Page 78 of A Game of Deception
“Deal,” I said, flipping the bread with a flourish. “But if it is, you’re joining me in that shower after.”
Spoiler: It was damn good—crispy edges, custard center, topped with fresh berries she’d had stashed away. We ate at the counter, her feeding me bites between laughs, the domesticity of it all hitting me like a warm wave. Who knew playing house could feel this sexy?
After breakfast, we showered together, which—predictably—led to another delay. The steam-filled bathroom turned into our playground, her soapy hands gliding over my chest, down my abs, lower until I had her pressed against the tiled wall, watercascading over us as I thrust into her from behind. “God, Xander,” she panted, her palms flat against the wall for leverage. “We were supposed to be quick.”
“Quick is overrated,” I rasped in her ear, one hand between her legs, circling her clit until she shattered again, her cries muffled by the spray. I followed suit, groaning her name like a prayer.
By the time we finally made it out of her apartment, it was past noon, both of us flushed and grinning like idiots. We spent the afternoon wandering through a local farmer’s market, her arm linked through mine as we sampled artisanal cheeses and fresh mangoes. “Try this,” she said, holding a slice to my lips, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s almost as sweet as you.”
I nipped her fingers playfully. “Careful, or I’ll drag you behind that stall and show you sweet.” She laughed, pulling me along to the next booth, where we haggled over handmade candles that smelled like ocean breeze.
From there, a long walk along the beach, our fingers intertwined, toes sinking into the warm sand. We talked about everything and nothing—her favorite books (medical thrillers, go figure), my disastrous first pro game (tripped over the ball, face-planted in front of 50,000 fans), and more talk about dream vacations (hers: secluded Greek islands; mine: anywhere with her and a bed). The sun beat down, waves lapping at our feet, and for a few hours, we pushed aside the shadows of the past and the uncertainty of the future. We were just a man and a woman enjoying a beautiful day together, stealing kisses when no one was looking.
As the sun set, we returned to her apartment with takeout from a Thai place near her building—spicy pad see ew for me, green curry for her. We ate on her balcony, cross-legged on thecushioned loungers, watching the sky turn from blue to orange to deep purple, the first stars appearing overhead.
“I wish every day could be like this,” Tara said softly, leaning back in her chair, a glass of sparkling water in her hand, her bare feet propped in my lap.
I massaged her instep absently, my thumb circling the arch. “It could be,” I replied, the words out before I’d fully thought them through. “Maybe not exactly like this—practice and all—but... good. Together. No more sneaking around, no more bullshit.”
She looked at me, her expression unreadable in the fading light, a mix of hope and hesitation flickering in her eyes. “Xander...”
Whatever she was about to say was interrupted by my phone ringing. I pulled it from my pocket, ready to silence it, but paused when I saw the caller ID.
“It’s Cory,” I said, my pulse suddenly spiking. I hadn’t expected him to get back to me this quickly.
I answered, putting the phone on speaker out of habit. “Hey Cory.”
“Xander,” my brother’s voice came through, crisp and businesslike as always. “I’ve got updates on your situation. Is now a good time?”
I glanced at Tara, who nodded encouragingly. “Yeah, now’s fine. You’re on speaker, by the way. Tara’s here with me.”
There was a brief pause. “Dr. Swanson,” Cory acknowledged. “Good evening.”
“Good evening, Mr. McCrae,” she replied formally. “Thank you for your help with this.”
“Cory, please,” he said, his tone warming. “And you’re welcome. Though I’m afraid I have mixed news.”
I sat up straighter, my relaxed mood evaporating. “What did you find?”
“Good news/bad news situation,” Cory said, getting straight to the point as he always did. “The bad news first: there are no ‘original notes’ in the police archives. The file has been scrubbed clean.”
My heart sank. “Completely?”
“From what my contact could tell, yes. Either the notes were never filed officially, or they were removed at some point. Possibly when Morrison retired.”
Tara’s face fell, and I reached across the table to take her hand. “And the good news?” I asked, not sure there could be any.
“The good news,” Cory continued, “is that I tracked down Morrison’s former partner, a Detective Miller. He’s retired now too, but he was willing to talk off the record.”
Hope flickered back to life. “What did he say?”
“He confirmed what you suspected. Morrison was dirty. Apparently, he was forced into early retirement to avoid an internal affairs investigation. Miller wouldn’t go into details, and he made it very clear he won’t testify or go on record.”
“So we’re back to square one,” I said, frustration creeping into my voice.
“Not exactly,” Cory replied, and I could hear the slight smile in his voice—the one he got when he’d found a clever solution toa problem. “Miller gave me what he called ‘the key to unlocking Morrison.’ Something that might persuade him to talk to you.”
Tara leaned forward eagerly. “What is it?”
