Текст книги "Alone in the Dark"

Автор книги: Karen Rose

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Текущая страница: 26 (всего у книги 49 страниц)

She let out a breath. ‘You still got it, you know that?’

‘What, the ability to make you feel guilty even when I’m being nice?’

Her laugh was shaky. ‘Yes.’

‘Thank you. You’ve ignored me for ten years,’ he said mildly. ‘My feelings are hurt. You can take a little guilt.’

‘I suppose that’s fair. If you could be here five minutes ago, that would be great.’

‘If I’m caught speeding, will you make my ticket go away?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘How about you get here as soon as legally possible?’

‘I think that would be best. How will you go about locating these women?’

She hadn’t thought about that yet. Her mind sifted through the possibilities now. ‘How are you with dogs?’

‘Allergic, just like always. Why?’

‘I’d like to pair you up with one of the search-and-rescue handlers. Their dogs can track the women from the house where they were living before they disappeared. They didn’t have transportation that we know of. They’ve had several hours’ head start, but if they’re still on foot, they can’t be that far. Put on your walking shoes. You might be hiking. You might want to take some allergy pills.’

He sighed. ‘I take it you want me in a cassock, even though it’s seven million degrees outside.’

Her lips twitched. ‘Yes please. Look as Catholic as possible.’

‘As Catholic as possible, huh? Okay. I haven’t worn that cassock in years. I’m not even sure I know where it is, but I’ll do my best. I’ll see you soon.’

‘Actually, give me an hour. I have to get the handlers in position with their dogs.’ And she still had to fit the meeting with Deacon and his human trafficking expert in between.

She hung up and stared at the phone in her hand. Somehow this day had developed a life of its own. Saying goodbye to Bryan and hello to Marcus, and now this reunion with Uncle Trace.

She fired off a text to her search-and-rescue contact, grateful when the woman texted right back. Give me an hour. Romeo and I will be there. Will see if I can get another few pairs to help the search.

She then dialed Deacon’s cell phone, frowning when Faith picked up. ‘Scarlett? Deacon’s a little b-busy right now. Ohhh.’ Her moan practically vibrated through the phone. ‘Um, yeah, Scarlett. What do you need?’ She sounded suspiciously out of breath.

Scarlett rolled her eyes, able to visualize the scenario all too well. Those two were so lovey-dovey it made her want to gag.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me. Really? You couldn’t have waited until tonight? Good God Almighty.’

In the background she heard Deacon’s muffled voice. ‘Tell her I’ll call her back.’

Faith blew out a few short breaths like she was in a Lamaze class. ‘Give us a minute. He’ll call you right baaa . . . Um, yeah. Right back.’

‘Not on my cell. I’m in Interview Room One. No recept—’

Deacon came on the line. ‘I will call you back,’ he growled.

The line went dead, and Scarlett turned to face the observation window with an impatient sigh. ‘Good God,’ she muttered, then went still as she laid eyes on Marcus. He was leaning forward slightly, talking to Lynda, his expression serious and focused. Lynda no longer wore as angry an expression, so she must have patched things up. Her boss looked at the phone on the table between them and pointed to something with a raised eyebrow.

Marcus typed something, then looked up at Lynda who gave him a nod of approval and said something that spread a slow smile over Marcus’s face.

Scarlett’s heart did a roll in her chest. ‘Oh my,’ she whispered. He was simply beautiful. And she wanted him. Wanted to be the one to put that slow smile on his face.

He flicked his finger over his phone, scrolling down, and Lynda frowned, saying something that made the smile on his face morph into a frown.

The landline rang and Scarlett answered it, not taking her eyes off the man on the other side of the glass as he and Lynda continued to negotiate whatever it was he was typing.

‘Bishop,’ Scarlett said.

‘It’s Faith.’ She was whispering. ‘I know you need to speak to Deacon, but he’s in the shower.’

‘I seriously do not need any more information,’ Scarlett protested, but with considerably less heat than before. Just watching Marcus O’Bannion made her go all soft inside.

