Page 158 of Snaring Emberly
Bradford yells something else, but it’s swallowed up by all the raucous shouting. I slide into the car’s front seat and let Gil drive me back to the house.
Eventually, forensics will narrow down Callahan’s accurate time of death and its cause. Fortunately for me, Benito has arranged ample security footage of us at the casino that can prove my alibi.
I make a mental note to get someone at the coroner’s office to obtain the autopsy results. Anyone with half a brain will spot the scarring on Callahan’s feet and realize he was a long-time user.
In the meantime, I’ll withhold the information on Callahan’s death from Emberly and let her keep thinking that she still needs my protection. There’s one more thing I can do to make sure Emberly never leaves, but that is going to involve the casino.
It’s going to be my most audacious scam.
FIFTY-ONE
EMBERLY
The next morning, I’m staring at the wooden mask, awestruck that Roman remembered the name of my favorite artist. Gratitude swells in my chest, and my eyes mist with tears. After everything he’s done for me, I almost confronted Jim about that dead cop.
My skin warms with the memory of being sprayed with blood and brain matter. Then my stomach churns with a surge of nausea. I need to focus on my art and stop thinking about gore.
Bright sunlight streams through the pool house’s windows, illuminating the canvas of the painting I made of Roman bathed in light and shadow. Two more completed canvases hang on the wall, but this one is my favorite by far.
A knock sounds on the door, and I flinch. No one ever comes here except Roman, who hardly ever knocks.
“Who is it?” I ask from behind the canvas.
“Ernest from the MoCa gallery,” says a deep voice. “Is now a good time?”
“Oh.” I place a hand on my chest. “Come in.”
The door opens, and Mr. Lubelli strides in, holding a leather folder and sporting a dazzling grin. As soon as our gazes meet, his steps falter, and his dazzling smile fades to a concerned frown.
“Are you alright, my dear? You look awfully pale.”
I pull my features into what I hope is a reassuring grin. “Just a little tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
His eyes twinkle. “If I shared a bed with Roman Montesano, I wouldn’t waste a minute on slumber.”
My cheeks warm, and I dip my head, letting my stray curls fall over my face. Ever since we fucked in that changing room, Roman and I have made love at least twice a day. He’s either trying to convince me that it’s me he loves and not that prison officer, or he’s distracting me from worrying about Jim.
“Thanks for coming to visit,” I murmur. “I hope you find something you want to sell in your gallery next.”
Mr. Lubelli walks over to the canvases, his eyes brightening. He points at the painting of Roman’s body and sighs. “This one is exquisite. You have a talent for capturing the male form.”
“Thanks,” I reply with a smile.
Any other time, I would dance with joy at the praise, but I’m so nauseous and exhausted that my body can’t muster up the right emotions.
He moves onto the other two and studies them each with his hand over his mouth. “These are all very good. I think they’ll sell well in my next auction.”
A wave of tiredness sweeps over my senses, and I yawn.
Mr. Lubelli turns around and laughs. “That’s not quite the response I was expecting.”
“Sorry.” I rub my eyes. “Which one do you want?”
“Ideally, all three.”
My heart skips several beats. “What?”
“But I imagine Roman might want to purchase that one.” He nods toward the first painting. “So, I’ll take the other two off your hands and you can contact me next month to let me know if you’re interested in selling the third.”