Dominic shrugged, keeping his expression neutral. Fighting down the pain, he felt inside, he said carelessly, “There’s not really much to say. She’s dumb, blonde, and gives head like you wouldn’t believe. What guy wouldn’t want a girl like that?”
“I thought you said she was different. Jesus, Dom, you don’t change,” Ben muttered, chuckling in amusement at his friend. He looked back at his drink, missing the glare Tyler threw Dominic.
Dominic laughed, wincing at how harsh it sounded even to his ears. Glancing at Ben, he cursed softly. Ben wasn’t just his best friend. They were blood brothers. He’d stood by him on countless occasions, and there was no way in hell he was going to destroy his happiness, even if it meant destroying his own.
Even if it meant breaking Stephanie’s heart.
Forcing himself to smile despite the grief that sliced through him, he wrapped his arm around Ben’s shoulder. “Enough talk about women, let’s plan your party.”
STEPHANIE ANGRILY TAPPED her fingers against her phone, quickly checking for messages while she waited to be interviewed by the detectives. Frowning, she wondered why she hadn’t heard from Dominic. She’d messaged him earlier and asked him if he wanted to catch up, but she’d received no response. She couldn’t shake her feeling of unease. They’d been nonstop texting since they’d met, so it was unlike Dominic not to respond. Telling herself she was being irrational and that she needed to stop acting like an insipid lovesick fool, she tucked her cell into her jacket pocket.
Pasting a fake smile on her lips, she watched two police officers enter the interrogation room. Fingering the card Angel had been given by the detectives, she glanced at the name on it. Detective Franklin Delucci. Scrutinizing the man in front of her, she instantly knew he was the one in charge.
She turned her head slightly to study the pretty blonde officer beside him, surprised to see a flicker of what looked like hate in the officer’s eyes before she carefully concealed it.
“Ms. Carovella, I’m—”
“Detective Franklin Delucci, I know," she said impatiently, ignoring his offered hand. Leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms, she said, “When can I see my jeep? Or, what’s left of it?”
Franklin Delucci dropped his hand back to his side, cocking his head to study the woman in front of him. Stephanie surprised him. After talking to her roommates and her colleagues at the LA Times, he’d expected someone older, not the young woman in front of him, acting as if she didn’t have a care in the world. It was only when her gaze met his that he saw a maturity that belied her youth.
She wasn’t scared. Someone had set her car on fire, and defaced her apartment’s front door, and she wasn’t showing any of the usual reactions he’d seen in victims of crime. In fact, she looked almost bored.
“I see your roommate, Angelique, gave you my card,” he said, clearing his throat and indicating with his hand. “This is Officer Sandra Barton. She’ll be sitting in on this interview today, if you have no objections?”
Stephanie arched an eyebrow silently before shrugging nonchalantly. Delucci shifted uncomfortably. Her silence unnerved him. He’d heard the rumors about her. Around the precinct, she was described as a wild child, one who had a real distaste for authority and had no qualms about letting the LAPD know what she thought of them. From what he’d heard, she’d done so on several occasions.
After discovering Delucci was the lead on a possible arson case involving Stephanie Carovella, Detective William Foley had pulled him aside. Foley was a legend around the LAPD. He was the kind of detective Delucci looked up to, and he had solved more cases than any other detective within the LAPD’s homicide department.
Foley had told him to tread lightly where Stephanie was concerned. He’d acted as if he knew her, and he’d it made clear to Delucci that her case was to be handled with delicacy. Delucci hadn’t been surprised when he was pulled into his captain’s offices shortly after his conversation with Foley. What had surprised him was the FBI’s presence, and their sudden interest in what he thought was a standard arson case.
His captain had introduced him to Agent Michael Simmons from the FBI. The FBI agent had warned Delucci that Stephanie was not your average victim. In fact, he’d demanded that Delucci treat her with kid gloves.
Rolling his eyes at the demands from the cocky FBI agent, he’d turned to his captain, expecting him to tell Agent Simmons what he could do with his demands. He’d been floored when his captain had agreed with the FBI agent. He had little doubt that the FBI had her in their sights. For some reason, they were very interested in her, and he sure as hell didn’t think it had anything to do with a simple arson case.
