Page 8 of Sinner’s Game

“Oh. Right.” Stupid, stupid. “Had an idea for a new bag design. Got distracted. Anyway,” I rush on before he can challenge my crappy excuse, “after chewing me out, he just walked away. And since he’d come from the property manager’s office, I walked over and asked Gail who the weird guy was. She told me that he’s my landlord.”

“Seriously?”

I cringe. “Honestly, I think I liked it better not knowing how weird the guy is. I mean, why was he yelling at me?”

“Probably thought you were someone else. He doesn’t know you any more than you know him, right?”

I shrug. “I guess that’s true. Honestly, I never thought about it.”

“Odd, though,” he says, his brow furrowed.

I snort. “Which part exactly?”

“Just wondering why he’s even in town. Were you supposed to have vacated so he has the house?”

“No.” I frown because he has a point. “At least, I never got told that I needed to vacate.” I’m actually a bit surprised that Ronan knows the details of how my rental agreement works. Yes, Ellie and Devlin know. And Devlin is Ronan’s closest friend. But there’s no reason that my living arrangement would come up in casual conversation.

Which makes me wonder if Ronan asked. And that makes me wonder why he would ask. And that makes me wonder about things I have no business wondering about.

I clear my throat, clearing my random thoughts in the process. “For all I know, he has other rental properties here. Or he was just driving through town and thought he’d check in. I don’t even know why I’m thinking about it. I mean, if I hadn’t asked Gail, I wouldn’t have even known it was him.”

“True enough,” he says. We’ve reached the house, and now he stands off to the side as I fumble with the keypad lock. I push the door open, and once Jake’s bolted through, I put my back against the siding so Ronan can enter first. He hesitates, though, and I think that he’s letting me go first. So I step over the threshold at the same moment he does.

Our shoulders brush, and I stumble over my own feet. He catches me by the elbow to steady me, pulling me close as he does. For a moment, I’m mere inches from him, his hand pressed against my lower back as I regain my balance.

I’m tall, but I still have to look up to meet his eyes. When I do, I find him looking down at me, his ocean-blue eyes seeming to reflect my own desire right back at me.

I want to say something. To ask. I want to know what happened. Or, more accurately, why nothing happened after that kiss. But even though I open my mouth to speak, all I say is, “Ronan?”

A flurry of expressions crosses his face as he releases my arms, but I don’t have the skill to interpret them. Frustration, maybe. Lust, definitely. Sadness, too, I think. But I’m not certain. How can I be certain?

“Ronan, I—”

“We should talk.” His voice is low, as if we were in a sacred place. That’s good, I think. Because surely that means we’ll get to the truth. My fear, though, is that it’s the truth that’s going to hurt me.

I say none of that; I just nod as he gestures for me to go ahead. I do, moving down the entrance hall that opens onto the large living area. I shift to the left, walking alongside the pass-through bar that separates the large kitchen from the living area. My plan is to go grab a couple of water bottles, but before I manage another step, Jake bounds by, then starts barking and low-growling at something on the floor in front of the sofa.

From where I’m standing, I can’t see what it is, as the floor is blocked by the sofa back. But I immediately recoil as my eyes go to Ronan. “We had mice last year,” I say. “If it’s another dead mouse, please tell me you’ll pick it up.”

He chuckles, and that breaks the tension a little. He brushes past me toward Jake, who’s completely losing his mind, and I follow. Then Ronan stops on a dime. “Brandy, don’t—”

“What?” I ask as I start to step around him. He grabs me, but it’s too late. I’ve seen it. The man. The body. “That’s Mr. Big,” I whisper. And he’s sprawled out dead in front of my couch, a bullet hole right between his eyes.

Chapter Three

Earlier That Day

“Wait, wait, wait,” my best friend Ellie Holmes—now Ellie Saint—says, leaning forward in that I’m going to get deep into your thoughts reporter way that she has. She pushes her wineglass aside, then props her elbows on our small, round table. She steeples her forefingers under her chin, her brown eyes boring down on me. “You’re really and truly telling me that nothing has happened between you and Ronan since my wedding? Nothing?”

I lift my shoulders in a shrug, then focus on my glass of Chardonnay, wishing I’d ordered something tall and fruity so I’d have a straw to toy with.

Instead, I bend down to pet Jake. He snuffles, then licks my hand before settling his head on his paws and drifting off again.

We’re on the patio at The Station, a sidewalk café on Pacific Avenue, the main thoroughfare in the Laguna Cortez Arts District, and this is the first time we’ve had a chance to catch up since she and Devlin got back from their honeymoon.

“Are you serious?” she continues, in the kind of incredulous tone she’d use to challenge someone who’d just announced that an alien spaceship had landed on the beach. “I mean, you two kissed. I saw you, remember? You and Ronan in the alcove by the stairs. And it wasn’t just a friendly peck, either. That kiss made me blush. And you know that’s saying a lot.”

My cheeks heat, and I look around, wondering how many people are tuned in to this particular conversation. “Oversharing much?”