Page 16 of She Gives Love a Bad Name

“Something like that.” I pick at the edge of my nail, unable to meet his gaze. “Found a job. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s something.” I slump and mutter under my breath, “At least, it was.”

He narrows his eyes, and I anticipate his next question, but I’m saved when the telephone rings.

In three strides, he’s across the kitchen, pulling the phone from the receiver. “Richards.”

I stand and gather the plates, carrying them to the sink. While I do my task, my attention remains fixed on the man standing three feet away.

“When?” His voice rumbles through the stillness of the apartment. “Only one victim?” Another pause. “I see.”

My heart pounds in my chest. I try to calm down. I tell myself it has nothing to do with what happened last night. He’s a detective. They could be talking about anything.

He grabs a pen and notebook from the corner of the counter. Leaning the notebook against the wall, he scribbles a few notes before turning to face me.

Our eyes lock. The intensity of his gaze burns a hole of guilt through me. I should tell him, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

His amber eyes narrow, like he knows I’m withholding vital information.

“Got it. Yeah. I’ll be there in thirty.” He hangs up the phone. “I need to go. There’s been a murder.”

I don’t flinch at the word. I knew it before he formed the syllables on his lips. “I should go anyway.”

“No. You’re not leaving this apartment until you come clean.”

“I don’t have anything to tell you.” Fury builds in the pit of my stomach. I clench my hands into fists against the robe.

“Bullshit, kid. Whatever happened to you last night scared you enough to drop you on my doorstep looking like death warmed over.” He shakes his head. “You must have been desperate to come to me for help.”

He’s not wrong, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of hearing me say it. I pinch my lips together in pure defiance.

“I’ll have my brother keep an eye on you while I’m gone.”

“You’re just going to lock me up like a prisoner?” I prop my hands on my hips. “That’s illegal.”

“Sue me, kid.” He reaches into the small closet and retrieves his jacket. “I’ve got bigger things to worry about right now. We’ll discuss this when I get back.”

I throw my hands up in the air. “This is totally bogus.”

“Stay in this apartment. I’m serious.” He points his finger at me. “And don’t try to sweet-talk Claude. He may look like a nice guy you can manipulate, but he’s smarter than he lets on. He’ll see through you in a heartbeat.”

I glower at him as he opens the door.

“Claude!” he yells down the hall.

“What?” comes the answering shout.

“Come here.”

I stare in disbelief as another man approaches the detective. They’re the same height, the same coloring and build. I blink twice. Are they twins? No. They have marked differences. But one difference stands out more than the rest—Claude has only one hand.

“Keep an eye on her for a couple of hours. I have a case.”

The brother turns toward me. His overlong hair brushes his collar. Eyes similar to Grant’s bore into mine. “I can handle her. Go.”

Disbelief and anger bubble inside me. “I don’t need to behandled.”

The detective ignores me. “Thanks. I owe you one.” He turns to face me. “Behave, Quinn.”

“Yes, dad.” I scrunch my nose at him.

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