Page 25 of Sinner’s Game

I nod. “Yeah. I’m fine.” I’m proud of how strong my voice sounds, but I don’t want to lose it in front of Ellie. It would be a betrayal of Ronan’s promise. Because why should I be freaked out knowing that he’s looking out for me? “It’s just very surreal.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Where’s Ronan?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.

“He was on the front porch making a call when the cops arrived. He’s probably giving his statement. Lamar’s doing all of us in turn. Dotting the i’s, crossing the t’s.”

That makes sense. I roll on my side, then pat the bed. Jake’s head pops up—he’s only allowed on the furniture on special occasions, and when I pat again, he shimmies with joy, then bounds onto the bed. “Lay down,” I tell him, and he stretches out beside me as I stroke his back, making him wiggle with pleasure.

An hour later, Lamar has finished taking everyone’s statements, having called Ellie and Devlin out in turn, then coming into the bedroom for mine. “I’ll skip Jake,” he says, making me laugh.

When he heads out to talk to the LCPD team, Ellie, Devlin, and Ronan return. “How much longer, do you think?” I ask.

“At least a few hours,” Ronan says. “The forensic team is working on the carpet, gathering trace. We’re fine here, but I talked with Lamar, and you don’t have to stay. One of the uniforms can walk you to your room so you don’t get in the middle of the CSI team’s work. You can pack some things, and we can get out of here. Lamar can lock up when they’re done.”

“I’d like that,” I admit.

“I’m going to call Los Angeles and New York and cancel the interviews,” Ellie says.

I gape at her, then at Devlin, who doesn’t look surprised. Clearly, they talked about this outside. “No way,” I say. “No freaking way.”

“Do you think I’m going to leave you right now?”

I point to Ronan. “I’ve got this guy watching my back. And besides, it’s not like this has anything to do with me. Right? I just live here. I don’t even know the man.”

“Most likely not,” she concedes. “But we can’t know that for sure.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “I’m not about to let you cancel this. This is huge for your book. You’re being interviewed on three different national late-night shows and a morning program. Do you know what that’s going to do for your book sales? I mean, one, you wrote a brilliant book, two, you’re married to Devlin Saint of all people, and three, you’re getting on freaking national television. I will absolutely not forgive you if you don’t go.”

She opens her mouth as if she’s going to argue, then turns to look at Devlin.

“She’s right, El. And she’s in good hands,” he adds with a nod to Ronan.

Good hands.

The words settle inside me, soft and warm. And right then, I wish they weren’t just a metaphor for safety. I’m not a woman who’s casual about sex, and unlike Ellie, I’ve never worked out my personal baggage by banging it out with a guy. I never even understood that urge. But right now—oh, God—I can see the appeal. Feeling safe. Feeling alive.

Forgetting.

I shake it off. Not me. Not happening.

And very much beside the point at the moment. “It’s settled,” I tell Ellie firmly. “You’re going.”

She scowls, then turns her attention to Devlin.

“I’m with Brandy,” he says.

Her shoulders slump. “Fine. You win. But I want reports. Regular reports.”

“Done.”

The bedroom door is open, and since the room is near the front door, we can all easily hear the officer stationed there when he says, “I’m sorry, ma’am. This is an active crime scene. I can’t let you in.”

“I understand. Could you ask Ronan to step out? He called me.”

Ellie and I exchange glances. That voice belongs to Tamra Danvers, Devlin’s very efficient right hand for both the foundation and Saint’s Angels.

Ronan and Devlin are already stepping out into the hall.