Page 98 of The Sweetest Obsession

Only, he’s already dragged me in here and I ain’t feeling the least bit polite.

“Something you’re holding back, Aleksander? You got something we missed on our sweep?”

“Please, call me Sandy,” he slurs, his eyes glazed with too much of that godawful cocktail in front of him that smells like smoked rocket fuel.

I will not.

He shakes his head slowly, huffing out an exaggerated sigh. “Gods, do I wish I did, Captain. I always adored poor Cora. If I only knew how she was suffering—if any of us did, really—we’d have gotten her the help she needed and spared no expense.”

My eyebrows go up and freeze in place.

Right. And I’m the fucking tooth fairy.

I just wish I could decide if he’s so drunk or high he’s speaking with a guilty conscience right about now.

If only one of these miserable, cold-blooded fucks would slip up.

“That it then, Sandy?” I snarl the nickname. “Look, if this is you hinting you’re feeling a need to talk to somebody to set your mind straight, there are plenty of folks around who are better qualified than me. I can’t take away any crosses for you or your folks to bear. That’s above my pay grade.”

He looks down sheepishly, staring into his drink.

Next to him, Ros whimpers in her sleep, smacking her lips.

“Certainly not, Captain. Nothing of the sort. Truth be told, I was being a tad selfish when I saw you passing by and waved you in.” He meets my eyes again. Finally, a little truth. “I just wondered if you might consider putting in a good word for little ol’ me? For Ophelia Sanderson’s sake? She wasn’t so open when I tried.”

What the shit?

He can’t be serious.

I cock my head and stare as Ros stirs against him again.

There’s a tall empty glass with a fruity smell like raspberries next to her. I wonder how many she’s had to put her down in a bar that’s already getting noisy with the evening crowd trickling in.

“What about Ophelia? And what’s that got to do with me?”

A flash of teeth, too sharp and bone white.

He sweeps his shaggy hair out of his eyes, holding up a burgundy tablecloth—or is it a handkerchief—that looks oddly textured as he wipes his mouth.

“Ros here tells me you’ve always been rather close to her Ophie—and you know as well as I do how this little town loves to talk. In fact, I’ve heard you and Ophelia are quite inseparable.” His smile widens, indifferent to the swords flashing in my eyes.

I start to open my mouth, searching for the most tactful way to tell him to fuck off in public, but he raises his hands.

“It’s not my business, Captain Grant. Suffice it to say it’s wonderful to see you enjoying yourself with a lady friend again. I never imagined you’d—”

“Get to the point, Arrendell,” I bite off.

He holds his tablecloth up and sniffs.

“I simply hoped you might join us for a drink or two? We’ll sit, we’ll catch up, and if I can turn that scowly frown into a smile, perhaps you’ll see there’s nothing for dear Ophelia to worry her pretty little head over. Ros and I weremadefor each other.” He pauses, this sneering smile spreading across his lips. “Did you know this dear creature convinced me to do laundry? I never touched a washing machine in my life before she began trusting me with her unmentionables.”

Fucking. Gross.

It’s a real effort to keep the revulsion off my face.

Especially as he makes a big show of capturing her hand and pressing it to his lips. Weirdly without releasing that little scrap of cloth in his hands, which keeps finding its way back to his cheek.

Who knew an Arrendell needed a security blanket?

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