Dating Games(102)

Rolling her eyes in annoyance, she points to the front doors. “Reporters have to stay outside and wait for the press conference.”

“No,” I interject. “I’m not here to get information. I’m here to give information. I just recently interviewed Sonia Moreno. I may have evidence to help in finding her killer.”

“The detectives already have someone in custody who was seen in the vicinity of her house.”

“Have you questioned her husband?” I press.

“Her husband?” She arches a brow. “The director?”

“Yes.” I retrieve my cell phone from my purse, unlocking the screen and scrolling through the audio files until I find the one I need. “She spoke of him. How she was getting ready to file for divorce, but was worried about what he might do.” I hit play. Sonia’s voice fills the room. Her subtle Spanish accent leaves no question that it’s her.

“Turn that off,” the desk sergeant orders, glancing at people lingering close by. She gets up from her seat and walks away. A few seconds later, the secure door opens and she holds it for me. “Are you coming or not?” she presses when I don’t move.

“Right. Of course.” I walk toward her and follow the sergeant down several long corridors. I stay as close to her as possible, worried I’ll get lost or trampled by people rushing around if I stray. I barely breathe until we step into the elevator and the doors shut, allowing me a reprieve from the chaos. I love the busy atmosphere at the magazine, but it’s never like this.

When the elevator stops, we exit onto the twelfth floor, the words “Homicide Unit” in bold letters hanging on the wall in front of us.

“This way.”

We continue down several hallways, the sound of two-way radios and loud voices filling the maze-like space. Approaching a door labeled “Conference”, she points to a line of chairs against the wall.

“Wait there. Detective Mulroney will be with you shortly.”

“Thanks,” I say, but she’s already disappeared.

Taking a seat, I smile as a man in a dark suit with a buzz cut, a detective shield hanging from his neck, rushes past, carrying a bunch of papers. I pull my planner out of my bag, scratching down notes in one of the free pages. There’s no doubt in my mind Ethan is involved, not with the threats he’d made. What I have to say may not be useful, but I must try. I’ll never be able to live with myself if I don’t and he continues to walk free. Julian would want me to do the same. He stood up to an injustice and protected his mother. I need to protect Sonia’s legacy.

When the door to the conference room opens, I snap my head up, looking in its direction, my hands growing clammy. I’m innocent of committing a crime, but I’m just as nervous as I would be if that weren’t the case.

“Thank you for coming in and sharing this with us, Mr… What do I even call you? Now that I know who August Laurent is…”

My pulse skyrockets when I hear that name.

“Call me whatever you’d like,” a familiar voice interjects. But it’s lacking the normal vitality I’m used to hearing during our conversations. It’s somber, solemn, not to mention the subtle French accent seems to have disappeared, as well.

The door widens and two men step out. I freeze, unsure how to act, whether August would want me to acknowledge him. He knows what I look like. But I have no idea what he looks like. Every single woman I’ve interviewed has remained incredibly tight-lipped about his appearance, about his true identity.

But as the detective moves to the side and I meet the eyes of the man I’ve spent months obsessing over, my heart plummets. The room spins, my grip on my planner loosening. It falls to the floor, pages spreading in every direction as the world seems to give out from beneath me.





Chapter Thirty-Eight





“Julian?” I say through the thickness in my throat, fighting to capture a breath as I stand. Chills rush through me, my limbs trembling as flashes of the past several months play before me. What I thought was a coincidence when I ran into him at the Steam Room. August calling me because a “little birdie” told him I was looking for him. His sudden change of heart after he’d adamantly refused my request to interview a few of his clients. His agreeable attitude wasn’t because of any skillset I possessed. It was all because he wanted to sleep with me.

“Julian?” I squeak again when he only stares at me, his jaw slack. My expression pleads with him to finally say something. But he doesn’t. He simply bows his head, shaking it, silently confirming the awful truth. My eyes burn with the betrayal filling me and I spin from him, running down the hall, searching desperately for the elevator.

“Guinevere! Wait!” he calls out, but I continue, wheezing as my sobs remain trapped in my throat.

With each step I take, the more it makes sense. I often mentally remarked about the parallels between the two men. But I never considered Julian was August Laurent. He would have told me. Wouldn’t he? A voice in the back of my head reminds me he wouldn’t if he were trying to hide the truth. And there’s only one reason he would do that… Because on the nights he wasn’t with me, he was keeping another woman company. The thought turns my stomach.

I somehow find the bank of elevators and send a prayer of thanks to the big man upstairs when there’s already one waiting. Once inside, I repeatedly hit the button for the lobby. Julian’s voice grows closer, calling my name, begging me to stop. I bang the button faster, willing the doors to close. They finally do just as he reaches the elevator, the echo of his fists slamming against the doors filling the car. I release a relieved breath and slink against the wall, needing the support to keep me upright.