Page 46 of Shattered Veil

“Look, he’s a cop, all right,” I blurt and wait for the flicker of hesitation in Balor’s eyes. “I don’t want to make trouble for you.”

“Where is he a cop? What precinct?” Balor’s face goes rigid.

“He bounces around. He’s a sergeant of a special unit, I forget which one.”

Rubbing his knuckles, he says, “We have cops in our pockets.”

“Have you ever tried to pit one against a fellow officer?” I whisper. “They protect their own.”

Balor’s jaw tenses. Shaking his head, he murmurs, “You promise you haven’t heard from him?”

“Yes, I promise.” I nod exaggeratedly.

“Then buy more clothes for yourself.” Balor strokes the ponytail that falls over my shoulder. “Do you need a day off?”

“It all happened so fast six months ago. When we got to Sydney, I only had a few hundred dollars in the bank. Working as a special-ed teacher doesn’t pay much. Dad gave me his credit card, and I bought clothes there. But it was summer.”

“Spend the moneyIgave you. I gave you twenty thousand dollars.”

“I don’twantthat money.” How can I explain the pit that landed in my stomach when I took it?

“Why?”

“I screwed you because I liked you and Iwantedyou. I didn’t want to be paid.”

Trace cackles from the front seat.

“Pipe down, Quinlan.”

“Aye, sir.”

Men like Balor who travel with guards and drivers have to trust the people who see them behind the veil.

“You liked me?” Balor sets his gaze back to me, speaking softer. Lower. Just to me.

“Of course.” I inhale and struggle to speak. “Didn’t you...like me?”

You fucked me like you did.

His eyes slip closed. “I did like you. It felt different. I eventually figured out why.”

“Because I wasn’t really a hooker,” I mutter under my breath. “Do you still...like me?”

I’m tempted to remind him of the bulge I often see in his pants. But I’m old enough to know men can fuck women they hate really well, too.

Not that Balor hates me. But men can fuck without emotions on the turn of a dime.

“I do like you, Ella.”

“Then—”

“Balor, 5-0, coming up on my rear,” Trace says, stoically. “Lights and sirens.”

I freeze. 5-0. Cops.

“What?” Balor leans into the front compartment from the back seat where he and I usually sit when Trace drives us around. “We’re not even doing sixty.”

“Balor...” I whisper. “Cop.”