Nikki lived in a one-bedroom walk-up in Lakeview that Carissa was paying for.
The drive there took twenty-two minutes and all of Carissa’s remaining restraint.
She climbed the stairs fast enough to wake half the building and knocked so hard the cheap brass numbers on Nikki’s door rattled.
No answer.
Carissa knocked again.
“Nikki,” she said. “Open the door.”
“It’s late,” Nikki called through the wood. “Can we do this tomorrow?”
“No.”
Silence.
Then, “You’re scaring me.”
The sentence almost made Carissa laugh.
“Open the door or I keep knocking until the neighbors call the police.”
The lock clicked.
Nikki opened it barely four inches and tried to keep her face arranged in wounded innocence. It had always been her best look.
Carissa pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The apartment smelled like vanilla spray, takeout containers, and money Carissa had earned.
“How long?” Carissa asked.
Nikki folded her arms. “How long what?”
“How long have you been sleeping with Damen?”
Nikki shook her head so quickly it looked rehearsed. “I’m not sleeping with him.”
“What’s the birthmark on his left hip shaped like?”
Nikki’s mouth parted.