Page 169 of Sinclair Duet

“I didn’t see that you had a cat.”

“Well, I do now. She used up one of her nine lives yesterday. I’d rather her stay at eight.”

“I’ll let my crew know.”

“Contact me once the job is finished,” I said.

As our call disconnected, I entered the same neighborhood I left over a year ago. Though Amber worked between Chicago and Indianapolis, the last I recalled, her residence was in Indy. I approached the home where she’d lived. The door to Amber’s garage was closed, hiding whether her car or Darius’s was inside. The clock on the dashboard told me it wasn’t yet eight in the morning.

“Be home,” I said to myself as I got out of the vehicle.

The walk up the sidewalk was a sick sort of déjà vu. As I scanned the front of her place, I deduced that not much had changed in the past year. With pent-up energy, I rang the doorbell and waited. I rang it again. Peering through the sidelight, I saw movement. This time, I banged on the door.

“Open the door, Amber. You fucking wanted to see me. I’m here.”

The door opened from within.

From her appearance, she was on her way out for the day.

“Lower your voice. I have neighbors.”

“We’ll explain that it’s a domestic issue. I’m here to talk to my wife.”

Damien

Amber’s green gaze narrowed. I’d seen this woman happy. What I was viewing now wasn’t even close to happy.

“Let me in,” I demanded.

“I have a job to get to.”

I reached high for the doorjamb. “I don’t give a fuck. We’re going to talk.”

“Fine,” she said, taking a step back.

Following her inside, it took all my willpower not to physically attack her for what she’d done. When it came to women, I wasn’t a violent man. I liked control in the bedroom, but any pain to pleasure was consensual. No part of me wanted to bring Amber pleasure.

My hands balled to fists at my sides as I maintained a calm appearance.

By Amber’s alarmed expression, there was the possibility that I wasn’t appearing as calm as I thought.

“Damien?” She lifted her hand. “Don’t touch me.”

My jaw clenched as I continued to walk forward and she backward. It was a tango with the sexual overture replaced by rage. Both were highly volatile emotions, either one capable of scorching flames that could leave destruction in its wake.

“You don’t want me to touch you,” I said louder than I planned. “You faked our marriage license. You broke into Ella’s house and into my house and planted cameras. You stole her cat.”

Amber’s eyes opened wide as her back collided with a wall.

I continued, “You obviously wanted my attention. You have it now, Amber. Are you happy?”

She held her chin high in defiance. “I didn’t steal a cat. I relocated it.”

“You broke the law. Relocating the cat was your cowardly way of giving us a threat or a distraction.”

She shook her head. “You can’t prove any of what you said.”

“The police have the cameras. They can establish purchase history and fingerprints. When we press charges, you’ll be sitting in jail.”