Skin Deep (Station Seventeen #1)(79)
Isabella’s brain spun. Could he be right? “We did get a lot of intel from that party that we’d never have gotten otherwise. But that doesn’t change the fact that Angel is dead.”
Kellan’s eyes darkened, stormy blue and fierce with emotion. “You’re right, and her death is a horrible thing. But Angel wasn’t stupid. She knew who you were. She knew the risks involved in talking to you, and she wanted her freedom badly enough to take them.”
“I…” Isabella’s heart squeezed, and she pressed her forehead to Kellan’s. His arms felt so good, holding her close beneath the bed sheets, that she whispered the truth without thinking twice. “I know, but I promised. She died on my watch. Not Sinclair’s or Peterson’s. Mine.”
“But you didn’t kill her, and I’m not going to let you say you did.” Kellan’s jaw tightened, his muscles pulling taut beneath the dark stubble covering them. “DuPree killed Angel, and now that Sinclair is opening an investigation, he’s going to go down for that.”
Despite the sadness still crowding her chest, Isabella nodded. Sinclair might not agree with her methods, but he’d believed her when she’d insisted DuPree was behind these murders. He wouldn’t stop until the case was closed.
A thought that had been lodged in her brain for the past twenty-four hours reared up, and she swallowed past the knot in her throat to ask, “You pulled her from the house, right? That’s what you told Sinclair yesterday, when we were going over the fire scene.”
Kellan exhaled, his callused fingers brushing her cheek in a shockingly soft touch. “Isabella, don’t. Don’t do this to yourself.”
“I need to know, Kellan. I just…please. I need to know.”
After a second, he nodded. “Yes. I found Angel in the bathroom, and I brought her down to our paramedic, Quinn. The two of us did every single thing in our power to try and save her.”
“I know you did,” Isabella whispered. “Thank you.”
“This isn’t your fault.”
Although she didn’t agree—how the hell could she?—she was also beginning to learn Kellan’s expressions. The V between his dark brows and the ice-blue intensity of his stare said with certainty that he wouldn’t let this go, so she eked out a nod.
“I guess I’m just fried,” she said, because that was true enough. God, the last few days felt like they’d lasted for a month.
Kellan pulled her close, turning to his back and fitting her tightly against his side. “You’ve had a hell of a long twenty-four hours. Why don’t you try to get some sleep, and we can talk about this more in a little while.”
Isabella knew she should dodge the topic, just like she knew she should get out of Kellan’s bed and regain the space that would keep her safe. Letting him get too close was dangerous. She needed distance.
But instead, she fell asleep in his arms.
* * *
Julian waited until the last possible second before taking off his bathrobe to enter the shower. Although his en suite was as private as the rest of his quarters—perhaps even more so, considering the extra set of biometrically locked doors keeping it separate from his bedroom—he still couldn’t be too careful.
No one had ever seen his scars. At least, no one who still breathed, and he was already light on dependable staff.
Speaking of which…
Julian stepped beneath the spray, welcoming the pain of the scalding water on his hyper-sensitive skin for a moment before turning his thoughts toward business. Although the house fire had gone exactly as planned, there were still a few necessary moves to be made in order to have Detective Moreno exactly where he wanted her.
Detective Moreno.
Julian’s breath quickened, his member stirring between his scarred thighs. Shame filled him at his impure reaction to such a filthy, brazen woman, and he turned the water even hotter until it blistered his skin.
Dirty boy! The voice screamed up from his past. You’re a dirty, disgusting boy, and you must be punished for your sins!
No. Detective Moreno needed to be punished. She made him feel this way, with her whore smiles and her hidden agenda. She thought she could outsmart him, but she was wrong. He knew all about her past. The cousin who’d died after three long days of being locked in a basement and repeatedly raped. The ridiculous dedication she’d thrown into becoming a police detective, almost certainly to avenge the crime. The way she’d shamelessly thrown herself at that firefighter, rutting against him for the sole purpose of getting what she wanted. Of trying to get to him and shut him down.
Isabella Moreno was dirty and disgusting and the worst sort of whore. And he was going to break her.
Scrubbing his body until the pain made him numb, Julian finished his shower. He dressed quickly, rebuilding his composure with each movement. He couldn’t allow savage anger to lead him toward mistakes.
He would kill Isabella Moreno. But first, he would make her pay.
Julian made his way to the surveillance room, where Vaughn and Charles and Franco had gathered at his demand. “Gentlemen,” he said, though the address was far enough from the mark to leave a foul taste in his mouth. “An update, if you please.”
All three men exchanged uncomfortable glances from across the bank of computer monitors, and finally, Vaughn spoke. “The news isn’t great, boss. The fire department is ruling the, uh, incident on Oakmont as ‘undetermined’, which wouldn’t be so bad, except the RPD just reached out to their friendly neighborhood field office to request an official investigation into the deaths. All they need is one connection between you and Angel or Marcus, and they’ll be on us like a bad rash.”