She added a little pressure then smiled at him. “Goodnight, Ted. I had a great time.”
She watched him disappear down the stairs before turning toward the cab rank. Her breath misted in the night air, and her phone buzzed in her pocket—a silent reminder of the world she’d stepped away from for a few hours.
Com Co Services. That was her lead now. Ted had no idea what he’d handed her. Tomorrow, she’d start the hunt.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Kathleen slammed the cutlery drawer shut, harder than necessary. The sound echoed through the kitchen, sharp and final, hurting her head but she didn’t care. The kettle began to boil behind her, but she ignored it. She was too wired to want tea.
Anger pulsed beneath her skin and she’d barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Darlene at the door, lounging with that smug expression, eyes glinting with satisfaction. And behind the bedroom door, Veronica—hiding like a criminal.
The late-night lessons, the gentle touches, the love making were all a performance. She’d let herself believe that this one person saw her for who she was at last. That someone as polished and poised as Veronica could want her.
Veronica was a Glass Spinner. She’s spun her web and Kathleen had willingly sailed right into it.
She grabbed a mug and then changed her mind and set it down again. Her hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting.
God, she’d been such a fool.
Darlene had realized who her dinner guest was as soon as she saw that coat. She’d thrown the poison dart right into Kathleen’s heart: “I hope your lover is as good a fuck as Veronica.”
Kathleen pressed her palms against the counter and tried to breathe.
Without a qualm, she’d told Veronica to leave.“Please. Just go.”
Veronica hadn’t begged, hadn’t argued or fought for her. She’d simply nodded and walked out. The door had closed with a definitive, final click.
Now the silence inside Kathleen’s apartment stretched on like a punishment.
She walked through the living room, ignoring the rumpled throw on the couch, the leftover scent of rosemary and wine, the glasses still in the dishwasher. A part of her was waiting for the sound of a knock, a message, something. But nothing came.
She tried to tell herself that she was better off. That Veronica was an actress, a beautiful liar. But beneath the anger, something else had begun to curdle. Something softer and far more terrifying.
Regret.
Kathleen sat on the edge of the bed and let her hands drop to her lap. She stared at her fingers, nails too clean, too neatly trimmed. Her entire body felt too still, like she was pretending to be calm while her insides collapsed.
She thought of the way Veronica had touched her with patience and kindness. How she had slowed everything down until Kathleen wasn’t afraid anymore to be touched, and even helped her to reciprocate.
No one had ever made her feel so safe and wanted.
Now, she didn’t know what to believe.
She didn’t cry, but her eyes stung and her throat ached, and her breathing came too quickly. She gripped the end of the counter, unable to process her thoughts anymore. She wanted to shut down completely, curl into a dark room and stay there forever.
But work didn’t allow that.
She dressed mechanically, putting on slacks and a shirt without really registering what she was doing. She tied her hair back and brushed her teeth too hard. When she looked in the mirror, her eyes looked overbright, her face pale. She was a wreck, looking like someone who had been abandoned.
On her way to the lab, she avoided everyone.
When Ted greeted her cheerfully, she nodded silently. He asked if she wanted to go over the test results; she told him to email them. The fluorescent lights were too harsh, the lab smells too sharp. Her hypersensitivity was turned up to ten.
She couldn’t focus.
She went through the motions. She logged into her console, checked system diagnostics, reviewed calibration reports, but it was automatic, like watching herself from above her body.
By afternoon, she was hunched in her office with the blinds drawn, noise-cancelling headphones on, staring at data she couldn’t parse. Her mind kept circling back to the apartment. That moment when Veronica stood at the door with hurt in her eyes, refusing to explain, refusing to fight.
