Deep (Pagano Family #4)(24)

“Your boyfriend was already here. He knows you’re safe. He’s short on manners. And brains.”

“What does that mean? And I keep telling you he’s not my boyfriend.” Why did he insist on calling Chris her boyfriend? And what was going on? Chris had been here? “Wait—he was here? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were sleeping.” He closed his laptop. “As for your purse, it’s at the precinct in Providence. You’ll have it later today. I have some questions for you. What’s your name? Your real name?”

“What do you mean, ‘my real name’? It’s Bev. Beverly Maddox. Beverly Denise Maddox, if that makes you happy.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-one. Am I being interviewed for some kind of job? What is this?” Her ribs began to ache more sharply as her heart rate picked up. He was being aggressive with her, and she had no idea why.

He seemed unaffected by her confusion and distress. The man who’d lain with her on the sidewalk was gone. “What do you do for money, Beverly Denise Maddox?”

“What? Why all these questions? What difference does it make what I do?”

“I’d like to know who’s in my house. Is there a reason you don’t want to tell me?”

There wasn’t, except that she was feeling attacked and afraid. She answered his question. “I’m a waitress. I work at Sassy Sal’s. I need to call my boss, too. I’m supposed to work the breakfast shift tomorrow.”

“How does a waitress afford a beachfront condo?”

“I don’t have a beachfront condo. You do. I have a courtyard condo, and it’s half this size.”

“Still. I know how much they go for. More than a diner waitress could afford.”

Finally, her gumption kicked in, and she squared her shoulders, wincing only a little, she hoped, at the pulling pain. “My money is my business. Who are you to be nosing around in it? Look—I don’t know what happened between when I fell asleep and now, but you obviously don’t want me here. I don’t want to be here. I’ll go back to my own place, and we can pretend like last night never happened.”

He shook his head slowly. “That’s not possible. As I told you last night, we’re connected now, and you’re my responsibility. And I already know the answers to the questions I’m asking. Your father died two years ago, and he left you an inheritance. You used most of it to buy the condo outright. With the rest of it, you paid off your credit cards. Responsible of you.”

“What—how—why—what?” Appalled, she couldn’t form a clear thought. Then she got it. “You hacked me, or whatever it’s called.”

“Or whatever it’s called. Yes.”

“Then why even bother to ask?” Had she thought she liked this guy?

“I wanted to know if you’d lie to me.”

“You’re testing me? Go to hell. I’m going home.” Furious and feeling violated, she got up, willing herself not to flinched at the strain in her ribs, and stalked to the door with as much dignity as she could muster. Somehow, though, he got around his desk and to the door before she did, and he blocked her path. His eyes lased into hers. He was angry, and she still had no idea why.

“You’re not going. I told you last night—you’re here, with me. Until I know it’s safe.”

“Why do you care? And why are you angry at me?”

“I’m not angry.”

“That’s bullshit. You’re totally different from the way you were last night. What did I do?”

Instead of answering, he grabbed her arm and yanked it forward. A razor-sharp pain sliced across her chest and she cried out, but it didn’t seem to affect him. With his other hand, he hit a wall switch, and the glass wall went dark. Whatever he did to her next, no one would see.

“The only answer I haven’t found is this.” He turned the inside of her right wrist to her face. “What is this?”

Her heart seemed to stop for a second, and the pressure in her chest became almost unbearable. Forcing her voice to be steady, she said, “It’s a tattoo. I know you’re not scandalized by ink—I’ve seen your back.”

“Don’t be coy, Beverly. What’s under the ink?”

Twisting her hand, trying to get free of his grip without wrenching her ribs even more, she gritted out, “None of your business. Who are you to think you can ask me personal questions? Before Thursday, you barely talked to me. Please—just let me go home.”

“No. It’s not safe.”

“I’m across the f*cking hall! How am I less safe across the—” A thought occurred to her, and she stopped. “It’s not me you’re keeping safe. You think I had something to do with what happened.”

He finally let go of her, but he didn’t move clear of the door. “The situation isn’t safe. I need to control all the variables I can until it is.”

“That’s nuts. I didn’t have anything to do with blowing up a car. I wouldn’t know a bomb if I tripped over one. I’ve never even held a gun. Plus, I was about to get into that car myself—like a fool.” She stepped away from him, her head full of buzzing bees. If she’d only gone home with her friends last night, she’d be at the farmer’s market right now, picking out eggplants and kale. Now she was a hostage—thirty feet from her own home.