Through the windows, it seems like the lights in every single room are on, and when a woman appears to answer the door, the far off sounds of a party reach us from inside.
“Evening.” Her disapproving, judgmental gaze moves over Ruby, taking in her professional business suit. “Can I please have your names to check the guest list?”
“We’re not here for the event.” I slip out my shield at the same time Ruby brings out hers. “Boston P.D. We need to speak to Mr. or Mrs. DuBois about another event that took place here two nights ago.”
The housekeeper—or at least I assume she is—seems hesitant to allow us inside.
“It’s urgent. A guest at that event became the victim of a crime,” I tell her.
The woman pales and steps aside to grant us entry. “Come in. I’ll see if I can pull Mr. or Mrs. DuBois away from the event. Right this way, please.”
We’re ushered straight inside a long foyer. The floor beneath our feet has to be some of the shiniest marble I’ve ever seen. Everything about the place screams obscene wealth—the waxed wood details, the stone staircase to my left with its carved, intricate design, the glass divider up ahead that I’m sure leads to the rest of the house.
A glance at Ruby and I catch her just as lost in the details as I am, but probably for a different reason.
Loves money, that one. If she doesn’t end up with a cop one day, I’m pretty sure she’ll snag herself a rich husband.
We follow the housekeeper deeper into the house. Up ahead, beyond a large set of open doors, the sounds of a party leak out into the hall. She heads past it with us not that far behind.
I cut my eyes in that direction, shocked by the size of the ballroom on the other side of those doors. Pale walls reflect the lighting, casting their glow everywhere. It looks like something out of a French palace with the pale blue, domed ceiling. There has to be at least a hundred and fifty people in there, if not more.
Too many to try and analyze through right now.
I begin to turn away, but a flash of glittering light across pale silver catches at the corner of my eye.
That cold shiver from the night before, in St. Cecilia’s, rocks my body, snapping my head back in that direction.
It’s not silver. It’s a light gray—the lightest gray irises I’ve ever seen. The brunette tilts her head, eyebrow raised, almost as if daring me.
I nearly stumble from the force of that stare.
A stare so cold, I feel dead. As if my soul has been brutally ripped from my body and I’m already six feet deep.
Blinking, I try to make sense of it.
Her stare is unwavering, but this time her expression’s a world away from what I saw before. The perusal she gives me is slow, lazy, and I’m instantly distracted by the rest of her.
A breath hisses through my teeth at how that tight dress leaves every curved bared. In the back of my mind, I recognize her, know who she is from the Google search, but the impact is brutal nonetheless.
She’s seemingly frozen in time amidst all the movement of the crowd in her shimmering, skin-tight dress, long hair cascading down her back.
When I meet her stare again, hunger has been replaced by something else.
Something darker.
Pure malice, the kind I haven’t seen even in all my years on the job.
Another blink, and there’s nothing but calmness—a serene, peaceful smile that fucks with my mind.
She’s standing by another set of open doors fifty-feet down, hands clasped primly in front of her.
Ruby’s next to her, already analyzing me way too hard.
Shit.
Still, I can’t resist throwing one last look over my shoulder, hoping to steal another peek at that body.
But the woman is gone, lost to the crowd.
Pushing her to the back of my mind, I head towards the two women waiting for me. We walk into a large sitting area together and the housekeeper motions to one of two crimson couches positioned before the fireplace. “I’ll be back shortly.” She exits.
Instead of heading to one of the couches, I pace to the fireplace and back a couple of times, trying to work the hum out of my blood.
My heart is racing.
My skin feels tight.
I can’t get that woman out of my mind.
Did I really see her expression change so many times? Or was it just a figment of my imagination? My mind superimposing what I wanted to see.
Impossible. Especially that last look. I’ve never met the younger Ms. Dubois before. There’s no reason for her to stare at me with that kind of hatred.
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