‘Yeah, I think you do,’ Faith murmured. ‘Just listen. I don’t have much time. That notification he just did?’

The warmth in Scarlett’s chest abruptly chilled. How had she forgotten that so quickly? ‘Agent Spangler. What happened?’

‘It didn’t go well. The wife was angry. She attacked Deacon. Scratched his face badly.’

Scarlett lowered herself into a chair. ‘She scratched him? Why? Why didn’t he stop her?’

‘I think he was too stunned at first.’

‘And probably numb,’ Scarlett said quietly, putting herself in her partner’s place. ‘And knowing Deacon, he probably thought on some level that he deserved it.’

Faith sighed. ‘I knew you’d understand.’

‘Where the hell was SAC Zimmerman?’

‘Zimmerman wasn’t free, so Deacon went alone.’

The idiot. For a smart man, Deacon could do some seriously stupid things. ‘Goddammit, Faith. Why didn’t he call me or Lynda? Either of us would have gone with him.’

‘I suspect he wishes he had, but doing notifications with Lynda always makes him edgy.’

‘She’s not the softest bun in the box,’ Scarlett agreed.

‘Very true. He wanted to call you, but he knew you were looking for some church lady.’

‘Annabelle Church. We found her. Is Deacon okay?’

‘Physically, yes. Emotionally, no. He’s done a lot of notifications to victims’ families, but this is the first time he’s notified the family of a fellow agent. I was working at home when he got here to change his clothes and clean up—’

‘Wait,’ Scarlett interrupted. ‘Why did he change his clothes?’

‘He didn’t want to hurt her by restraining her, and she did some damage to his shirt. Ripped it, yanked all the buttons off. She would have dug her nails into his chest if he hadn’t been wearing a vest under the shirt.’

Thank God for Kevlar, Scarlett thought, looking at Marcus’s bullet-free back. ‘It sounds like Spangler’s wife was a little unstable before Deacon got there.’

‘Possibly. He called her pastor and waited until the man got there. Anyway, I was here when he got home and he was in bad shape. I . . .’

‘You tended him,’ Scarlett said quietly. ‘I get it.’

‘He wouldn’t want you to know how hard this hit him,’ she whispered.

‘I get that too. I won’t let on I know, although I’ll have to tease him a little bit about the interrupted afternoon delight. He’d be suspicious if I didn’t.’

Faith’s chuckle was a little forced. ‘Thanks. He said he’d meet you at the field office, that you have some kind of meeting.’

‘We do. I was calling to tell him that we have to make the meeting a fast one because we’ve had some new developments. I won’t be able to wait long if he’s late getting there.’

‘I’ll tell him. Thank you. Oh, and Scarlett? Tell my cousin hi,’ she added slyly, drawing out the ‘hi’ to sound teasingly sultry. ‘He’s quite a looker, isn’t he? If I hadn’t found Deacon first, I’d totally be hitting on him. I want details. All the details, you understand?’

Scarlett’s cheeks heated. ‘Goodbye, Faith.’

She hung up on Faith’s wicked laugh and went back into the interview room, where Lynda was glaring at Marcus incredulously. Marcus’s eyes were narrowed in challenge.

Scarlett frowned at them both. ‘What the hell, people? When I left the observation room, you were working well together. Ten seconds later, you’re giving each other the evil eye again. What happened?’

‘He was being reasonable,’ Lynda said, ‘and then all of the sudden he goes literally insane. He wants to be embedded in your investigation. Like in that ridiculous TV show where the writer tags along with the homicide detective.’

Scarlett bit back a grin. ‘You mean Castle? I like that show. It’s cute.’

‘This is a homicide investigation,’ Lynda said harshly. ‘We are not cute, Detective.’

‘Nor am I a writer of fiction,’ Marcus said, holding back the temper that flickered in his eyes. ‘I’m a journalist and this is a story that needs to be told. How many people out there believe like Annabelle Church, that human trafficking happens only in Thailand? And didn’t I do everything you just asked with the story about finding Tabby Anders?’

