“Next?” he asked, a smirk of satisfaction on his face.
I led him upstairs and down the hallway to apartment seven.
“A number three, no doubt about that,” he said and twisted the key free from its ring and dropped it into my hand without even trying it.
I slipped the key into the lock and it turned with silent ease. My skin prickled and so did my balls as I pushed that door open, hoping with some twisted little part of me that Elaine was in there, curled up in bed. Of course she wouldn’t be in there. She was probably in her own sad little part of the Constantine compound, passed out with a drink in her hand and snow falling from her nostrils.
I stepped inside and sure enough, the apartment was empty. Dark. Pathetic.
Worthless.
I flicked on the light and remembered the blonde bitch standing there in the hallway amongst her friend’s tacky little trinkets, looking so damn stunning in her fear.
Trenton was still hovering when I turned back to face him, no doubt still trying to gauge what the fuck was going on.
“You can go now,” I said.
He stared at me, tipping his head.
“How long have I been working with you now, boss?” he asked. “Twelve years, right? At least twelve years.”
“Long enough for me to know you need to keep your thoughts where they belong. In that thick skull of yours before I crack the fucker open.”
He knew I wouldn’t do it without severe motivation, not like I’d have done with anyone else standing in his place. We’d been acquainted for long enough to know each other’s traits and ways. I relied on Trenton Alto, even if I didn’t want to. He knew that.
“Twelve years, and I still know fuck all about just how you work. You’re one hell of a mystery, Lucian Morelli. Even by Morelli standards.”
I managed a smirk at him. “Stop trying to figure it out. You’ll be better off for it in the long run.”
“No doubt,” he said, and walked away.
The door swung closed behind him, and I stood in silence as I breathed in the space. There was the shitty tapestry opposite me, in its garish blues and its cartoon whale by a ship. The picture of grinning idiots was on the far wall by the kitchen doorway, and I stepped up closer, wondering which of the fools was the friend of Elaine’s.
The kitchen floor was cleared, broken mugs cleaned up nicely into the trash can. There was no sign of blood on the carpet from another self-harm attempt in the aftermath of me walking away.
I sat myself down on the couch in the living room where I’d ripped her dress from her, staring at the empty space on the floor.
I wondered how often she was in here, drowning out whatever bullshit in her life she was so determined to bail out on. Then I wondered about that, too.
What was it about Elaine Constantine that she despised so much? What had made her so fucked up in the head?
It was none of my business, not worth so much as a scrap of my time. I shouldn’t have been within five miles of the place, let alone sitting on some loser girl’s couch thinking about the woman whose last breath should have been long gone, taken by my own hands.
It was well into the early morning hours when that twisted part of me gave up for the night. I wasn’t even aware I was waiting for her, until I realized she really wasn’t coming.
Of course she wouldn’t be coming. Why the fuck would she be coming to that hovel of a place when she had Bishop’s Landing to float around in? Fuck knows why she was there in the first place.
I flicked off the light and headed on out of there.
I hated myself for my excuses for wanting her pussy, because that’s what I was doing. Lying to myself. Lying to myself about just how much I wanted her pretty little slit.
Fuck it. Fuck it all.
Fuck my own fucking bullshit.
I called up her calendar all over again as I waited for another stinking cab to pick me up. Wednesday night. The shitty education fundraiser was glaring out at me from my cell screen. Fucking hell.
It was listed in a whole host of local media reports as I searched the location, Work Truths Inc. and their quarterly auction.
Fuck!
My fingers moved quickly, running ahead of me on the screen, giving a fuck about nothing but hunting down the Constantine bitch. I checked in for a gala seat, at a table in the centre of the venue, keying in the name I was coming to know so well.
Terence fucking Kingsley would be hitting the auction, and this time he would be there for the world to see, as well as the one woman I wanted to claim from it.