Page 47 of Sin

I remember the night we were having dinner and how Gideon used my mother to get me to do that interview for him. I think he may be a dangerous man, and the last thing I want is to defend him from serious charges that he may very well be guilty of. The fact that Sin is willing to help his father astonishes me.

None of it makes any sense. As long as I’ve known him, Sin has made no secret of how much he dislikes his father, but now that it looks like Gideon is involved in some pretty heinous activities, Sin is willing to help him escape the consequences.

As soon as we manage to break out of the meeting and head upstairs, I confront him about it. “What was that all about?” I demand as we’re standing at the top of the stairs.

“Not here,” he hisses, swiftly grabbing my elbow and pushing me inside the library and hurriedly shutting the door. “There are ears everywhere.”

I ignore the paranoia of his statement and again ask him what he’s doing.

“Not sure yet,” he shrugs his shoulders. “It’s a little bit like improv jazz. I’m making it up as I go.”

“I don’t understand any of this,” I tell him truthfully. “I don’t understand why you went so cold on me earlier after—" I break off, not wanting to sound so insecure. “And I don’t understand why you agreed to help your father when most days you act like you hate his guts.”

He nods. “I do hate his guts and every other part of him as well.”

“Then why?”

He looks at me, and the hard shell he’s worn with me since he took the phone call out on the balcony seems to shatter and fall away from him. Suddenly, I’m looking at the man I spent the best day and a half of my life with. Placing his hands on both sides of my head, he tilts my head up so I’m looking directly into his gray eyes. “I know it’s all a mess, and I’m like a fucking weather vane spinning in every direction, but don’t doubt this.” He leans in toward me. “Don’t ever doubt this,” he says, and he kisses me.

It’s reminiscent of that first kiss he gave me in this room months ago. It’s gentle and sweet, but unlike that chaste kiss, there’s an undercurrent of controlled passion with each brush of his lips. “I thought you told me we weren’t supposed to do this,” I murmur weakly against his lips.

“I end up breaking all my rules for you,” he says before slipping his tongue past my lips and deepening the kiss until my head is dizzy from wanting him. With his lips still locked to mine, he starts walking me backward, then pushes me down on the couch when his phone starts going off. The ringtone is set to sound like a fire alarm, and it blasts through the room. Hearing it, Sin releases me and grabs his phone from his back pocket to answer it. I can see the name on the screen—Oliver.

“It’s about fucking time,” he says, not wasting time on a hello. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all goddamned day.”

So that’s who Sin kept furiously calling and texting all day.

He listens to the response and then looks at his watch. “I can meet you at our normal spot in thirty,” he tells Oliver on the other end and hangs up.

They have a normal spot?

“Look,” he says. “Something has come up and I have to leave.”

“Can I come?” I ask, hating the needy sound of my voice.

“That’s not gonna work,” he dismisses me. “But do me a favor,” he says in a way that sounds more like an order, “go to your room and stay there.” He does a check for his wallet and keys as he prepares to leave. “I don’t want you to be any part of that mess downstairs. If Gideon or your mom knocks on your door, just tell them you’re sick.”

“When will you be back?” I ask, but I doubt he hears my question because he’s already out the door, the sound of his footfalls on the stairs signaling his haste to meet Oliver.

Chapter 27

Sin

I meet Oliver at the twenty-four-hour campus coffee house. He’s sitting there next to a man built like a lumberjack who takes the time to keep his dark ginger hair and heavy beard perfectly styled. It’s Hirsh Carmichael, and he and Oliver used to be partners at the MNPD before Oliver left for reasons he’s made a point not to share with me.

I shake each man’s hand and then sit down and get right to business. I direct my stare at Hirsh. “Are you going to open an official case on my mother’s death?”

“I’d like to,” he begins.” But?—”

“Fuck this.” I explode. “What more do you want me to provide for you? A fucking signed confession from my father?”

“That works,” Hirsh says. “You got one of those for me?”

I’m about to take the smug detective’s coffee cup and throw its contents in his face.

Oliver, who has gotten to know me pretty well in the two years he’s been working on this case, puts a restraining arm across me. “Sin,” he orders, “calm down. I don’t want to spend the rest of my night trying to bail you out of jail for assaulting an officer.”

“It might be worth it,” I mutter.

---