Page 36 of A Taste like Sin
“That’s not what I mean. I…” A watery giggle serves as the herald for the torrent of words I can no
longer hold back. “Is it funny that I’d forgotten most of it? The details, I mean.” Never Simon himself.
“In some ways, I think I repressed it. Can you believe I forgot what my old name was? My real name:
JulianaMirangas.” Another hollow laugh helps keep the tears at bay—for now. “At least that blows
the whole ‘Heyworth Thorne is racist’ question out of the water. My mother had Spanish ancestry.
Though, hell, maybe he is a fucking bigot and that made it easier for him to use me at all.”
“Did you learn anything about your case?” Damien wonders. “Anything you might have forgotten?”
“No…” I shake my head. “But there is something I never questioned before. The local police chief
back then asked my father—Heyworth Thorne—to consult on my case personally. But he was a
defense attorney.” I frown. It sounds even more unusual out loud. “Why would he ask a defense
attorney to consult on a murder case?”
“Let alone one who practiced in a different state and jurisdiction?” Damien adds, stroking his chin.
“Interesting. I intend to find out. I may have a contact at the city police department who may be able to
help—though their chief is a man I don’t particularly enjoy interacting with.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me. He’s not a friend of yours? Not even after you insinuated
blackmail to keep his men quiet about your sex club?”
“I would suggest you not extend your pity to Chief Harrison,” he warns. “Trust me on that. Some men
aren’t nearly as righteous as they appear to the public.”
“It takes one to know one, I suppose,” I say.
“Perhaps,” he admits. “But I will extend any resources I can to assist your search for information,
whether or not they involve Harrison.”
“There was something else,” I murmur, running my hand through my hair as if to help shake the
thoughts free. “In the file, there was information about another girl. Lynn McKelvy. Her case was
similar to mine. She was attacked by a stranger, a man who had a knife and wanted to play a game of
Simon Says…” I shudder, closing my eyes against the memories that threaten to descend. When I open
them again, Damien is still here. “Can you help me find her? Maybe she knows something.”
“Done,” he says without hesitation either way. “But now we focus on you. You’re upset—and I’m not
just referring to what happened today. What can I do?”
I blink, overwhelmed by the genuine concern in his voice. The only way to smother the confusion is to
drink more coffee, inhaling every drop until I’ve drained it all. Sighing, I shrug. “Make my father
