Skullduggery {sapphic thriller}

CHAPTER TWELVE

I could've fallen asleep in that tub, but reluctantly I pulled myself up and wrapped a towel around my body, careful not to reopen any of the scrapes and cuts on my side. I looked like absolute shit—split lip, black and blue ribs, and a nasty head wound that finally stopped bleeding, but most of the damage was concealable. As I crept around the door of the bathroom, I could hear Desirae on the phone with someone, but she quickly ended the call when she saw me.

"BCPD picked up Calogero at the docks."

My stomach dropped. "Des, that's only gonna piss the family off—"

"He was wanted for a million other reasons. Using a fake passport, for one." She scooped up a sweatshirt and running shorts from the bed and walked over to me. "Apparently, he needed medical attention when they got there. Might lose his right eye." She cocked a curious eyebrow at me as she handed over the clothes. "BCPD just assumed he pissed off a sex-worker... Something about a broken stiletto?"

I shrugged my shoulders and almost lost my towel. "Uh, must be some kinda Cinderella vigilante or something."

"You're resourceful, I'll give you that."

As I tugged the shorts up beneath the towel, she turned away to the balcony windows. I knew I wasn't fooling her, but I also knew better than to admit I shish-kabobed Cal's eye with my knock-off Loubies. I ran the towel through my damp hair once more before hanging it on the bathroom door, then quickly slipped into her sweatshirt while she pretended not to look. Her perfume surrounded me, warm jasmine and spices infused in the threads of her alma mater.

"I uh, didn't know VCU had an FBI program," I said, pulling down the hem.

"Quantico is just up the road."

"What was your major, then?"

She let out a half-hearted laugh. "Why do you care?"

"I dunno." I wandered over to the pink velvet chair in the corner by her balcony and plopped down. "It's one of the best fine art schools in the country so you must be good, but I've only seen your forensic work. Which isn't very personal."

"Believe me, it is," she mumbled as she grabbed the throw blanket from the back of the chair.

"When was the last time you made art that wasn't work?"

Draping the fur blanket over her arm, she stared at me for a second. Her dark eyes sharpened, both irritated and amused it seemed before she turned towards the hallway. "I laid some Tylenol out with a glass of water on the nightstand. I'll just be in the living room if you need anything else."

"Wait, I can take the couch," I offered, hopping up from the chair. "You don't gotta give up your bed."

"And have you bleed out on my four thousand dollar sofa?" Her head tipped with a smile. "I don't think so."

But as she reached for the door to leave, dread crept up my spine. I didn't know if it was lingering fear of the Cassini's or Landon or maybe it wasn't even fear at all since I couldn't shake the gnawing guilt that ultimately stemmed from Artemisia, but after everything tonight, I didn't want to be alone.

"Can you stay?"

Desirae hovered in the doorway, picking at the cream shag of the blanket. "I shouldn't." Which was definitely the right call. She was already risking her case for me. Her safety for mine. But as I sunk down onto the edge of her bed, she stepped back into the room. "You really are awfully needy for a hardened criminal."

My lips twisted up to a smile. "Get caught stealing some overrated art from a predatory artist and all of a sudden you're a hardened criminal."

"Was it just one predatory artist?" She tossed the blanket on the bed and leaned over me to reach for the lamp switch. "You make it sound like the Musée d'Bellelli was your one and only heist." The truth tightened my throat as I kept my eyes locked on hers, trying to ignore the slinking neckline of her cami just inches away. She knew what she was doing. "They never caught the thief who took the de Koonings."