‘Mostly, yes,’ Isenberg agreed. ‘But that’s because I asked you about it directly. You didn’t offer anything, O’Bannion, and I’ve been burned by reporters in the past. You’ll give me what I want now, but then later you’ll pull a fast one and print whatever satisfies your agenda. And that’s how cops and victims die.’

Scarlett had sobered at Lynda’s earlier rebuke. Now she tried to smooth the waters, because Marcus’s request was not an unreasonable one. At the same time, they’d lost a man today, so she could see Lynda’s point of view as well. Lynda was voicing the same fears she herself had harbored before she’d gotten to know Marcus. ‘He’s been on the up and up so far,’ she told her boss rationally. ‘That article this morning had nothing in it that I hadn’t okayed. And he is right about getting the story out. This is important, Lynda. And I trust him.’

Lynda gave her a hard look. ‘He’s a loose cannon. He nearly got the two of you killed sneaking into the Anders house, and he may have gotten Agent Spangler killed too.’

Marcus opened his mouth to blurt what would have been an outraged denial. Scarlett held up her hand to stop him, grateful when he restrained himself.

‘We have no reason to believe Marcus had anything to do with Agent Spangler’s death. And . . .’ Scarlett drew a breath, knowing she was about to draw her boss’s ire, ‘I figured he’d try to get into the house. I didn’t tell him not to.’

Lynda sat back, her gray eyes gone stone cold. ‘You knew he was going back there?’

‘I expected him to at least consider it. When I realized he was gone, I followed him.’ She sat in the chair between her boss and Marcus. ‘Lynda, our hands were tied until we got a warrant. What Marcus did was not illegal – and his actions likely saved Tabby Anders’s life. She might have died if she’d had to wait for us to get a warrant to enter the house. Because he found her, we now have Tala’s baby safe and sound and we know the names of the other two women. He’s been quite useful.’

‘Thank you,’ Marcus muttered dryly, extremely annoyed. ‘I’m so happy to be useful.’

Scarlett shot him a be-quiet glare, then turned back to Lynda. ‘Let him watch us. We have nothing to hide. He’ll let one of us read his reports before he uploads or prints them.’ She looked over her shoulder to find him definitely unhappy. ‘Right, Marcus?’

Twenty

Cincinnati, Ohio

Tuesday 4 August, 7.00 P.M.

It was all Marcus could do to keep his temper under control. Let the cops read his reports before he uploaded them? How Scarlett could even think he’d consider that . . .

Meeting her eyes, he shook his head. ‘No way,’ he said firmly. ‘That’s censorship. I print the truth, whether it’s pleasant for you or not.’

Isenberg’s nostrils flared in anger. ‘I knew he’d say that. He’s a reporter. They’re all about their First Amendment rights, but care nothing about the rights of the officers – or victims – they place in danger. They stick their mikes in your face and demand details that could destroy lives, just so they can get their damn story.’

Scarlett had winced at Marcus’s words, but she visibly flinched at Isenberg’s. Settling herself in her chair, she leaned away from both of them. With a single long blink she’d become grim, and his gut didn’t like that at all.

‘Scarlett?’ he asked. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ she said coolly. ‘I’m fine.’

She was not fine. Her eyes had gone beyond expressionless. They were blank. Even Isenberg looked concerned, but Scarlett waved away her boss’s questions.

‘I said I’m fine.’ She turned to Marcus, a determined set to her jaw. ‘I’m not telling you not to print the truth. I’m saying that there may be things we’ll want to hold back, like this morning. You agreed then. What’s different now?’

‘Nothing,’ he murmured. ‘But I don’t want anyone thinking they can “approve” my work. You need to trust me that I’ll keep my word when we decide what gets kept out.’

He held his breath, waiting for her response, knowing that it was a critical moment for the future of whatever relationship they would have.

She held his gaze for a few heartbeats, then shifted her attention back to her boss without a flicker of emotion. ‘You don’t trust him,’ she said, her tone so coldly logical that Marcus wanted to hit something. ‘I understand that. I have a hard time reconciling trust and journalists in the same sentence too. They make their living digging up the news and don’t care about the damage they leave behind.’

