eyes.

She flinched away from his touch. “And it will still be evidence in the conference space that’s connected to the ballroom.” Her voice was shaky. Hell, all of her was shaken. Who hated her enough to ruin her work when the profits were going to the families of sick kids?

“The money from this event will go toward sleep spaces for parents whose children are in intensive care. I won’t have that ruined. Please.” She wasn’t being fair to Gus, pleading this way. Gus didn’t have a chance to respond because members of the Boston PD had arrived.

“There’s nothing you can do. They’ll take it from here.” He placed his hand on her back. “We need to go.”

“I can’t leave.” The thud of her heart was amplified, whooshing in her ears.

“It’s not safe. This wasn’t about the event, it was about punishing you.” His wary gaze swept around the room, as though someone was liable to jump out of the shadowed corners.

Part of her was ashamed of the ugly word scrawled across the table linens, the other part recognized that he was right—this was personal. But why? Because she’d been the one to find Melissa? Or because someone thought she was responsible for kidnapping and murder? Her life was spinning out of control for reasons she couldn’t comprehend. Hadn’t she lost enough, been through enough? Gus took her hand, his other still resting between her shoulder blades, urging her gently toward the exit. She dug her stilettos into the carpet. “I need to let Liza know I’ll replace the work. Or offer a donation, or—” There was a snap and a flash to her left, and she turned in time to see one of the news coverage teams from the event quickly documenting the scene unfolding.

“From the car.” He was already walking, sheltering her in the crook of his arm. “Is there an employee exit to the west parking lot?” he asked as they neared the banquet manager.

“Follow me.” The woman moved at a brisk clip, leading them through the Employee Only doors at the back of the ballroom. “Please watch your step,” she said as they entered a bustling banquet kitchen. “Loading dock is this way.”

---