“Me? You know that eliminating suspects is just as important as pinpointing one. What about you sleeping with Christina Serafini? You want to start a gang war?”
“Who said I was sleeping with her?”
“That hickey on your neck, asshole.”
“Where?”
“Here,” said Louis, pressing his finger on Saks’ neck. “There.”
“We have thing for each other, but we can’t work it out. She’s hung up on what her family would do to me if they found out.”
“Look at yourself,” said Louis. “I think the lady has a point. And now that your boy has ditched you, who the hell is going to take care of you?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Chrissy saw the policeman before he tapped on her window. Cold dread swept through her. One thing that was drilled in her since childhood was that you did nothing to gain the attention of the police. Rationally, she knew the police were there to serve and protect, but childhood programming was difficult to ignore.
Especially when an officer of the law was staring at her, unsmiling.
Chrissy rolled down the window as her heart raced against her efforts to remain calm. “Is there something I can do for you, Officer?”
“License and registration, please.”
“Do I do something wrong?” Chrissy knew she didn’t. She was just sitting here. Why was he asking for them? He couldn’t have probable cause for a crime.
“Is there a particular reason you’re parked here?” A small snort escaped his nose. “Crying?”
“I wasn’t feeling well, and pulled off until I felt better.”
“Not feeling well?”
“Migraine,” she lied. What was she going to say? That she was crying her eyes out over a man she loved but couldn’t have?
“How long have you been here?”
Chrissy looked at the clock in her dashboard. “About fifteen minutes.”
“See or hear anything suspicious?”
“No, Officer.”
“You sure?”
Yeah. Chrissy was sure. She had her head so far up her butt about Saks that she couldn’t notice anything else if she wanted to.
“Yes, Officer.”
“Don’t drive off,” said the policeman.
What the hell was she supposed to do? Here she was in Westfield, miles from home without her phone, which she stupidly lost in her own house, and she was told by a police officer not to leave the scene of whatever was going on behind that crime scene tape. How badly did she fuck up now?
In a week full of screw-ups, missed communications, and physical mayhem, she felt like all she could do was screw up.
Then her phone rang.
From her purse.
What the hell? She opened the bag and fished out the lighted device. Gloria’s number was displayed on the screen. “Hey,” she said.