him a look. “You’re asking for a lot more than a meal.”
“What if I want to get to know you again, figure out what you’ve been up to all this time.”
“We aren’t going to find out any more about each other over a meal today than we did yesterday.”
He laughed. “One short conversation? You think that’s all we have left?”
“I don’t have time for relationships in my life, Dante. I’m busy.”
“I didn’t ask you for a relationship, Anna. There are things we need to talk about, and you know it. We all need to talk, not just you and me.”
He wanted more from her than talking. She knew it and he knew it. She hadn’t been a cop for seven years—a damn good cop—by ignoring signals and body language. Dante’s body language told her a lot about his intentions.
Intentions she had no desire to act on.
Okay, maybe she had desires, but she knew nothing about him.
“You want to talk, how about you start by telling me the truth about you?”
He leaned back, a look of wariness on his face. “What truth?”
“About where you’ve been for the past twelve years.” And why he left in the first place.
That shut him up.
“And why you show up here and suddenly someone close to you is dead.”
Now he looked pissed. A sure sign of something to hide. “Circumstance. I had nothing to do with George’s death.”
“So you say. But it sure is a coincidence that George is murdered—” she looked around to make sure no one had wandered into the squad room “—in a place very familiar to you, that no one knows about, on the same night you come back after being gone for twelve years. I’d like an explanation for that one, Dante.”
“So would I. I’d also like an explanation why after the murder someone left you a love note and flowers showing off about the murder. And it couldn’t have been me since I was with you on the scene.”
She opened her mouth to argue the point, but instead clamped it shut.
“We do have a lot to talk about, Anna. You, me, Gabe, Roman and Jeff. Our past has suddenly been dumped right into our laps again. And like it or not, we have to deal with it.”
She didn’t like it.
“I’ll think about it.”
“You do that.”
Great. A get-together with the same people she’d been with twelve years ago.
A reunion she didn’t want to have.
Dante sat in his car and stared at the nondescript brick building that housed the metropolitan police station. Cops wandered in and out as he pondered what his next step would be.
Why hadn’t he just told Anna where he’d been and what he’d been doing for the past twelve years?
Because his life was a big giant secret and he never knew from one minute to the next where it would take him or what his identity would be when he got there. And he knew better than to just start spilling his guts.
He didn’t exist, not officially, and the fewer people who knew that the better.
If he was lucky he could get in and out of town without anyone knowing who he was and what he did.
His superiors would like that a lot.
He’d done the right thing by not saying anything, even if the end result had been the mistrustful look in Anna’s eyes.
He’d been the one who put that look there in the first place, so he was going to have to own it.
Which didn’t mean he’d have to like it.
He started up the car and drove away.
Six
Sleep had been an illusion, a fantasy. Anna had come home after getting off duty, stripped off her clothes and climbed into a hot shower to scrub the remnants of the day from her body, her mind filled with the possibilities of this case.
By the time she’d crawled into bed, the thick shades pulled down to block out the morning sunlight, she was exhausted. But sleep had been in fits, and dreams had been filled of that night twelve years ago, of being pinned down and helpless, the burn and screaming pain of a sharp knife carving into her chest. And suddenly it wasn’t her anymore, but George, a shadowy figure standing over him as he cried out for help, the tip of a knife glinting silver and menacing in the moonlight.
She woke with a gasp, her hand immediately going to her chest to rub the ache that never seemed to go away. Dragging her hand through her hair, she got up, dressed and made coffee.
Cup full of life-infusing brew, she stepped out onto the back patio.
It was brutally hot outside already, the humidity rising like the steam coming off her coffee. She took a seat on a cushioned chair, glad she had a shaded patio to cool her bare feet. If it was this hot in June, what was August going to be like?
Unbearable. And this kind of heat bred crime.
But she wasn’t on duty right now and she’d barely brushed the cobwebs out of her mind. It wasn’t time to think of work yet.
She sipped her coffee and watched the birds peck at the feeder in the corner of the yard. She’d impulsively bought it this spring, thinking her backyard needed some life and color—much like her life—but hey, she had to start somewhere, and the yard was easier. She’d added flowers and bushes, and had spent a couple weekends digging into the dirt with her shovel, sweating her ass off and loving every minute of it.
She didn’t need a social life if she had a backyard project, did she? Try telling that to her father.
Now she had to remember to water everything and put seeds in the bird feeder, but at least she had something out here to look at besides a couple trees and some grass.
She sipped her coffee and smiled at the birds fighting over the seeds.
The only thing missing from her life now was a rocking chair and a cat.
She laughed, thinking her dad would not be amused by that thought. He was already bitching about her getting close to thirty and not giving him grandchildren.
As if that was a priority.
As if any man would want to deal with all the baggage she’d bring to a relationship, the scars from the past, both physical and emotional. She could hardly stand getting naked in front of a man. Nudity required explanation of her scar, and since she’d never told the truth about that night, she had to lie about how she’d gotten it. Sex was much better in the dark, wearing some clothes. Not that she had a problem with sex. She liked it just fine, but the whole relationship and marriage thing? No thanks.
As if she was even interested in getting married and having children, anyway.
Her work hours were shit, she had frequent nightmares, the past still had a stranglehold on her and she liked her independence. She dated rarely, slept with men even more infrequently and took her sexual frustration out on her job.
Yeah, she was one hell of a catch.
Her cup empty, she went inside to refill and saw her phone vibrating across the kitchen counter.
It was a text message from Dante asking her to call him when she woke up.
She pressed the call button and he answered on the first ring.
“I didn’t expect you to answer me right away,” he said. “Figured you’d still be asleep.”
“I don’t need a lot of sleep.”