Fuck, no, he thought viciously. He was not going to take that from anyone, least of all from her. He opened his mouth to protest, but sensing it, she raised her hand just high enough for him to get her message. Be quiet.

He bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood, and said nothing.

‘But,’ Scarlett continued evenly, ‘Marcus has never given us a reason to doubt his word. He helped us find the Anderses in the first place by identifying their dog. He had their name a full half-hour before we got to their property, but he didn’t print it or upload it. He still hasn’t. He’s not like most of the other reporters either of us have dealt with. If you don’t trust him, then trust me. I’ll take responsibility for anything he prints.’

‘I don’t want or need you to take responsibility for what I do,’ he said firmly.

Scarlett met his eyes, hers still cold. ‘This is my world, Marcus. This is how it needs to work. If you want me to trust you, then you have to trust me too.’

If he hadn’t known how much emotion she was capable of, he would never have guessed at what had to be churning behind that icy stare. The crazy thing was, that made him trust her more. She had more self-control than anyone he’d ever met. More than was healthy, he thought. He, of all people, knew how damaging shoving all one’s emotions down deep could be.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘I guess in your place I’d demand the same thing. Especially since you all lost a colleague today.’ He watched for any flicker of relief in Scarlett’s eyes, but there was none.

‘Thank you,’ she said, her detachment beginning to make him nervous. ‘Is this an acceptable arrangement, Lieutenant?’

‘Yes,’ Isenberg said. She gave Marcus a sharp look. ‘Don’t make me regret it.’

It was obvious that nothing he could say was going to change the lieutenant’s attitude, so he only sighed and shook his head.

Scarlett stood up. ‘I have to meet Deacon at the FBI field office. They haven’t agreed to your presence, so it’s better if I meet you afterward. I’ll broach the topic when I’m with them.’

‘What’s the meeting about?’ he asked.

‘We’re speaking with the person leading their human trafficking investigation team,’ Scarlett said evenly. ‘I’m not sure what we’ll learn, but I’ll share all I can.’

‘That’s all right. I have some things to take care of at the office.’ He pushed to his feet. ‘You can escort me out,’ he said to Scarlett, then gave Isenberg a nod. ‘Lieutenant.’

Marcus was quiet as he followed Scarlett out, trying to figure out what had extinguished the lights in her eyes. Then he remembered, early that morning, the look on her face when he’d said that he made his living digging up the news. Her eyes had gone blank then too. He hadn’t understood at the time that that meant she was hiding a very emotional reaction.

He waited until they were in her car before asking, ‘What did the reporter do?’

She whipped her head around to stare at him. ‘Excuse me?’

‘You shut down in there as soon as Isenberg started talking about reporters. Please tell me,’ he coaxed. ‘It matters to you, obviously. So it matters to me. What did the reporter do? I know it was personal, Scarlett. It’s written all over your face.’

She frowned again as she pulled out into traffic. ‘I had a poker face before I met you.’

He wanted to smile at that, but couldn’t let her distract him from what was at the root of the issue. ‘The reporter, Scarlett. What did he do?’

She clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth. ‘I told you that my friend was murdered.’

‘Yes, back when you were at college. Her name was Michelle. You said her killer never got justice.’

She nodded, seeming to relax a fraction when he remembered the details. ‘What I didn’t say was that I know exactly who killed her. Trent Bracken. He was Michelle’s boyfriend.’

Marcus blinked at the venom in her voice. ‘Then why is this Bracken not in prison?’

‘Because his daddy hired a high-powered attorney who got him off scot-free,’ she said bitterly. ‘Now the SOB is a defense attorney himself, right here in town.’

‘That has to kill you inside,’ Marcus said gently. ‘Knowing he’s free. But what does that have to do with reporters?’

She sighed wearily. ‘When Michelle went missing, we – her friends – told the police that Trent was abusive, that Michelle had been afraid of him. Which was all true. The cops were watching Bracken, but he didn’t know it then, because they were keeping it quiet.’

‘I take it that he found out.’

