18
Grif
Anna looked at me with such loathing, such hatred, I winced. s**t. s**t, s**t. I’d blown it. I didn’t think she’d killed Bobby Lane, didn’t think she worked for Carmichael, but I had to hear it from her. It was the detective in me. I couldn’t take it on faith alone. She hadn’t seen it that way, hell, she didn’t even know I was a cop. But it was true, all of it.
The worst was, she thought what we’d done together—kissing, holding each other as we slept—was done as part of an agenda. I’d told her last night that the chemistry between us was the only truth we shared. I hadn’t been wrong. It had been me, Jake Griffin, in bed with her. I just couldn’t tell her. Everything I felt for her was true, pure.
I ran both hands through my hair. It didn’t matter anymore. She’d never trust me a