Glancing at Sandra, he smiled grimly. His captain had suggested another female in the room might put Stephanie at ease, and would make her more inclined to talk. He’d reluctantly agreed. Sandra Barton would not have been his first choice, but the captain had insisted on giving her a chance.
He scowled. There was something about the pretty blonde officer that made his skin crawl. He knew she was fresh out of the academy, and eager to prove herself—and he’d heard some of the older detectives joke about just how eager she was. Grimacing, he shook his head. He didn’t like to listen to any of the locker room gossip, but he hadn’t been surprised by the rumors. She was a ladder climber, and would stop at nothing to get ahead within the LAPD, even if it meant sleeping her way to the top. Rumor had it she was already sleeping with a member of the top brass, which easily explained why she’d managed to insinuate herself into this case.
He’d tried to steer as clear away from her as possible, so being forced to bring her into his first case, as a member of the LAPD arson division, didn’t sit lightly with him. She was too cocky, could be downright manipulative when she wanted to be, and treated victims with condescendence. He’d worked with her briefly before he was promoted to detective, and the experience had not been a pleasant one.
Focusing his attention on the woman in front of him, he was startled to find her watching him, a cool smile on her lips. Nervously, shifting from one foot to another, he realized she was profiling him. Agent Michael Simmons had said Stephanie was special. Was that her ability? Was she a natural profiler? The thought that she was potentially able to profile him within minutes of meeting him unnerved him. The skill was one he’d always associate with seasoned profilers, not a mere slip of a girl. If she had this ability, he could understand why the FBI found her special.
Stephanie watched Detective Franklin Delucci carefully. He didn’t hide his emotions as well as he should, which told her he’d been recently promoted. And he definitely did not like the woman standing next to him. This led her to believe that she’d been forced on him. She smiled. The LAPD didn’t know her very well if they thought the presence of a female police officer would make her more inclined to talk, or that it would make her feel any more comfortable. The reality was that she actually found it easier to talk to guys.
Turning her gaze back to Detective Franklin Delucci, she took in the Armani suit, Gucci watch and four-hundred dollar black leather shoes. Delucci came from wealth, and she’d bet everything she owned that he got treated differently because of it. He’d probably had to work hard to prove his worth to his superiors, and even harder to gain acceptance from his peers. Grudgingly, she respected him for it.
Sandra Barton was another story. She hadn’t recognized her when she’d first walked into the interrogation room with Detective Delucci, but now she knew exactly who she was. She was Dominic’s ex-girlfriend, and from the pure hatred she’d seen on Sandra’s face when she’d walked in and spotted her, Sandra knew exactly who she was, too.
Leaning forward, she rested her arms on the table. This was going to be one hell of an interesting interview.
Delucci pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down, nodding his head for Sandra to do the same. “Ms. Carovella . . . Stephanie . . . do you mind if I call you Stephanie?” he asked, smiling at her gently. When she nodded, he said quietly, �
��What can you tell us about the incident that happened around three a.m. this morning?”
Stephanie sat up straight, leaning back in her chair. “Not much. I wasn’t at home when it happened. I only got Angel’s voice message this morning.”
“Angel . . . that’s Angelique Monroe, I take it?” Delucci said, flipping through his notepad. He looked up briefly, watching Stephanie nod.
“And where were you?” Sandra asked abruptly, raking her gaze over Stephanie contemptuously. Waiting impatiently for Stephanie’s reply, she curled her fingers into talons, forcing down the urge to reach across the table and claw Stephanie’s eyes out. Hatred coursed through her as she gripped the edges of the table, silently chanting to herself. Please don’t say you were with him. Please don’t have been with Dominic.
Stephanie’s gaze moved to Sandra, and Sandra let out a gasp. She knew. Stephanie Carovella knew exactly who she was. She probably had from the moment she’d walked into the room with Franklin Delucci.
