Page 2 of Sinful Lies

My reflection stared back at me from the mirror—hair disheveled, shadows under my eyes, a restrained wrath simmering just beneath the surface.

I glanced down, twisting the face of my Rolex to clear a smudge.

2:35 a.m.

The door creaked open, pulling my attention.

Detective McLaren stepped in, a file under her arm and two cheap plastic cups of coffee in her hands. She set one down in front of me before sliding into the seat at the far end of the table.

The file landed with a dull thud.

“Murder, kidnapping, embezzlement…” Her voice was calm, measured as she flipped through the papers.

Finally, her gaze lifted, catching mine. Her eyes widened for just a fraction of a second as her focus lingered on my face, a slight blush creeping onto her cheeks before she snapped her attention back to the file.

Blonde, petite, and sporty.

The kind of woman I’d rather see tangled in my sheets than across an interrogation table.

She cleared her throat, taking a sip of coffee. “Is your lawyer on their way?”

I shook my head.

Her frown deepened. “Mr. Lazzio, these accusations are serious. You need legal representation.”

I shook my head again, slower this time, letting a smirk curl at the edge of my lips.

Her eyes flicked down, catching the movement, before darting back to the file.

She reached for a photo and slid it across the table.

“Do you recognize this woman?”

I didn’t bother looking. I already knew.

Pauline Dupont. French-American actress. Dead. Closed eyes and a ghost of a scream frozen on her lips.

Her voice faltered just slightly. “Of course you do.”

I let the silence stretch before asking, “What’s your name, Detective?”

Her posture stiffened. “Why?”

“I’d like to know the name of the beautiful woman accusing me of murder.”

Her arms crossed defensively, her lower lip trembling. “That’s irrelevant to the investigation, Mr. Lazzio.”

I let my tongue glide slowly across my teeth. “I’m sure it’s something lovely. Lucie? Gloria?”

“Naomi.”

I smiled faintly. “Pretty.”

Her hand moved almost unconsciously, tucking a stray strand of hair back into her tightly wound bun. Her voice dipped. “Thank you.”

The pulse at her neck betrayed her calm, quickening in time with the faintest flush creeping up her skin. Her eyes darted to my lips, just for a moment too long.

I glanced down again, adjusting my watch.

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