Page 9 of Coerced Kiss

The threat works. She spins around and rushes to the bedroom that’s visible in the light of a nightstand lamp. A connecting door at the far end must lead to a bathroom.

The bell rings again. A few hard knocks follow.

“I’m coming,” I call as I make my way to the entrance, dragging my fingers through my hair to ruffle it up.

I swing the door open wide, expecting the police officer that stands on the other side. After discovering the body, they’ll question everyone who lives in the area. It’s protocol.

“Excuse the interruption,” he says, cutting a path over me with his eyes as he shoves a badge in my face. “Can you tell me where you’ve been between midnight and now?”

I give him my best baffled look. “With my girlfriend.”

He glances over my shoulder, taking stock of the apartment. “Here?” His gaze homes in on the clothes strewn over the floor.

“She worked late. I met her not far from here and walked her home.”

He scribbles down something in a notebook. “Can anyone vouch for that?”

“Ms. Simmons. She lives on the first floor. She walked with us after having a drink at the bar downstairs.”

He lifts his head and scrutinizes me. “What about before then?”

“I had dinner at a restaurant in Little Italy.” I give him the name, knowing Rusty will attest to the fact. He’s under our protection. We often dine in the private room at the back.

“What about your girlfriend?” the cop asks. “Can I speak to her?”

“Of course.” My tone drips with nuance. “We were already in bed, but I’ll get her for you.”

The cop grins as he shoots another look at clothes that form a trail through the lounge to the door on the opposite side. “Lucky you.”

Projecting my voice to the back, I call, “Anya.”

A moment later, she steps out of the bedroom, tying the belt of a silk robe around her waist. “What’s going on?”

Her voice falters on the last word, but it can be accounted to sleepiness.

“Come here,tesoro,” I say. “The officer would like to ask you a few questions.”

She walks compliantly to my side, allowing me to pull her under my arm.

After he asks her the same questions, he writes down our names and telephone numbers.

“If I may ask,” I start, waiting until the officer looks up. “What’s going on?”

“Homicide,” he says, directing his attention back to his notebook.

Anya utters something that sounds like a strangled gasp.

“That’s shocking.” I rub Anya’s arm, the caress both soothing and reprimanding. “Is it someone from the neighborhood?”

“We haven’t identified the body yet,” the officer says in a neutral tone.

“I hope you get the culprit.” I smile. “We like our neighborhood safe.”

He hands me a business card with an instruction to call him if we remember anything that may be important, and then he leaves.

The minute I’ve locked the door, Anya pushes away from me.

“That’s what you wanted?” She spits the words at me. “An alibi?”