Seeing the sympathy in Stephanie’s eyes, she leaned forward, placing her palms on the table separating them. Harshly, she said, “You need to answer my question.”
“Officer Barton,” Delucci warned, feeling the sudden tension vibrating through the air. “Ms. Carovella is not a suspect. She is a victim. You best remember that.”
Stephanie smiled grimly. Sandra Barton looked as if she were ready to reach across the table and launch herself at her throat. Ignoring Sandra completely, she looked at Delucci. “I was in San Francisco last night.”
“Can anyone verify your location?” Sandra spat out, infuriated by the fact that Stephanie had chosen to direct her answer to Delucci instead of herself.
Stephanie arched an eyebrow in response, saying silkily, “I didn’t realize I needed an alibi for the destruction of my own vehicle. Are you suggesting I set my own car on fire and wrote whore all over my own apartment’s front door, too?”
“Of course, we’re not,” Delucci interjected smoothly, shooting Sandra a warning glare. “Officer Barton is just trying to cover all the bases.”
“Really?” Stephanie purred, leaning back in her chair and studying Delucci. “It seems to me that she’s on a witch hunt.”
“I don’t understand—”
“You can call Dominic Delaney,” Stephanie interrupted, turning her head back to smile coldly at Sandra. “He was with me. We drove up to San Francisco for business, and decided to stay the night. We ate dinner on Fisherman’s Wharf before heading back to The Imperial.”
“This Dominic Delaney, he was with you all night long?” Delucci asked, clearing his throat in discomfort.
Stephanie shrugged carelessly. “Well, we did share a hotel room. After we had dinner, we went back to our room where we stayed for the rest of the night.”
“And, how can I contact Mr. Delaney?” Delucci asked, not liking the amusement dancing in Stephanie’s eyes.
“Why don’t you ask Officer Barton? After all, he is her ex-boyfriend.” Smiling at Delucci’s stunned expression, she stood up. “If you don’t have any more questions, I think we’re done here. Detective Delucci, please call me once you’ve confirmed with Dominic where I was last night.”
“We’re not finished with you yet,” Sandra spat, standing herself. Her eyes flashed angrily, and her hands curled into fists at her side. “You can’t leave until I say so.”
“Officer Barton,” Delucci warned, fury coursing through him. Biting out a silent oath, he cursed Sandra for not removing herself from the investigation. In not doing so, she may have compromised his case. Seeing the anger flash in her eyes as she stood and took a step towards Stephanie, he warned again, “Barton, I said back off.”
Sandra froze, turning to pin Delucci with an icy glare. He met her gaze head-on. She was the first to break eye contact. Nodding curtly, she slumped down into her chair again, sullenly glaring at Stephanie.
“Stephanie, I understand you’re upset. I know in the past you feel as if we’ve let you down. I’ve read the reports, and I know you’ve been to hell and back, but I promise your experience with the LAPD will be different. If you could just answer a few questions . . .”
“Oh, please. Everybody knows she’s fucked up,” Sandra sneered, ignoring Delucci’s growl. Pressing her hands against the desk, she snickered, “You think you’ve got Dominic wrapped around your little finger, don’t you? God, you’re so gullible. I bet he sucked you in completely, but it won’t last. It never does. He scratches an itch and then moves on. I’m the only one he’s ever stayed with, and trust me on this: once he’s done with you, he’ll come back to me.”
Stephanie studied her nails, her expression bored. Yawning, she asked abruptly, “Are you done? I have better things to do than listen to your bitchy tirade.” Turning to Delucci, she added, “I should have known the LAPD would pull a stunt like this. They did jack when Katrina was murdered, and then had the gall to accuse me of being delusional. Now you have the balls to accuse me of setting my own car on fire and defacing my apartment’s front door. Even after I’ve been telling you all for months that Katrina was stalked, that I was stalked, yet you still treat me as if I’m the criminal and not the victim.”
Breaking off with a snort of disgust, she shoved her phone into her leather jacket’s front pocket. Forcing herself to calm down, she said quietly, “I will no longer talk to you. If you have any questions for me, take it up with my lawyer. I’m done dealing with the LAPD’s crap. I’ve put up with it for the past decade, and I refuse to put up with it any longer.”
