I push up from the floor and scrub a hand down my face, wiping away whatever tears are still clinging to my skin.
Fuck, the last time I broke down like this was the night everything went to shit between Rafael and me. The night my dad died for the second time.
The elevator doors open at the basement level, and I stumble out, still in a bit of a daze as I make my way towards the delivery bike.
Some fragment of professional training kicks in, and I atleast manage to return the bike to the restaurant I borrowed it from.
The waitress takes one look at me when I walk in and her face crumples with sympathy. “Oh no, honey, you caught him red-handed, didn’t you?” She clicks her tongue as she takes the key from my trembling fingers. “Want to grab a drink? My shift ends in ten, and there’s this bar a few blocks down where you can tell me all the gory details.”
I shake my head and turn away without a word. Can’t exactly explain that I just shot a mob boss and watched his brother take a bullet in a vest, can I?
The next moments blur—I don’t register walking back to my bike, don’t remember navigating through traffic without wrapping myself around a lamppost, don’t recall the security guard’s greeting. One minute I’m leaving the restaurant, the next I’m standing in my building’s lobby. Still wearing the damn delivery uniform.
Shit.
Now I’ll have to explain to Katie why I look like I deliver pizza for a living. Sighing, I drag myself into the elevator, and suddenly I’m blindsided by the flash memory of Rafael’s bleeding arm and the way his eyes searched mine as the elevator doors closed between us earlier.
He looked worried.
No. That has to be a delusion. A twisted fantasy born from whatever broken part of me still craves him.
You don’t threaten to shoot someone and then worry about them. If Romero hadn’t stepped in front of me, he would have pulled the trigger. Hedidn’t care.He wouldn’t.
But that stubborn voice in my head won’t shut up:Rafael would never hurt you. You know that.
“Bullshit,” I mutter to myself.Ihurt him first, didn’t I? Shot him right in the arm. Though I tried to aim low, tried not to hitanything vital, but still. He was bleeding. A lot. What if I hit an artery? What if he lost too much blood and?—
“What the hell is wrong with you, Emily?” Worrying about my father’s murderer? The man who just shot his own brother? Sure, Romero was wearing a vest, but what if he hadn’t been? What if tonight, of all nights, he had decided to skip the Kevlar? It was a psychotic gamble.
But not for the first time, I have a flicker of doubt about the circumstances surrounding my father’s death. The genuine confusion in Rafael’s voice when he asked what the hell I was talking about—that couldn’t have been an act. Rafael doesn’t do fake. If he had killed someone, he’d own it with that cold, terrifying honesty of his.
There’s no real evidence tying him to Dad’s death. I only have Stacey’s words, and while I trust that woman with everything in me, she’s only human. She could be wrong. She must be wrong.
If Rafael really killed my father in front of FBI agents, he surely wouldn’t have kept coming for me over the years—especially knowing I was now an agent myself. And yet, he kept coming…even after my betrayal.
So what really happened that night?
The elevator doors slide open on my floor and I step out, dragging my feet towards my apartment. How the hell do I explain myself to Katie without spilling the ugly truth when she can see right through me? I chew my lower lip raw as I punch in my door code, bracing for the interrogation.
But to my surprise, the apartment meets me with darkness and blessed silence.
Katie isn’t home.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank goodness. I can keep my encounter with Rafael to myself a little longer.
I don’t bother with lights, just move through the dark, expertly navigating around furniture on my way to my room.The jumpsuit comes off and goes straight into a trash bag—I’ll get rid of it tomorrow. I shove it under the bed for now, then head to the bathroom and step into the shower, letting scalding water wash away the night’s memories, along with any trace of gunpowder residue that might still cling to my hands.
Cotton shorts and a tank top later, I’m back in the living room to water my azaleas. When I switch the lights on and reach for the spray bottle on the table, I spot a note in Katie’s neat handwriting:
Went out to dinner with Ben from IT. Don’t wait up for me. XOXO.
Ben from IT.
I rack my brain trying to picture this mystery man but come up empty.Oh well.I mist my plant, then plunge the apartment back into darkness and retreat to my room.
I collapse onto my mattress, staring up at the darkness as my mind replays the day like a broken record. Getting the mission dossier. Shopping for a dress that makes men stupid with wanting. Flirting with that sleazy council member Moore when I’d rather gouge my eyes out.
Sneaking up to Jason’s office. Rafael showing up like he’s got a goddamn tracking device on me. Almost getting caught. Being trapped in that tiny closet with him, feeling every hard inch of his body pressed against mine…
