Julianna

I'd been sitting at the large meeting room table in one of the offices for hours, cheap laminate chipping off the corners. Across the table I had spread out all the files we had on the entire Tyrell family and their associates. Each file was open with photos and papers fanning out across the table and stuck up across the walls, my notes in glaring red marker pen. I'd been combing through each file, memorizing each one, my stomach curdling as I read about the Tyrell family's cold-blooded rise to power. How could Roman Tyrell grow up in such a family and yet turn out so different from them?

"Hey, Jules." Dene, one of the tech guys, stuck his head into the meeting room, making me jump.

His eyes cast across the room and his eyebrow lifted for a second. I know what it looked like. It looked like one of those shrine rooms we always seemed to find when we busted a crazed stalker.

"I'm in the middle of a case," I blurted out. "This is for a case."

He let out a whistle. "Damn. I'd hate to be the one you set your sights on."

I stabbed the lid of my pen closed. "Do you have something for me?"

His gaze snapped towards me. "Er, you'll want to see this."

"This better be good."

I followed him into the tech room, where he had lined up black-and-white security footage on several large monitors. I recognized the hotel. It was the one that Roman and I had spent the night in. Oh, shit. I completely forgot about the hotel security footage. I was on that footage. The blood drained from my face. I felt like I might pass out.

"When did we get the footage from the hotel?" I asked, trying not to hyperventilate.

"Earlier today."

"And you didn't tell me?" I asked, my voice going high.

Dene frowned at me. "I'm telling you now."

At that moment, Espinoza walked in and stood next to me, blocking my exit. Even if he hadn't, I still couldn't have run. I was frozen to the floor. I could only watch in horror as Dene rolled the footage from that Saturday night.

On screen, Roman entered the hotel lobby, unmistakable in his stature and the way he walked, commanding the attention of everyone in the space. Slung over his shoulder was me.

"Same kind of hair as Rosaline," said Espinoza. "Pity we can't see her face."

"She's got great legs," said Dene.

I ignored that comment. "Do, er, do we get a shot of her face anywhere?" I asked, trying not to let my voice shake.

"No. Just her sweet ass."

Espo slapped the Dene on the back of his head. "Have some respect, bro." He pointed to me.

"Oh, er, sorry, detective," Dene said, sounding a little embarrassed.

"It's fine," I muttered, hoping he didn't notice that I couldn't look him in the face.

The camera angle flicked to the lift, then to the top floor's suite. I was still hanging upside down, my hair in my face. I had never been so thankful that Roman had been such a caveman that night.

"They go into the Presidential Suite at eleven-oh-three," Dene said. "They don't leave the room, either of them, until seven the next night."

"Do they get any visitors?" Espo asked.

"They order room service on Sunday, twice."

"Just like Rosaline said in her statement. Looks like she's telling the truth. Show us the footage of them leaving."

"Here." Dene pointed to another screen where Roman was walking back out of the room, the duffel over his bag. The time stamp was seven eleven p.m. He disappeared off screen. My gut tightened. I would come out next, maybe five minutes after him.

"Where's the girl?" Espo asked.

"Well, this is the strange bit…" Dene said, his eyes flicking over to look at me.

Oh my God. I was so screwed. In a second they would both watch me walk out of that hotel room.

Hopefully I could argue that it was Rosaline and not me. We did look similar. It wasn't like the footage was perfectly clear. Right?

I could barely breathe as Dene sped up the tape and the minutes flew by. Here it was…seven sixteen p.m. I stared at the screen, waiting for the door to the Presidential Suite to open, revealing my face.

But it never did. The video played on and on until the cleaners came the next morning.

"That's it?" Espo asked. "She never comes out?"

Dene shook his head. "It's the strangest thing. I checked the footage for the rest of the day, even the day after just to be sure, but we never see her leave the room."

Somehow I'd dodged a bullet. I slowly let out a breath of relief. But how did this happen? I had walked out a few minutes after Roman. Why wasn't I on the tape?

"Is there another exit?" Espo asked.

Dene shook his head. "Not unless she climbed off the balcony."

"Has someone messed with the footage?"

"If they did it was a pro job."

Roman. Roman must have done this.

He was protecting me. Protecting my career, my job, my reputation. My heart began to warm. He did care.

I shook myself internally. What was I thinking? Roman didn't do this for me. He did it for himself. If word got out to his family that he'd been intimate with a detective, they'd have reason to mistrust him. They might even kill him.

I couldn't get rid of the nagging thought that he'd done it to protect me. It was stupid. Arrogant, even. Still, I couldn't help but want to thank him. In person. My heart skipped a beat at the thought of seeing him again.

Stupid heart.

Espo let out a growl. "Dammit. His alibi holds. The chief isn't going to like this."

I stared at Espo. He was beginning to sound like my father. Condemning a man before he was proved guilty. "Here's a novel idea," I said, my voice biting at the air. "What if his alibi holds because he didn't do it."

Espo stared at me like I'd grown two heads. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were on his side."

"No, I'm on the side of ‘innocent until proven guilty'."

"Roman Tyrell is guilty."

I threw my hands up in the air before storming out and locking myself in my meeting room again. I shoved the files aside until I found the one on Roman Tyrell.

No arrests except for drunken brawling. No criminal record. He'd not even been associated with the Tyrells until his father basically kidnapped him as he was about to leave the country. Roman wasn't staying in Verona of his own free will. Of that I was sure.

I stared at one of the few photos of Roman Tyrell we had on file, taken from a video camera still in the interrogation room that day I found out who he was. His thick brows shading intense eyes that stared back at me. He was volatile, aggressive, dangerous even. But he was not a cold-blooded killer.

What does your father have over you, Roman?

Why won't you let me help you?

These questions plagued me. They plagued me until Friday, August twenty-fifth arrived. That night I was trying to sleep, but a certain frustrating dark-eyed man was on my mind and a particular invitation was burning a hole in the bottom drawer of my bedside table. I told myself I wouldn't go…

It was a masked ball. I had the perfect outfit. No one would recognize me.

No. I should just leave Roman the hell alone just like he warned me to.

I could just slip in quietly. No one needed to know. I wouldn't even need to approach Roman. It was a just a chance to watch him without him knowing. Perhaps his father would be there. Perhaps I would overhear something, see something…

Screw it. I was as far from sleep as I could possibly be. What could possibly go wrong?