She nodded. ‘Because some narcissistic, big-mouthed, tiny-dicked reporter told everyone in town.’ She’d said ‘reporter’ with an angry sneer, but it was the ‘tiny-dicked’ adjective that made Marcus cringe. ‘At that point Michelle was still alive. But Bracken saw his name in print and went ballistic.’ Her throat worked as she tried to swallow. ‘I found her body the next day. She was still warm. Her blood was still warm. Still dripping down the wall of the alley where he’d dumped her.’

In an alley? Hell, this day had been a bad one for her. Finding Tala’s body in the alley this morning had to have yanked her back in time. He could offer his sympathy, but he didn’t think she wanted to hear it right now. Plus, there was more to this reporter issue. He could feel it. ‘How did the tiny-dicked reporter find out that Bracken was a suspect?’

Her lips twisted. ‘I told him.’

Marcus blinked again, definitely not expecting that. ‘You talked to the reporter? Why?’

‘Because I didn’t know he was planning to become a reporter. When I told him, he was just my boyfriend.’

‘Oh.’ Marcus tried to find something to say. ‘Tiny-dicked’ made a little more sense now, and he couldn’t honestly say it bothered him to hear it. ‘That’s one helluva betrayal.’

‘Yeah,’ she muttered. ‘All the reporters had been bugging me for interviews. Because I was Michelle’s best friend, they figured I knew things, and I did, of course. I kept saying “no comment”, but the assholes wouldn’t leave me alone. As if it wasn’t bad enough that my best friend was missing . . . Getting back to my dorm room had become worse than running the gauntlet, so I’d been hiding out in Donny’s dorm room.’

‘Who was Donny?’

‘My boyfriend.’

Marcus frowned. ‘I thought Bryan was your college boyfriend.’

Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. ‘No, Bryan and I have always just been friends. I already told you that.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly, soothing her with his voice, because she was sending out serious touch-me-and-die vibes. ‘You did tell me that. So why didn’t you just go home? I would think that your six brothers could have scared off any reporters.’

Her chuckle was mirthless. ‘Colin and Gil were married and in their own homes, and Phin . . . he was on tour in Iraq. Sawyer and Dorian were still in high school, and they wanted to scare the reporters off but Mom wouldn’t let them. Arrest records play havoc with college scholarships. Nate was still in elementary school, still a baby. I did go home, though. After.’

‘After you found Michelle’s body.’

A sharp nod. ‘For a few days. I couldn’t stay too long. We were headed into finals week and my parents had sacrificed a lot to send me to college. So I manned up and went back so that I could finish the semester.’ One side of her mouth lifted in a bitter half-smile. ‘Donny actually had the nerve to come up to me and ask for a follow-up interview.’

‘What did you do to him?’

‘Made it so that he’d never get a TV job. He was pretty before I bloodied his fucking nose. Afterward, not so much.’

‘Good,’ Marcus said grimly, then frowned. ‘But I jumped ahead. You were saying that you’d been hiding out in his dorm room.’

‘Yes, because I was a Class A idiot, trusting the limp-dicked asshole.’

‘How old were you, Scarlett?’ he asked kindly.

She swallowed hard. ‘Twenty,’ she whispered, and a single tear streaked down her cheek. ‘Twenty and so goddamn stupid. I didn’t think he loved me, but I never dreamed he’d use me like that.’

Marcus trailed the backs of his fingers over her damp cheek. ‘What did he do, honey?’

‘He’d been there for me, listening, letting me cry on his shoulder. I didn’t know he’d been taking notes the whole time. He sold his story to one of the network affiliates, with the proviso that he got to be the guest reporter.’

‘What news show would have agreed to that?’

‘The one that wanted the story the most.’

‘So Donny just up and decided he wanted to be a TV reporter one day? Was he taking journalism classes?’

Her mouth tightened, little frown lines spidering into her cheeks. ‘No, he was a psychology major. His plan was to use the story to get a job with one of the network shows like 20/20 and become famous using his psycho-know-how to trick people into revealing all.’

Marcus scoffed. ‘Was he delusional?’

