Page 83 of Ruthless Creatures

He holds up my purse and stares at me. “Really? So you weren’t at La Cantina last night? This just walked out of your house and showed up at the scene of a crime?”

I get the sense there’s no video of me at the restaurant. That the purse—with my ID and phone inside—is the only thing placing me there. Detective Brown would definitely have used security camera footage as her trump card to scare me into talking, but she didn’t.

Fingers crossed, because although I might not be legally obligated to talk to the police, I have no idea if lying to them is a crime.

Looking Chris in the eye, I say, “I accidentally left that handbag on the counter at the dry cleaners the other day. When I went back for it, it was gone.”

He examines my face in silence for a moment. “You’re telling me that someone stole your purse and kept all your stuff in it when they went out for dinner?”

“I have no idea what happened to it between then and now. May I have it back, please?”

His sigh is heavy. “Nat. Come on. What the heck is going on with you?”

“I’m just trying to get my purse back.”

His voice gains an edge. “Yeah? So you refusing to talk has nothing to do with your neighbor?”

My stomach clenches. I swallow, feeling my hands tremble, wishing I were the kind of person who could lie with confidence. Sloane would’ve already ripped him a new one and kicked him to the curb.

Be Sloane.

I lift my chin, pull back my shoulders, and hold out my hand. “Give me my purse.”

“I knew he was trouble, that guy. You’re too trusting of people, Nat. You need to be more careful.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about. Give me my purse.”

“You don’t know who I’m talking about? Does this ring a bell?”

From inside his jacket pocket, he pulls a folded piece of paper. Tucking my clutch under his arm, he unfolds the paper and hands it to me.

It’s a black-and-white pencil sketch of a man’s head and face. Despite my horror, I have to admit that the resemblance is remarkable.

It’s Kage.

Even in a rough, two-dimensional, hand-drawn sketch, he’s so damn gorgeous it takes my breath away. If there were an international Hot Felon Contest, he’d win it, hands down.

“That’s a police sketch of one of the suspects in last night’s shooting. A couple of restaurant employees got a good look at him… right before he shot two guys point-blank. Does he look familiar to you?”

“No.”

Chris is getting exasperated. He shakes his head, glaring at me. “That’s your next-door neighbor, Nat. The guy who threatened me right here on this very porch.”

I send his glare back to him, tripled. “Oh, you mean when you forced yourself on me as I kept saying no? Yeah, I remember that.”

A Mexican standoff commences. We’re two bandoleros with pistols drawn, facing each other across a dusty corral, neither one willing to run or shoot first.

Finally, he says softly, “Are you fucking him?”

Heat rises in my cheeks, but there’s nothing I can do about it. “My personal life is none of your business. Now give me back my purse and get the hell off my property.”

“Jesus, Nat.Thatguy? Are you kidding me? All you have to do islookat him to know he’s bad news!”

I take a deep breath. Then I hand him back the sketch and take my purse from him.

“Goodbye, Chris.”

I shut the door in his face.