Julianna

Islid out of the cab, pulled up along a deserted road on the outskirts of Verona. Response team cars littered the side of the one-lane dirt road, an arthritic fence lining one side, an unkempt field stretching out from the other. The familiar yellow tape fluttered in the early morning breeze.

It was still too dark, sunrise still hours away. Spotlights had been set up, turning pieces of rock into bladed shadows. The forensics team was milling around, their flashlights scanning the ground, taking photos, gathering evidence into bags and plastic containers.

Under a large spotlight, Lacey was crouched over a prone body on the side of the road facing the field. Espo was kneeling by her side, no humor on his face, no flirtation evident. The victim was lying on his stomach, the back of his head a bloody mess of bone and gray matter, the spotlight glistening off the blood like rubies. It was like some twisted gothic stage play. Except this was real, tension strung tight across the dark morning.

Lacey looked up as I approached. The skin around her eyes was stretched and the hollows of her cheekbones seemed more pronounced. She would have been one of the first they called, so she'd have had even less sleep than me. She frowned. "Are you wearing the same clothes from yesterday?"

I flushed. Here we go.

"Oh yeah," said Espo, amusement in his tone, "someone didn't go home last night."

Lacey gave me a surprised look, a flash of hurt underneath it. She and I had gotten close since she started work at the precinct. I should have mentioned a new love interest to her. "Who's the lucky guy?"

I shrugged, trying very hard to appear nonchalant. All the while my stomach was doing flips. "Just a guy."

"She won't give out any details," Espo said aside to Lacey.

"Really?" she replied.

"Which makes me think there's something wrong with him."

Lacey let out a gasp. "Like maybe a hump on his back."

"Or a peg leg."

"Or he's bald."

I rolled my eyes. "Guys, I'm standing right here."

"Or," Espo turned his sharp twinkling eyes towards me, "he's someone we know and she's embarrassed."

I felt the blood drain from my face as Espo's eyes bored into me; they seemed to tear away every shroud I'd covered my secrets with. For a moment, I wondered if he knew.

I cleared my throat. "I think we should focus on our poor victim rather than my boring love life." My voice came out tight and higher than I intended.

Lacey and Espo gave each other a conspiratorial look before Lacey turned her attention to the body lying on his stomach. "Hispanic male, mid-thirties, no wallet, no ID, no phone. Found here less than an hour ago by a passing car." She pointed up the road where two kids, who appeared to be teenagers, were huddled together wrapped in heavy blankets despite the warm summer breeze, staring at the ground. Poor things. Seeing a dead body was not something normal people got used to.

I got a flash of my attacker with the broken neck. I shook it away and kneeled beside the victim. A sharp smell hit my nose. I noticed then the victim appeared to be damp. "Is that...bleach?"

"Ten points to Capi," Espo said. "Appears our killer tried to clean up after himself."

I rolled my eyes. "You're so punny."

"Espo," Lacey said, "can you help turn him to his side. I just want to check lividity."

Espo nodded and carefully rolled the victim towards me. My stomach dropped as I stared at his familiar yet bloodied face.

Eddie Sanchez.

One of the men who tried to kidnap me. The one that Roman threatened in that warehouse. The one who gave us the name Goldfish.

"I wanted to kill him." I remembered Roman's face as he spoke these words to me, all twisted features etched in black hate.

I swallowed hard and stared at Eddie's open eyes, the unthinkable rising to the surface of my thoughts no matter how hard I tried to push it away.

Roman Tyrell did not kill Eddie Sanchez. He promised on his mother's memory that he'd get Eddie to safety.

"Jesus," Lacey said, "his zipper's undone. His...thing's hanging out. Like the poor guy just stopped for a piss."

"Jules, you okay?" Espo was frowning at me.

"Fine." I tried to school my features into one of professional distance. No one could know that the victim was one of the men who tried to rape and kidnap me.

"Do you know this guy?"

I shook my head, a little too hard, a little too quickly.

Lacey continued, "COD is a gunshot wound to the back of the head. Execution style. We'll know more once I get his body back to the morgue. There's a lot of blood here and lividity is fixed so it's safe to say that he was shot here."

"Do you know time of death yet?" I asked. If time of death was last night, then I know Roman couldn't have done it. He was with me.

"I'm estimating some time two nights ago, but I'll know more once I get him back to the lab."

My head spun. That was the night that Roman had supposedly taken Eddie to safety. Roman had come to my apartment after he'd dropped Eddie off. But I had no idea what time that had been.

I shoved those thoughts away. No, I told myself firmly. No more of that. Roman Tyrell was not a murderer. He did not kill Eddie Sanchez just like he didn't kill Vinnie Torrito.

I rode to the station with Espo as the skyline of Verona began to lighten, a great unease sitting like a jumbled ball of live wires in my belly. I pretended like I was taking a quick nap, slumped in the passenger seat, forehead leaning against the window, eyes shut. I could sense that Espo kept glancing over at me.

"So…new boyfriend, huh?"

I sighed internally and opened my eyes. No point in trying to pretend I was asleep.

What would Roman say if he knew someone had called him my "boyfriend"? Was he my boyfriend? It seemed such a juvenile term for what he was to me. "I wouldn't call him a boyfriend, exactly."

"Good for you. About time you got a little sumthin' sumthin'."

Roman's fingers sinking into my wet folds…his tongue flicking against my sensitive bud…his thick cock rubbing against the deepest parts of me…I turned my face to look out the window in case Espo could see me flushing.

"Same guy who sent you those roses?"

My flush turned into an ache in my chest. "Yeah."

"Well, I hope it works out."

No, you don't. Not if you knew who it was.

At the station, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. In the privacy of a stall, I dialed Roman's burner cell he'd kept just for me. With every ring of the dial tone, my unease grew. Come on, pick up.

It rang and rang.

Dammit, Roman, where are you?

But there was no answer.