‘As it turns out, yes. I didn’t know he wanted to be a reporter. I didn’t know he wanted to be famous. I don’t think he realized it until Michelle’s disappearance became national news.’

‘Did he get a job?’

‘Yes, but not with the network.’

‘Because you broke his fucking nose,’ Marcus said with satisfaction, earning him a small smile.

‘Exactly. He wrote for a tabloid rag, but never got rich or famous. His writing sucked and his story was a one-hit wonder, so to speak. He never got another big scoop and ended up being fired. He didn’t get into grad school for his psych degree either. Now he sells cars.’

‘Using his psycho-know-how to get people to buy cars they don’t yet know they want.’

‘Exactly,’ she said again. ‘So that’s why I don’t trust reporters.’

Marcus shook his head. ‘He wasn’t a real reporter, honey. I think you nailed it when you said he was a narcissist.’

‘Once Donny broke the story,’ she said far too quietly, ‘the real reporters were all over me. They would not leave me alone. They followed me from class across campus, sticking their microphones in my face. I’m glad I wasn’t carrying back then. I would have shot them.’

He had no doubt that she spoke the truth.

She said nothing for a long, long moment, then sighed heavily. ‘I couldn’t deal with them at that point, so I hid out in church.’

‘Your uncle’s church?’

‘Yeah. I’d spent a lot of time in the school chapel up until that point, but the reporters followed me in there too. So I called Bryan, because he had a motorbike. He picked me up outside the chapel. Stopped just long enough for me to climb on, and then he was off like a damn rocket. He lost the reporters, then took me to my uncle’s church, where he and Uncle Trace waited up with me for most of the night, along with Michelle’s family and the rest of mine. She and I had grown up in that church, been confirmed together by the priest before Uncle Trace. We spent the whole night on our knees, praying. Except when we were answering our phones. The damn things buzzed all night. The reporters had gotten our numbers and kept calling. We wanted to turn off the phones but we all kept thinking Michelle might call. That something would happen.’

‘I understand,’ Marcus said softly. More than you know.

She glanced at him, guilt in her eyes. ‘I know you do. I know how you all worried when Mikhail disappeared. I’m sorry. I know Michelle’s family and mine aren’t the only families to who have suffered like this.’

‘That was hell,’ he murmured, but at least he’d only found Mikhail’s body. He hadn’t been there when he died. Marcus closed his eyes. He hadn’t had to hear Mikhail’s pleas for him to help. He hadn’t been so lucky with Matty. And he’d been too young to deal with it.

Mawcus. Matty’s screams, the screams of a toddler, permanently etched in Marcus’s brain. Mawcus. Normally Marcus could block them, pretend that he’d never heard them – when he was awake, anyway. Unlike Stone’s anguished cries, which he heard waking or sleeping.

Make him stop, Marcus. I just want to go home.

‘Marcus?’ she asked, her voice thick with concern. ‘Um, Marcus?’

Eyes flipping open, he swallowed a curse. He should have known she’d pick up on his slip. ‘How did you find her?’ he asked, trying to get her back on to her story and off his.

‘I got a text the next morning, from her phone.’ Another bitter smile. ‘I thought my prayers had been answered. The text just said to meet her behind the dorm, that she didn’t want any of the reporters to see her. Asked me not to tell her parents either, because she didn’t want them to see her that way.’ An audible swallow. ‘She texted me a photo of herself. I . . . didn’t recognize her right away. Her eye was black, her face bruised. She said that Trent Bracken had done it. I was devastated, but relieved that she was alive.’

‘Did you tell her parents?’

‘No. Her mother had looked like she’d break any minute. She hadn’t slept in days, not since Michelle disappeared. Michelle’s dad had finally gotten her to leave the church so that she could go home and sleep. I think he slipped her a sleeping pill, because he had to almost carry her out to the car. I figured I’d get Michelle cleaned up, put ice on her eye and then call her mother. That way her mom could get some rest and Michelle could keep some dignity.’

Marcus frowned. ‘That I don’t understand.’