Nodding her head towards Sandra, she added icily, “I also suggest you put a gag on this bitch. If she ever comes near me again or threatens me in anyway, I will slap the LAPD with a harassment lawsuit so fast that it will make her pretty little head spin.”
“Ms. Carovella—”
“Lesson number one, Detective Delucci. Before you walk into an interrogation room, check your emotions at the door. I knew from the moment you walked into the room you’d just been promoted. No seasoned detective would dare show the kind of emotion you display so openly. Not only are you newly promoted, but you aren’t happy with your choice of partners,” Stephanie said quietly, her lips quirking into a smile. “I knew from the way you looked at her that you didn’t like her, and you certainly don’t trust her. My guess is she was sicced onto you because they thought having a woman in the room would make me feel better. They were wrong.”
Turning on her heel, Stephanie walked to the door. Opening it, she paused, turning back to Delucci. “Tell Agent Simmons I say hi.”
Not waiting for his reply, she walked out of the interrogation room. Feeling his heated gaze on her, she kept walking, refusing to look back.
STEPHANIE KNOCKED ON Dominic’s front door, pushing away a strand of wet hair from her face. The rain lashed down around her, and she raised her arm in an attempt to shield herself.
Lifting her hand to knock on Dominic’s door again, she was startled when the door suddenly opened, and she lurched forward. Grabbing her arm, Dominic steadied her before he abruptly dropped his hand away, unconsciously flexing his fingers.
“I’ve been trying to call you all day,” she said, grinning at him. “You will never guess the day I’ve had. All I could think about was getting through it and seeing you.”
Dominic leaned against the doorframe. Closing his eyes briefly, he swallowed hard. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to break her heart, and he sure as hell didn’t want to break his own, but he didn’t have a choice. Ben was his best friend. If he ever found out about the two of them, it would destroy him. He couldn’t destroy his best friend’s happiness. He wouldn’t.
Opening his eyes, he forced his gaze to harden. Telling himself it was for the best, he cut her off, “What are you doing here, Stephanie?”
“I wanted to see you,” she said, taken aback by his question. “I went to Outlaws and Jax said you’d taken the day off. Didn’t you get my messages?”
“I got them,” he said col
dly.
“And?” she asked, confusion sliding across her face.
“And what?” he replied, arching an eyebrow at her.
“I don’t understand, Dominic. Why are you acting like this?” Stephanie said, taking a step towards him and reaching out to touch his arm. She couldn’t understand why he was treating her this way. He was acting so indifferent, so cold. She scrambled her brain, wondering what she’d done wrong. She knew she’d been tense on the trip back to San Francisco, but he’d seemed okay with it. He’d accepted that she had a lot on her mind, or at least, she thought he had. When he stepped back to avoid her touch, she flinched.
“Listen, honey, this thing between us . . . it was fun,” Dominic began, feeling bile begin to rise in his throat as he pushed on. “But that’s all it was. Fun, and now it’s over.”
“It’s over?” she echoed, staring at him in disbelief. “I don’t understand.”
“What’s there to understand?” he drawled, raking his eyes over her and turning his lip into a sneer. “The sex was good, but that’s all it was. Good sex.”
“You said you loved me,” she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief.
“I lied,” Dominic replied, gripping the door handle tightly. He flinched when Stephanie’s head jerked back as if he’d struck her. Forcing himself to continue, he added brutally, “I wanted to get you into bed. Christ, don’t tell me you actually believed I loved you?”
When she remained silent, he laughed harshly. “Why the fuck would I love you? No man in his right mind could ever love someone as fucked up as you are.”
“Stop it,” she whispered, tears sliding down her cheeks. “You don’t mean that.”
“Oh, honey, yes I do,” he bit out, shaking his head in disgust. “You were an itch I wanted to scratch, that’s all. It was nothing more. And I had you. You practically wrapped yourself up in a red bow and gave yourself to me on a silver platter. All I had to do was stroke your ego and pretend to give a damn, and you were all mine.”
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