Fleeting Moments(24)

His eyes flash. “For now, that’s how it has to be. Go fix things with your husband, find your life—make yourself happy. Trust me when I say you can’t have that from me.”

That hurts, but I try not to let it show. “My husband wants a divorce, and so do I.”

His eyes flash again. “He can’t know about me.”

“You want me to keep letting them think I’m crazy.”

“No, you can tell them you were wrong and I wasn’t real, and nobody will think you’re crazy.”

“That would be a lie.”

“Life is a lie, Lucy girl. Deal with it.”

I flinch and lean back. “I don’t like your conditions.”

“They’re the only ones you’re going to get.”

I sigh. If he’ll give me a night with him, then so be it, I’ll take it. Maybe one night will give me the answers I need. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not sleeping with you.”

He grins, and it absolutely transforms his face. “Clear, honey.”

“Stop grinning at me like that,” I mumble, standing and taking the towel back into the bathroom where I rinse it off.

I return a few minutes later and he’s standing, staring down at my laptop.

“Next condition,” he growls pointing to the page on the screen detailing the history of cults, “stop looking this shit up. It’s dangerous.”

“Sorry, you’ve already made your conditions. And it’s free information; I can look at it if I like.”

He glares at me. I raise my brows and hold his glare.

Neither of us break.

“This place got room service?” he finally grumbles. “I’m thinking it’s going to be a long night.”

I smile.

His eyes drop to my mouth and he mutters, “Christ, thought you were beautiful before, then you go ahead and smile.”

My heart flutters.

I get the room service menu.

***

“So why were you there that night?” I ask, watching him chow down on his steak. I just had Chinese, so I’m letting him eat his heart out. Even eating, he is perfection. Slightly skewed perfection, but that’s what makes him unique. He isn’t what you’d expect—he’s so much more.

“I can’t tell you much about that,” he says, his gaze locking with mine. “All I can say is that we had an idea that it was going to happen.”

“And you didn’t think to cancel the game?” I gasp, crossing my legs and leaning against my headboard.

He watches me from the table, shoving more steak into his mouth and chewing before answering, “There have been quite a few threats made on the place before, and we had to answer to every one—nothing happened. They were threats more than anything. We can’t cancel every game; people would start questioning it, and the second something like that becomes public knowledge, all hell breaks loose.”

“So why do you think they picked that night?”

“We had a police conference. Most of the officers were in meetings, and they must have figured they had a good chance of pulling it off. They were right.”

“So you are a cop.”

He looks at me, narrowing his eyes, still chewing. “I was. I’m not anymore, but I am . . . helping with this.”

“Why?”

Something painful flashes across his face. “Can’t talk about that.”

If he’s no longer a cop, why would he be helping with this unless it somehow affected him? Does he have a wife in that cult, or a child maybe? Why would he risk so much when he didn’t have to?

“Is that why everybody is pretending they don’t know who you are?”

His eyes flicker away. “I can’t go into much detail, but it’s for my own safety. It can’t be known that I’m anywhere near this case.”

“Why?” I prompt.

“I can’t tell you that either.”

“They would have seen you there, so if you wanted to stay so secret why were you there that night?”

“The men attending didn’t know who I was, it was safe enough.”

“Well then who are you hiding from?”

“Can’t tell you.”

I huff. “What can you tell me?”

He leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “That it’s not safe.”

I roll my eyes.

His lips twitch. “You have to trust me with this, Lucy.”

I look to him again. “I don’t know what to trust anymore.”

“If you keep digging, people are going to figure it out and you’re putting not just yourself at risk, but me, too.”

My face falls. “You?”

“Yeah, me.”

That was never my intention. Not ever. “I don’t want that. I didn’t realize . . .”

He sighs and gets up, walking over to the bed and sitting down. “I know that, honey. You just have trust me.”

“So you’re saying I can’t see you, at all?”

His eyes soften. “Right now, that’s not a good idea. If you promise to stop asking around about me, then I might be able to visit.”

Visit. Like I’m sick and in a hospital.

I look down at my hands. “Do you still think about it?” I whisper.