Heated

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Self-defense, Detective,” I said. “Mr. Sharp had told Mr. Franklin that he had evidence that Franklin had sexually harassed an employee. Franklin attacked, and Sharp defended himself.”

“And you saw that?”

“I did. I’m not telling you how to do your job, but if it was my case, I’d just have everyone walk away.”

The memory played in my head, over and over like a broken record, blocking out everything else.

“You did the right thing,” Tyler said as we stepped inside his suite at The Drake.

They were the first words we’d spoken since leaving the benefit, and they sounded far away. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

“He files charges for assault, and the only way to defend is to drag Lizzy into this mess,” he said as he headed into the living room. “Would you want that for her?”

“You didn’t have to pound his face in,” I said. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that he attacked an innocent girl who’d already suffered enough.”

“Yes, I know. Of course.” I drew in a breath. “But, Tyler, there are laws against rape, even attempted rape. Lizzy could testify. Bring assault charges, attempted rape.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” he said. “A former stripper crying rape? What cop would believe her?”

“I would,” I said, and I saw the flicker of warmth in his eyes.

“Fair enough,” Tyler said. “But even if the DA did believe her, he’d get a slap on the wrist and no cage time, and we both know it. Justice doesn’t always go hand in hand with the law.”

I shook my head, knowing I needed to just drop this. That it was becoming too damn personal. “That doesn’t mean you can take it into your own hands.”

“Why not?”

I just looked at him, willing myself to stay silent.

“I’m serious,” he repeated. “Why not?”

“Because you can’t,” I snapped. “There are rules. There are codes.” I thought of my mother. Of my stepfather. And in my mind, I heard the sharp crack of a shotgun.

I shivered, turning away from Tyler. “Don’t you get it? There’s an entire foundation built around those rules and codes, that makes us civilized.”

He came to me and put his hands on my shoulders. “That foundation is full of cracks, and you know it.”

I shrugged him off, took two steps forward. “Yeah? Well, it’s not your job to fill them.”

“Christ, Sloane, listen to yourself. You’re a cop for Christ’s sake.”

I whipped around, spitting out my words as the memories pummeled me. “You think that because I’m a cop I don’t know about crossing the line? That I don’t know about getting dirty? About paying a price?”

I held my hands out in front of me, my breath hitching because I knew that they were covered in blood. “I killed him,” I yelled. “I killed my own stepfather, you son of a bitch, and I pay the price every goddamn day.”

I gasped the moment the words were out of my mouth, a sharp sound, like I was trying to suck them back in. But they weren’t coming back. Instead, they seemed to hang in the air between us.

I stood frozen, staring at him, expecting to see shock, revulsion, even surprise.

I saw none of that.

“Oh, god,” I said, collapsing to the floor. “You knew.” My voice was dull. Pained. “I’ve never told that to anyone. I don’t know why I told it to you. How did you know?”

He was on the floor, holding me, stroking me, making soft soothing noises. And I realized I wasn’t entirely sure when he’d done that. “Because I see you,” he said simply. What I heard was, because I love you.

I blinked, and tears spilled from my cheeks.

“You mess me up, Tyler.”

“Yes, well, the feeling is mutual.” He pressed a kiss to my head. “Will you tell me what happened?”

I didn’t want to go back, but at the same time I wanted him to know. Wanted to share the horror with someone who knew me. Someone I trusted. So I drew in a breath, and started slowly. “You know some of it,” I said. “It was like living a nightmare. He beat her. He raped her. He was a monster.”

I drew in a breath, clutching his hand tight. “When I was fifteen, he tried to rape me. He was drunk, and I fought him off, but I was done with him. I was so very done.”

“What did you do?”

“My dad’s a cop, and even though my parents had been divorced for forever, we’re close. So I knew things about evidence. And I knew things about my dad. Like the fact that he had a crappy old shotgun in his garage. It used to be his father’s, and it was a filthy mess. My dad wasn’t a hunter, but he wasn’t going to get rid of a gun. It just stayed there in the garage, unloaded, tucked in behind the spare fridge.”

“You took it.”

“Took it, cleaned it. Left it there until the night I’d picked, then I spent the night at a friend’s house—to this day my friend thinks I left her place to sleep with Tommy Marquette—and drove to my dad’s. He was working nights, so it was easy to get in the garage, get the gun, and get out.”

I drew in a breath, trying to push away the visual memories. “It was summer, and Harvey always slept with the light on. He was punishing my mother for something—I don’t remember what—and had her locked in the bathroom. So I just got myself set up outside the window as far away as I trusted my aim. There was a rock wall, and I used it to keep the gun steady. I watched, got him in the sights. And then I pulled the trigger. After that, I tossed the gun in the lake and went back my friend’s house.”

“And it was easy,” Tyler said.

I nodded. “It was.”

“That’s because it was justice.”

I shook my head. “No. No, I snapped, and I took it too far. Justice would have been him in a cage for the rest of his life. It wasn’t my right to take him out.” I looked at him, held his eyes so that maybe he would understand. “That made me the same as him.”

“The hell it did. You protected yourself. You protected your mother. The police had already failed you. What the hell else were you supposed to do?”

“You asked me once why I became a cop. Harvey Grier is one of those reasons. It’s like redemption. It’s like a second chance.”

He shook his head. “No. No, you’re wrong. You think you crossed a line, but you didn’t. He was vile. He was a monster. There’s nothing wrong with killing a monster.”

He took my hands and held the tight. “You did the right thing. Back then to protect yourself. Even tonight to protect me. You’re one hell of a cop. And I promise you that justice is safe in your hands.”

I managed a thin smile. “That’s a nice compliment,” I said, “coming from a criminal mastermind.”

“I’m squeaky clean,” he countered with a grin.

I stroked his cheek, suddenly extraordinarily tired. “I wish I could believe that,” I said. “Because that’s the fundamental gap between us. And there’s nowhere we can go from here.”

“Bullshit,” he said, then kissed me so deeply I thought I might drown in it. “I already told you. I get what I want. And I don’t do things halfway. You’re already mine, Sloane. The rest is just making the pieces fit together.”