Page 22 of Wicked Sin

“Sure.” He grabs a blank pad of lined paper and a pen, and shoves them across the table at me. “Could you make a list of everyone who might hate you?”

“That’s hardly a scientific measure.” My palms go slick. Can I list them all? I’m not even sure I know all of their names.

“Let’s call it a seven out of ten scale. Anyone who might have a higher than that level of outrage when your name comes up might be a suspect.”

“No.” I swallow hard. “I’m not doing that.”

“Who are you protecting?”

“Nobody.” I rub my hands on my pants. Jesus, this is hard. “It’s a long list, maybe. But none of them are local. I’ve kept my head down, Detective. All of my enemies are on the east coast.”

And in the past.

I’m not naive enough—or egotistical enough—to think I’m a totally different person, but I have changed. I’m happy now, as much as that is possible.

In order to get to this point, I had to reassess so much of my life. My relationship with my mother, first and foremost. And that spilled out beyond that to the rest of my family, my role in Washington society, how much I’d embraced my role as a socialite.

Everything.

I gave up social media, the limelight, and all contact with my family.

But this is a test on a whole other level.

How much am I willing to give up? How many secrets will I spill in order to protect myself?

Not as many as Detective Vasquez would like, probably.

I know what I need to do, and it breaks my heart. “You know what? I need to go home.”

“We’ve been over this. You can’t leave. It’s not safe.”

“Not to my apartment.” I take a deep breath. “I need to go to D.C. I need to find out what my sister knows. I don’t have enough information to answer your questions, Detective.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

I don’t know anything about jurisdictions. Maybe he can’tlet me. But I’m going anyway, one way or another. “Then get those other people back in here, and we can talk about how I’m free to do whatever I want to do, and you can get out of my way.”

His jaw flexes.

Is that a sore point? I don’t care. “Crossing state lines makes it a federal investigation, doesn’t it, Detective? And the purview of the FBI?”

“Not necessarily.” He looks at the mirrored glass.

I lean in. “I thought you said you were in charge? Are they going to tell you no? Who’s making the decisions here?”

His head whips around.

Oh, yeah. I see him. I know him. He’s just the same as every other man I’ve ever had to manage. I don’t back down. “This is your case. Right? I think the answer to the question of who wants to kill me is in Washington. You can come with me if you want. Or do you need the big boys to take over?”

“Don’t play me, Taylor.” His eyes glitter. “If you want to put yourself on the line, you’ll have to do it by my rules. I’m in charge.”

“Of course.” I swallow hard. “That’s just the way I like it.”

9

Luke

Washington D.C.

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