Page 61 of Flame
“Do you know what they’re looking for?”
He shrugs. “Anything they can use to pin it on me if I had to take a guess.”
He could be lying, but I’m tired of living in doubt.
“I think I know what,” I admit, reaching into my pocket. “I think they were there because of me. Because of something I have.”
He shoots me a skeptical frown. “What?”
“This.” I hold the hair clip up to the light, awed by the detail. Delicate and light, it must have been expensive. Something Faith wouldn’t lose easily.
But if Rafe recognizes it, he’s an expert actor. His face reveals nothing.
“It’s Faith’s,” I say without beating around the bush. “She was wearing it a few days before she died.”
Still, he says nothing. When I gather up the nerve to look at him, he’s staring forward, gripping the steering wheel so tightly the car starts to drift and nearly crosses into the oncoming lane.
“Watch out!”
“Shit.” He rights the car easily, but his expression is more distant than ever. Even after a few days in his orbit, I can clearly identify the emotion responsible for the tension hardening his jaw. Mistrust.
“How?” he demands finally. “How the hell did you get a hold of that?”
I look at the hair clip again and try to see it how someone like Branden might. Not as a threat meant to terrify me, but as a desperate ploy by someone who probably thought I wouldn’t recognize it. Or know who it belonged to.
“Someone planted it in my apartment,” I confess. “I think he was trying to hide it in case the police searched his place. I think… I think he hurt Faith, but I don’t know why.”
The silence between us is deafening. I squirm, feeling my heart race as I try to interpret his reaction. His eyes are dark and thoughtful. Like while this wasn’t exactly the plot twist in the narrative he expected, he had been anticipating something similar.
“Your brother?” he asks coldly.
“Yes,” I admit. “But now it’s my turn to ask a question. Branden Dewitt. Did you know who he was all this time?”
His brows snap together, and he strikes the steering wheel so hard the horn blares. “Branden Dewitt?That’swho your brother is?” He looks at me so incredulously that I know it’s not an act. He didn’t know.
“You said his name was Bran,” he says, pulling over to the side of the highway. “Though, fuck, I guess I’m the idiot for not putting it together. Branden.”
“So, you know who he is?” I ask thickly. “I’m guessing his name wasn’t circled on your list by accident?”
He swivels his head to face me. “You want to know the truth? That list was the name of every cop Faith knew had come through Gino’s place—but there were about ten different names, and none of them started with D. She wouldn’t tell me who was just there looking at tits or who might have been on Gino’s payroll.”
The irritation in his voice is too real to be faked. “Gino’s payroll?” I ask softly.
“I know that fucker’s up to something.” A muscle in his jaw twitches, his eyes blazing. “Gino’s club is a front for something. Faith hinted that it was illegal, but she wouldn’t tell me exactly what. I know that it dealt with the girls, though.”
“But there’s more to it, isn’t there? You know him personally?”
He sighs. “When Faith wouldn’t give me any straight answers, I decided to get some of my own. I called one of those anonymous tip lines, and the cops actually followed through. They raided the club, but whatever they found wasn’t enough to make any arrests. Just get a few unlucky cops who got caught there that night on suspension or some shit. Quietly, of course, as a fucking formality.”
Like Branden.
“Let me guess, you’ve had that this whole fucking time?” Rafe asks, nodding toward the hair clip. “I thought the cops might have been looking for the phone, but that makes sense too.”
“Phone?” I suddenly recall what he revealed about Faith having more than one.
“I figured someone would try something to get even,” he says, ignoring my question. “Pinning Faith’s death on me sure is a start, but it’s a damn good ploy. The motherfucker…” He forms a fist and slams it against the steering wheel, making the horn sound a second time.
“Why?” I ask. “I mean how did you know—”
