Oxblood by AnnaLisa Grant

actually,” Ian said as he opened my car door and I stepped inside. He went to his side, jumped in, and drove quickly through the back lot and onto the street.
    â€œI knew that. I just forgot for a second,” I declared in an embarrassed excuse. We drove for a few minutes before I spoke again. “If I ask you something, will you answer me honestly?” I said softly.
    â€œIt depends on what it is.” Ian didn’t move his eyes from the road.
    â€œWhy was Damon at the restaurant tonight?”
    â€œI’ve met many beautiful women who have played the innocent and then didn’t hesitate to use me as a human shield,” he answered. “I had to be sure you weren’t there to kill me.
    â€œIf I ask you a question, will you answer it honestly?”
    â€œI have no reason not to answer you honestly,” I said.
    â€œIf he’s a freeloader, why is he still your boyfriend?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œInside the hotel, you said that you had your best friend and your freeloading boyfriend to go home to. If he’s a freeloader, why is he still your boyfriend?” His tone was softer again.
    â€œI don’t know,” was all I could muster. I asked myself the same question all the time. Chad was not someone I’d ever imagined myself with, and certainly not someone my parents would have chosen. He was entitled and lazy and thoughtless. He left his family over a silly dispute about money, and I would give every cent for one more day with mine. “Why?”
    â€œI told you. I have a thing about women being treated respectfully. Freeloading boyfriends do not treat women as they should.” He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.
    â€œWell, I guess, sometimes a freeloading boyfriend is better than . . . I don’t know what it’s better than.”
    We spent the next thirty minutes in silence. We had left the bright city streets of Bologna behind and now only small, dark buildings dotted the side of the road. Eventually, we stopped at what looked like an abandoned factory. It reminded me of the buildings near the diner, and I couldn’t help but wonder how many people lost their jobs when this place shut down.
    Ian pulled out his phone and got busy typing. I watched him, waiting to see if the softer Ian was going to show up again, the Ian that charmed me over bowls of pasta.
    We sat in silence. A car passed by behind us, its headlights shining on Ian’s face long enough to reveal a scowl that had replaced his crooked smile.
    His phone beeped. He read it and nodded. “It’s time to meet the team.”

Chapter 7
    I followed Ian to the side of the building, where we entered through a rusted-out metal door that looked like tetanus waiting to happen. He pulled the door open, his biceps stretching the fabric of his shirt. He took the two flights of stairs two steps at a time, me scurrying after him. I did my best to keep up, but my breathing was labored and my chest was beginning to burn. Ian didn’t wait; I guess the testing had begun.
    We walked down a dark hallway and into an office area. It was empty, the only light coming from a single bulb dangling from the ceiling. The desk in the corner was coated in what looked like thirty years’ worth of dust. And there were cobwebs. Lots and lots of cobwebs. It looked more like a good place to hide a dead body than the secret hideout for an INTERPOL team.
    Good, Vic. Because impetuously getting on a plane and flying to Italy wasn’t enough, finding yourself in what could be a serial killer’s lair is what is really going to make this trip memorable.
    We arrived at another door, this one simple wood, and finally, Ian turned around to face me.
    â€œDo I even need to ask if you’ve changed your mind?” he said with a hint of disappointment.
    â€œNope.” I answered him assuredly. From here on out, there was no way in hell I was going to show Ian I was