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a picture of him with his wife and daughter.

I picked it up.

I stared at it, my heart breaking for James. I looked around the rest of the room. That photo was the only indication that she’d ever existed. I shook my head.

That’s when I noticed it was quiet. I turned and James was behind me.

He gave me a smile.

“She was the love of my life, Gia.”

“I know,” I said solemnly.

“You hungry?” he said in a chipper voice as I followed him to the table.

“Starved.” In more ways than one.

“Dig in.”

After we ate steak with a parsley-flaked butter sauce and creamy garlic mashed potatoes and delicate asparagus, I sat back, moaning with pleasure.

“Good God that was good.”

“I was not messing around.”

“I guess not.”

“Let’s go out on the deck with our wine,” he said.

I followed him out. The view on his small deck was of the street below. But I didn’t care about a view.

I sat in an Adirondack chair, and James sat beside me. There was a salty breeze coming in from the Pacific and, as the sun dipped lower on the horizon, I felt a chill run through me.

James, ever attentive, noticed.

“You okay?”

“I can’t believe I’m a murder suspect.”

“Gia, I can’t talk about it.”

I turned to him in surprise. “You’re kidding, right?”

He sighed loudly. “If you want my help. If you want me to work to prove you didn’t do it, we can’t discuss it. I promised the chief.”

“Of course you did.”

One thing about James. He’d uphold the letter of the law even if it meant he was going to prison for life. That had been, and always would be, the thing that kept us apart. I didn’t see things as black and white as he did.

“I’m not going to change you now,” I said, lightly. “Just make sure you prove my innocence. This is starting to become a pain in the ass.”

He seemed relieved I let it go.

“Let’s go in. I’ll turn on the fire,” he said.

Inside, the flames on the gas stove leaped to life, shooting warmth out into the room. James went around dimming lights and lighting candles. “Go pick some music out,” he said over his shoulder.

He had two crates full of vinyl records next to a turntable. I wanted something sultry, moody. I put on “Waiting Game” by Banks. He crooked a finger at me slowly with a sensual grin.

I caught my breath. His eyes locked on mine. We both knew it was a foregone conclusion what would happen next.

But I was nervous. It had been a long time.

And I didn’t want to fall for him again. That was dangerous. And could only end badly.

Twenty-Four

I was on his lap when the doorbell rang.

What the fuck?

I jumped up and pulled my top back up over my naked breasts.

James looked guiltily down at the tent in his pants and quickly pulled a pillow onto his lap.

I was sitting on a barstool, sipping wine when he opened the door.

Nicoletta was standing there.

Her pink lips opened into a big O.

“Shoot,” she said. “I forgot tonight was your dinner—catching up on old times.”

She started to back up.

James reached for her hand.

“Come on in. It’s fine.”

I hid my anger. It was not fucking fine.

I hopped up and grabbed my bag.

“I was just leaving,” I said. I leaned down and gave James a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for dinner, sailor.”

Then I was gone.

I tried not to peel out of the garage, knowing that bitch was upstairs feeling smug as fuck.

Furious, I drove around not wanting to go back to my hotel room.

I’d honestly thought that I would be staying all night with James. I had made up this scenario in my head where we woke together and made love and then I would make him breakfast…

I cringed thinking of this.

I’d made up this romantic scenario in my head. And why?

I hated to admit it, but I was lonely.

So fucking lonely.

And I’d looked to James, subconsciously, to fill that void.

It wasn’t fair to him. It wasn’t fair to me.

Frustrated, sad, and forlorn, I did what I always did when I felt this way—I headed to the closest bar. I valet parked and scooted up to the crowded bar. The bartender was busy at the other end. A guy to my right with a big bushy beard said, “I got this” after I’d attempted and failed to order two different times.

“Yo, Connie!” he said with a New York accent.

The waitress, a skinny woman with flushed cheeks and thin hair scraped back in a ponytail was in front of us.

“I’ll take another lager and whatever this one wants.”

I ordered a tequila, and when it arrived I toasted the bearded guy. “Thank you.”

“No problem. You looked like you needed that.”

“Amen, brother,” I said. I wondered if my mascara was smeared. I’m not going to lie, a few tears slipped out when I was driving away from James’s apartment.

“My name is Red,” he said.

“I’m Gia. Next one’s on me Red.”

My phone pinged. I looked down. It was a text from James.

“Call me.”

I ignored it. I wasn’t ready to analyze our fucked-up relationship any more. I was done. I needed a break from the emotional roller coaster. At least for the night.

For starters, I knew James. He was beating himself up for making out with me even though he had a girlfriend. His guilt was annoying. I didn’t want to deal with it. So I wasn’t going to.

I bought Red a few drinks. He bought me a few. He was from New Jersey, in the city on business and had five kids at home. We talked baseball and, ultimately, Spain.

His wife was from a small town in southern Spain.

At the end of the night, I got up to leave, and he grabbed my elbow when I lost my balance.

“Hey, Gia, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m going to call you a ride, okay?”

I nodded my thanks.

I nearly fell asleep in the car on the way back to the hotel. I pulled my sunglasses on

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