I flick the edge of my earring, welcoming the light edge of pain slowly burning its way through my growing anger at the thought. My rage is a physical thing: everything tightens.
My other hand finds my service weapon, hidden under the generous folds of my gauzy navy dress. It’s the only thing that makes me feel safe.
Because I’m going to be honest with you. Right now, Idon’tfeel safe. I feel like a moth pinned up behind glass. From the way my skin tingles, those piercing blue eyes are still watching me.
I know it.
“Detective Cantiano!” My best friend Ida finally emerges, her petite shape framed by the crystal glare of the lobby. “I should’ve known you’d be out here.”
She doesn’t wave, and she should be too far away for me to see how her gaze softens. But I do, or at least I know her well enough for my mind to imagine it.
Unlike me, she’s chosen to be in a pantsuit so sharp I can cut my wrist on the crease. With a measured, almost lazy stride, she joins my side and flashes her trademark smile—all innocence and radiance that has disarmed more than its fair share of juries and men.
But I know underneath that sweet smile is a lawyer who’ll pick you apart with just a few words before you even realize what the hell happened.
In her hand is a flute of a pale, once-bubbly wine. As I accept it from her, I glance back over my shoulder again.
Something tells me those blue eyes weren’t just lookingatme.
They were lookingforme.
“What’s up?” she asks when she notices my eyes flicking across the street.
I try to play it off. “Nothing. I just thought someone was watching me.”
“From the gala?”
I shake my head. “No, a stranger.”
I don’t tell her about the blue eyes. They feel like a secret I’m supposed to keep. I like to think I can tell Ida anything, but intruth that’s a joke. Even my best friend only sees an inch of what I hide beneath the surface.
“Or someone checking you out.” Her sweet smile widens. “God forbid you admit that you’re beautiful. News flash, Giselle, gorgeous women turn heads.”
As if I didn’t know that, better than nearly anyone.
I snort and try to change the topic. “You’re late.”
“Fashionably,” she corrects.
“MacDougal didn’t show, by the way.” I lean against the stone balustrade, reach an open palm towards her. “Pony up.”
“Bleeding me dry, Cantiano.” She pulls a crisp five-dollar bill from her clutch and crumples it just slightly before depositing it in my hand. “His office is claiming stomach flu. And the mayor will cover for him, as usual. They need his vote on that housing bill.”
I nod and scan the street again.
To Ida, I must look like I’m just gazing out absent-mindedly. But I’m looking for something specific. A pair of blue eyes that have somehow already burrowed their way into my mind, and nothing short of a miracle is going to dig them out.
Most of the partygoers have filtered away into town cars or taxis. A young woman in a sequined slip dress smokes furiously beneath a streetlight. I hope her ride is on its way.
My mind imagines the same man who’d been staring at me is still out there, his focus having shifted to her.
Somehow, I know that’s not the case.
“Double or nothing?” I ask.
Ida cocks her head. “On what?”
“Who gets killed next.”
