Need Me (Dark Obsession 3)

“Heather Aslo has plenty of rage.”

Faith seemed to absorb that. “She wasn’t found next to the dead body.” Once more, her head inclined toward interrogation room number two. “Go get your client and get her out of the station. I don’t particularly enjoy feeding the reporters when they’re in their frenzy.” She sauntered away.

Squaring his shoulders, Devlin headed for the second interrogation room. A cop wearing a stiff-looking uniform stood at that door, his body at strict attention. Devlin knew the guy had been eavesdropping on his whole conversation with Faith.

When Devlin approached, the cop quickly opened the door. Devlin strode inside.

Julianna was seated at the small table. She was still wearing his coat and still looking far too fragile in its broad mass. Her head turned and she gazed at him with eyes that had never seemed quite so dark before. “It was her, wasn’t it? All along.”

“Faith thinks so.” He wasn’t on board with that idea, not yet. He wanted more evidence first. “Come on. The reporters are outside and we need to get out of here.”

She nodded and rose. Her steps were a little slow as she headed toward him. “I can’t…talk to her?”

“She’s not talking to anyone right now.” Not until her lawyer gets here. “And, baby, that woman has a whole lot of fury directed at you. The last thing I want is for you to be in a room with her.”

They made their way to the back of the station. They were going to have to hurry over a few blocks and get a cab. Maybe the reporters wouldn’t see them, if they were lucky.

He wondered who had tipped the reporters off to the new story. Devlin would personally like to thank that asshole.

“Come on.” They moved fast as they hurried out of the station. Another cop he knew held the door for them, and they rushed out. He kept a tight grip on Julianna’s hand as they sprinted across the streets and away from the reporters. He could see a cab up ahead. They were almost there—

“Mrs. Smith!”

Shit.

“Mrs. Smith,” a male reporter demanded as he ran after them, “is it true that your step-daughter tried to kill you?”

Devlin whirled toward the man. “No comment.”

The reporter’s green eyes narrowed. “I’m not asking you, buddy. I’m asking the lady.” The fellow was nearly as tall as Devlin. He peered over Devlin’s shoulder, trying to see Julianna. “Did she blow up your car, too?”

“Devlin,” Julianna whispered. “The cab is close. Let’s go.”

He turned with her. But the reporter lunged forward and grabbed Julianna’s hand, yanking her back.

“Do you deserve to die?” The reporter blasted. “Is Heather right? You killed, so it’s your turn to be killed?”

Devlin grabbed the guy by his shirt-front and shoved him back. The reporter’s blond hair was mussed, and flecks of snow drifted over him. “Get the hell back!” Devlin ordered.

“You can’t stop me!” The reporter blasted. “I have a right to question her, I have a—”

They climbed in the cab. “Get us out of here,” Devlin said.

The cab zoomed away. Other reporters had raced to the curb, but they were too late. Devlin shook his head in disgust. “Is that really the shit you’ve been dealing with?”

“I think that was John Reynolds,” Julianna said as she glanced out the window. “He works for the DC Journal. He was the…the first reporter to demand my arrest.”

Figured. “He’s an asshole.” Devlin hadn’t liked the way the guy wrapped his hand around Julianna’s wrist. He brought her wrist to his mouth and pressed a quick kiss to her skin.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

Honestly, he had no fucking clue. He was so tangled up over her. Sleep with one eye open. He stared into her eyes, and he didn’t see a killer. Could she really be that good at deception?

He kissed her wrist again. The wrist that Jeremy had broken. The wrist that jerk had grabbed. “I want you to stay with me tonight.”

The cab braked. “Okay, buddy,” the driver called back. “I got you away from them, now tell me…where are we heading?”

Julianna held his gaze. Then she nodded.

Devlin rattled off his address to the guy and when the cab turned, taking them back to his place, Devlin interlocked his fingers with hers. He didn’t know where this thing with Julianna was going to lead him, but…

I’m not ready to lose her yet.

