Say the Word(110)

For my sake, I prayed it was the latter.

I forced myself to smile at him, emulating the pageant queens I’d seen every year at the Jackson Fall Festival growing up. I played up my Southern twang, pouring it on thicker than syrup on French toast and praying it was enough to convince him that I didn’t possess enough brain cells to spell sex trafficking, let alone investigate it.

“Aw, jeeze, I’m such a klutz! Always spilling my coffee and tripping over my feet.” I let out a sunny peal of laughter. “My boss pretty much expects it by now. She won’t even notice this.” I gestured down at my coffee-splattered blouse. “I don’t think she’s ever seen me without a coffee stain somewhere on my outfit.”

Santos laughed lightly, and some of the tension lines disappeared from around his eyes.

“I’m awful sorry I bumped into you, officer,” I said, injecting my voice with honeyed remorse. “You have a good day, now!”

“You too, miss,” he nodded at me.

I beamed and turned away. When I’d made it three blocks from him, I allowed the forced smile to drop off my face and headed down onto the nearest subway platform. I couldn’t go home, not if Santos was still watching me. I’d have to hide out somewhere else for a few hours, which meant I’d likely be missing work for the second day in a row. I switched trains at three different platforms to ensure that if someone were, in fact, following me, they’d have a hell of a hard time keeping track of my final destination. When I was convinced I’d muddled my trail beyond recognition, I rode to SoHo.

I pulled out my phone and texted Sebastian.

Lux: Don’t kill me — I’ll be there as soon as possible. Something came up.

My phone chimed instantly with an incoming text message.

Bash: You okay?

Lux: I’m fine, just a little rattled and covered in coffee. Bumped (literally) into Santos on my way to work.

My phone rang.

“I’m fine!” I whispered into the receiver.

“Where the hell are you?” His voice was demanding and I could hear the sound of his quick footsteps pounding through the speaker at my ear. “Tell me you weren’t stupid enough to go straight home.”

“Excuse me!” I huffed. “I resent that statement.”

“Lux, don’t f*cking mess around with me. I just left a meeting with six executives. Tell me where the hell you are.”

“I didn’t go home. I got on the subway, hopped trains a few times, and headed to SoHo. I’m going to Simon’s loft.”

“I’m coming to get you.”

“That’s ridiculous. You have work to do, and it’ll take you over an hour to get here in your car. Traffic is completely gridlocked.”

He sighed and I listened to the sound of his thundering strides grow quiet as he slowed to a stop. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew I was right. “I don’t like this. I don’t want you alone.”

“I won’t be alone. Simon’s roommates Nate and Shane are usually hanging at the loft. I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t they have jobs?”

“Nate’s an artist and Shane’s a model — they pretty much make their own hours and spend a large majority of their time in their boxers, eating cereal from the box and sitting on the sofa watching sports reruns or playing video games. They’ll be happy to have me there — I’m freaking great at Mario Kart.”

A frosty silence passed over the line as he considered that scenario. “Well, I’ll be there at eight to pick you up.”

“Don’t I need to come into work?” I asked, confused. “Angela will wonder where I am.”

“Let me worry about Angela. Don’t move from that loft until I get there. Understand?”

“Jeeze, Mr. Dramatic.” I blew out a puff of air. “Can she at least email me my assignments, then? What else am I supposed to do all day?”

“Get ready for tonight. Make sure you have something to wear — I’m guessing the dress code is formal.”

“Tonight?” I asked, crossing at an intersection and heading for Simon’s loft.

“I want this damn charade over with. I want you safe, done with this damn investigation. So we’re moving up our timetable,” Bash said. “Tonight, we’re going to Labyrinth.”





Chapter Thirty





Now


“I look like a prostitute.”

“You look gorgeous,” Simon said dismissively.

“Fae!” I cast a pleading look in her direction.

“What?” she muttered, not looking up from her magazine.

“Help!”

She raised her head to examine me. “I’d veto the blue eyeliner,” she suggested with a shrug.

“It makes a statement!” Simon protested.

“Sure, if the statement is, ‘I’m a hooker for hire,’” I complained, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

It was wrong, all of it. The dress was too short, the neckline too low, the heels too high to make me look like anything but a streetwalker — a high-priced one, perhaps — working her wares on the corner.

“They’re not even going to let me in looking like this.” I shook my head as I scanned myself from top to toe.