Page 52 of A Taste like Sin

“I had to sleep in my studio in fact, to ensure I didn’t insist on that very scenario.”

My heart lurches in my chest. “Oh?”

“Sí.The intricacies of your little performances never cease to intrigue me,” he admits, sounding even

raspier. His hands are braced over his knees, the knuckles damn near white in comparison to the rest

of his skin. “I can only imagine how much you enjoy thwarting my expectations at every turn.”

He makes it sound criminal: thwarting him. Confusing him. Surprising him.

I suppose I should feel smug. Instead…

“Thank you,” I croak, turning away as my cheeks heat. “I mean it. I…I didn’t know how much I

needed a diversion until—”

“I understand,” he says, only unnerving me further. “But you did ask me for one other favor, and

before we discuss last night, I owe it to you to report what I’ve found.”

“Did you find her?” Hope bubbles up, distorting my voice before I can choke it back. “The other

victim? Is she—”

“I did,” he says carefully. “But it’s bad news, I’m afraid. Lynn McKelvy died several years ago.”

The stress he put on that terrible word sends my brain spinning with a million possible reasons.

“How?”

“An overdose,” he says.

“You mean she killed herself.” I cross my arms over my chest—they’re trembling. “Didn’t she?”

His solemn nod is all the confirmation I need.

“That’s awful.” I stagger forward and wind up sitting beside him, my face pressed to my palm. My

head is spinning. God, I can’t think. The weight of everything comes bearing down, a torrent of

conflicting emotions. Guilt. Pain. Rage.

“Awful,” Damien agrees. “But what happened to her is not your fault—”

“Isn’t it?” I counter bitterly. “All this pain and my father knew. How could someone be so selfish?

How?”

Though I could ask myself the same question. I haven’t looked at my cell phone since last night for a

reason. Dread of what I might find? Fear of what I might not?

I don’t even know if him being alive or dead terrifies me more.

“How could he lie to me?” The kind, lovely man who comforted me all those years ago. Who snuck

candy into my hospital room. The doting yet stern figure who bought me a puppy for my ninth birthday