Sapphire
What the hell am I doing ? I wonder not for the first time as I drop George off at Ms. Willoughby’s, my neighbor, and stalk to my Camaro.
Zade’s black van is parked beside it, and he leans against the driver’s side door, a phone pressed to his ear, barking orders in rapid-fire Italian and looking like all things sexy and sinful.
And let’s not forget, sinister.
I’ve just invited a stranger who wants to kill me along on a trip home. I bet he had a body bag in the trunk of his Lambo two days ago. And do I even want to know what he planned with that sleek black van today?
Why am I not crippled with fear for this man? Screaming and clawing to get away from him?
Maybe the same reason he needs to, but can’t seem to hurt me.
I sneak another look at Zade. Clad in all black, his suit
