There was another tic in his jaw and then he spoke, his words even more measured than they usually were. “You should,” he said, his expression still stoic, though I saw a cloudiness in it I couldn’t quite interpret. Then it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
“Why?”
“You said it yourself. This is my fault. If I hadn’t involved you, none of this would be happening.”
“True,” I said and then I went silent, considering my next words in a way I seldom did.
“That’s all you have to say?” he asked.
“I was thinking,” I said. Then I went quiet again before I tried to articulate what I was thinking. “I blame you, but I don’t.”
He gave a mirthless chuckle, and I felt compelled to try to explain, though I couldn’t say for sure I understood it myself.
“Were it not for you, I’d be at home with my best friend, gossiping about that stupid wedding and or dreaming about my future. But because of you—and I’m still super fucking pissed about you getting into my car, by the way—I’m not,” I said.
“But?”
“But you didn’t kill her. She had nothing to do with any of this. She didn’t. Whoever did that to her…” I trailed off, the emotion overtaking me until I managed to swallow it down and continue. “Whoever did it is responsible.”
“What are you planning, Milan?” he asked.
I jumped, looked to him, and then realized I had my fist clenched tight. I relaxed my fist, my muscles protesting.
“What makes you think I’m planning something?” I asked. Sure, I was a little frazzled to say the least, but I was in control of myself and knew that nothing in my body gave away my thoughts. Which left me confused as to why he’d said such a thing and why he’d sounded so certain.
He gave me a look. “Don’t insult me, Milan,” he said, his voice silky with danger.
Some stubborn part of me wanted to push, needed to, if only to prove to myself I didn’t feel a shiver of desire in reaction to his voice, to prove the danger in it wasn’t drawing me in.
I didn’t, though, because with the feeling of desire came a crushing guilt. I had things to worry about, chief among them righting the wrong that had been done to my best friend. Priest, whatever his voice did to me, however much my body craved him, would have to wait.
“So, what’s your intention? You didn’t come with me because you saw reason,” he said.
My initial reaction was to ask him why he thought that, but I decided to heed his words and not insult him. Instead I said, “The police aren’t going to find who did this.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because they were talking to me, trying to find out what I knew about the wedding, the people who were there. They don’t give two shits about Tiffany. They’re after a bigger fish, and her death won’t change that. You disagree?” I asked, shifting in my seat.
I’d had my body turned toward the car door, but I faced him now, the animation that moved through me making it impossible for me to sit still. Besides, I wanted to see his face as we talked.
“No,” he said. “I don’t. Her death was a tragedy, but there are other things at play here. Things that mean she might not get the attention she deserves.”
“You don’t have to pretty it up for me,” I said.
“What?” he asked, eyes shifting to me quickly before he looked back at the road.
“In the absolute best-case scenario, Tiffany is maybe a third priority. That guy whose wedding it was is first,” I said.
“What’s second priority?” he asked.
“If I had to guess, I’d say you,” I responded, watching his face for a reaction.
But he simply said, “Unlikely.”
“Want to clarify that for me?” I asked, again wondering why he sounded so sure. Everything I’d seen told me he was professional, the kind that would rise to the level of police attention. So I told him so. “Don’t try to sell me some bullshit story about you being an innocent bystander or a banker or something else equally unbelievable.”
He chuckled, and this time there was real humor in the sound. “I won’t insult you either, Milan. No, I’m not an innocent anything. Haven’t been that in decades, if I ever was. But I doubt I’m on the police’s radar. I tend to keep a low profile.”
Something I could believe. Everything about him so far had been methodical, thought-out, and calculated. It was easy to believe he would take care to do nothing that would garner undue suspicion.
“Low profile,” I said, my mind humming with the beginnings of a thought.