Page 11 of The Italian Reckoning
Odd in this day and age, but I don’t judge.
If only Gio would talk to me, then…
“Sarah, right?”
Drawn from my thoughts, I glance across the room to another detective as he gingerly picks up one of the remaining donuts.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” I say, setting my half-eaten donut down with a wince and brushing the stale sugar from my fingers. “They’re really not worth it.”
“Really?” He lifts the donut to his nose and winces. “I miss the days when we’d drown these things in chemicals so they never went off.”
“Same. Although I’m sure our hearts thank us.”
“Maybe.” He sets the donut down and approaches my table with a coffee in hand. “But you’re Sarah, right? You’re working the textile murder case?”
“What about it?” My eyes narrow out of habit.
He holds up one hand. “No reason. I’m trying to crack my own case and sometimes, focusing on something completely different helps my mind come back and find things I missed, that’s all.”
“So my textile murder is your cure?”
“Sure.” He drops into the chair across from me, draping one arm over the back and spreading his thighs as he relaxes. “I heard you’ve got no suspects.”
“No,” I admit with no reason to lie. “Her friends barely saw her after a nightclub. Family won’t talk to me. You know how it is.”
“Family won’t talk?” He raises a brow. “You think they had something to do with it?”
“They won’t talk because I wear a badge.” Leaning back, I tap my hip. “So I can’t get close enough to find out whether they did it or not.”
“Because you’re a cop? Since when has that been a thing?” He laughs shortly and takes a large gulp.
“Criminals don’t talk to cops.”
“Sure they do.”
“Not the good ones.”
His face tightens briefly, and something clicks in my mind as we stare at each other. Only those on the crooked payroll have the freedom to move past the badge that’s supposed to nail them to their oath. Half the assholes around here forget that sometimes.
“Oh.” He lowers his cup. “You’re secure in life?”
“How do you mean?”
“Too good to take a little cash on the side?”
“If you’re suggesting that I can sell out my morals and this badge for a coin purse that will make any family talk to me, then let me make one thing clear.” Leaning forward, I place one palm flat on the table and brace myself against it as I stand. “There’s no amount of money in this world that will turn me into you.”
“Hey.” He snorts and his eyes narrow. “You'd better watch what you’re accusing me of. I’m just offering some friendly advice. Money can open a door.” He sits there with the disguised offer as clear as day on his plate. If I were on the Italian payroll, that family would talk to me.
Because then I would be just like them.
A criminal.
“Stay the fuck away from me,” I grumble. “You should be ashamed.”
“Of what?” He leans back further as I storm out of the room. “Everyone has a price, Sarah! And a breaking point.”
My mood is as stale as those donuts when I make it back to my desk and no amount of rearranging my pens and stationary calms me.