***

Heather Aslo stared at her reflection in the interrogation room mirror. She knew the mirror was only on her side. On the other side, someone else was watching her. Waiting. Probably cops. No doubt, it was that female detective, Faith Chestang.

Faith thought Heather was trying to kill Julianna.

You’re right, Faith. I am.

Because Jeremy had told her…Julianna wasn’t the woman she pretended to be. He’d told her that Julianna was dangerous. He’d said that if anything happened to him…

Look to Julianna.

It had been obvious when Jeremy was killed that Julianna was responsible. She’d carved him up. Stabbed him again and again. Heather had been the one to go down to the morgue. She’d seen the mess that Julianna had made of Jeremy’s body.

It had almost looked as if she’d tried to cut his heart out.

You won’t get away with what you did. She wasn’t going to let it happen.

A knock sounded at the door. It opened seconds later, and Heather saw the familiar figure of Harry Gibbs in the doorway. Harry had been Jeremy’s lawyer for years, and now, he was hers.

“I-I don’t have a lot of criminal defense history,” Harry began nervously. “But I can refer you to—”

“Forget the referral. You’ll be fine.” Because she didn’t intend to stay in jail. All she needed was to get public opinion on her side. “I need you to get John Reynolds in here, now. Got it?”

“John Reynolds?” His bushy brows climbed. “The DC Journal reporter?”

She nodded. “You’ll find him outside. Get him in here…because I’ve got a story to tell him.”

Harry glanced toward the mirror. “I don’t know…”

“Get him in here.” She stared in that mirror, too. “If the cops want me to talk to them anymore, then they’ll give me time with John. I don’t care if they listen to every word we say, but I’m talking to him.” Do you understand me, Detective? I’ll talk plenty, but I’m going to make sure the right people hear my story.

She wasn’t going to rot in some jail cell while Julianna was out living it up with her new lover. No way was that going to happen.

John would help her. He always did.

Chapter Nine

She should go to bed. She should just walk away from Devlin. Go in the guest room. Shut the door.

Get as far awa

y from temptation as possible.

She should do that, so why was she just standing in the middle of Devlin’s den, her hands twisting in front of her?

Julianna peered over her shoulder. Devlin had lit a fire and the warmth filled the room even as the flames cast flickering shadows over the walls. Darkness had definitely fallen in the city. She used to love the dark.

Before Jeremy.

Before her life had gone to hell.

“You look like you could use a glass of wine,” Devlin said as he headed toward the bar in the corner of the room.

Wine. Yes, that sounded good. She turned toward him—

But for just a moment, his den vanished. Devlin vanished. Instead of the cozy fire, ice seemed to wrap around her. Julianna could have sworn that she was back in Jeremy’s home. In his den. He was making her a drink.

“I’ve told you, Julianna. Divorce isn’t an option for us.”

“But why? You don’t…you don’t love me. I don’t love you.”

He laughed and handed her a wine glass. “What the hell does love have to do with it? You’re mine, I want you. And you’re staying…mine.”

She stared down into the wine glass. So red. Like blood.

“Drink up, sweetness.”

She hated that endearment. He’d called her ‘sweetness’ right after he broke her wrist. Right after the time he’d slapped her when they left the big charity party. He’d waited until they were in the limo, then he’d struck…telling her that she’d been flirting…right in front of him.

No one had ever hit her before him. No one had ever hurt her physically. Not until Jeremy. Not until the man who’d vowed to love her and honor her. She’d been stunned at first. Surely it couldn’t really be happening?

But it was. It had.

“Drink your wine.” His voice had hardened, taking on the edge that told her his temper was stirring.

When would he hit her again? She didn’t know, but it couldn’t go on. She wasn’t going to let it. She refused to be his fucking punching bag for the rest of her life. “I’m leaving.” Her fingers curled around the stem of the wine glass.

“Leave…and your darling little sister will get her ass thrown in jail.”