Rashford's Pov The taste of it was still in my mouth. The whole scene in Claire’s apartment, the broken lock, the knife on the floor, that piece of trash Danny pinned to the wall. And Claire, holding a phone with steady hands while her eyes were a storm of something I couldn’t name. The throw she’d used on Danny. That wasn’t a lucky shove. It was training. Expensive training.And then the way she’d broken in my arms afterward, but it didn’t explain the way she’d looked at me when she pulled away. That flicker in her eyes, gone in a heartbeat.Jessica’s furious words echoed: She’s lying about something!I’d dismissed it as jealousy. Now, I wasn’t so sure.I couldn’t sleep. I kept seeing two sets of eyes in the same face. The wide, lost ones of the waitress in my café, and the sharp, challenging ones of the woman who’d faced me down over coffee. Two different people. Or one very good actress.I needed answers that didn’t come from her lips. I called an old contact, a guy named Leo who
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