‘Her parents didn’t like Trent. He was rich, they were blue-collar regular folk. They suspected he wasn’t . . . gentle with Michelle. But I don’t think anyone thought he was beating the shit out of her. Nobody but me. I’d begged her to leave him, and she’d tried. She’d broken up with him the day before she disappeared.’

She’d reached the Ledger office and pulled into a parking spot on the street, but Marcus didn’t move. ‘What happened then?’

‘Bryan had left just before dawn. He had a morning paper route, ironically enough. When I got the text, I called him to come get me and he dropped everything. I played it cool with Uncle Trace and the family still at the church, told them I needed to go for a run to clear my head. I met Bryan a few blocks away and he drove like lightning back to the dorm. Most of the reporters were gone. The few that were left were camped out in front of the building, waiting to catch anyone coming out for early classes. Bryan zipped through the alleys behind the dorms and nobody saw us.’

She fell silent, staring straight ahead, her eyes unfocused. Unfortunately Marcus had a good idea of what it was that she was seeing.

‘You found her?’ he prompted gently.

A nod. ‘Yeah. Bryan and I found her together. Trent had finished the job.’ A very deep breath. ‘I must have screamed, because before I knew it, the alley was crawling with reporters, the guys from the front who’d heard me and run around back. I had cameras flashing in my face and microphones shoved down my throat. I still had her blood on my hands. Literally, I mean. I’m surprised you didn’t find pictures in your own archives. If a Ledger reporter wasn’t personally there, the paper had to have run the story with stock photos.’

He’d find out as soon as he got into the office. ‘What happened then?’

‘Bryan got me out, called my parents.’

The sudden spurt of jealousy disturbed him. ‘He was close with your family?’ he asked.

A wan smile. ‘Mom always called him her seventh son. She still does. Dad took me home, made sure none of the press bothered me. Dad was already pretty high up in the CPD hierarchy, so nobody fucked with him.’ She took another deep breath. ‘So that is why I don’t like reporters.’

‘I wouldn’t either, in your place. But I’m not sure that would be my biggest problem.’

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I’d also feel like I’d killed my best friend.’

She glared at him coldly. ‘Your psycho-babble is as pathetic as Donny’s.’

He didn’t take her jab personally. ‘But that’s what’s really at the heart of this, isn’t it? You trusted someone who betrayed that trust, and your best friend died as a consequence.’

She was quiet for a long, long moment. ‘Yes,’ she agreed finally, her voice hoarse. ‘You’re right. Are you happy? You’ve dug it out of me. You can leave now.’

He reached over and gently gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. ‘No, I’m not happy, Scarlett. I’m goddamn furious right now – for you. What happened to you was disgusting, and those reporters should have been ashamed. But I’m not going to apologize for something I didn’t do. And I wasn’t trying to gouge this out of you. We have secrets, all of us do. You’re entitled to the secrets you don’t want to share – except this one was impacting how you see me.’ He gripped her a little tighter, taking care that he didn’t hurt her. ‘Me, Scarlett. I am not the man who betrayed you and I am not the reporters who hassled you. I’m not going to sell your story or my soul to sell a few goddamn papers.’

He was breathing hard, his heart beating like a drum in his chest. Until her eyes cleared and her lips curved in a genuine smile.

‘I know you’re not,’ she said. ‘I’ve always known, but I didn’t want to trust my gut.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I wanted you. Too much. I was willing to believe you weren’t what on the surface you should have been. I wanted you to be different, so much that it scared me. It still does.’

‘It shouldn’t. I’m not always the best man, but everything I’ve ever done I’ve believed to be for the best at that moment. Even . . .’ He released her abruptly, shaken by what he’d nearly confessed.

Her brows lifted. ‘Even what?’

Even murder. ‘I really need to go.’

She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and gave it a yank. ‘I told you everything, Marcus. Everything. Don’t you dare run away from me now.’

He was still breathing hard, but from panic now, not fury. Closing his eyes, he covered her hand with his, flattening her grip, pressing her palm to his racing heart. He thought she should be able to feel it even through the Kevlar.