Twenty-Three

In spite of the nagging knot in the pit of his stomach, Michael forced himself through Sabrina’s front gate and up the walk. He knocked on the door and waited, even though he knew she wasn’t home. Her car was nowhere to be seen … but there was a black Nissan Titan parked in the driveway like it belonged there.

He told himself it was perfectly reasonable for him to be here. He was on an assignment and Sabrina was a part of it. He had every right to establish that whoever was here was supposed to be. It was professional courtesy that had him standing on her front porch—nothing more.

He was full of shit.

The door opened and he suddenly felt like he was sucking wind. Devon Nickels stood in the doorway. His bare feet and rumpled hair told Michael more in two seconds than a long-winded explanation ever could. He was comfortable and relaxed. He was exactly where he should be. He was at home, and Michael was intruding.

Nickels stared at him for a moment before speaking. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Where is she?” he said, trying his best to ignore the intense urge to grab the man in front of him and break his neck. The baby on Nickels’s hip made it marginally easier to keep his hands to himself.

She let out a squeal, her chubby fingers curled around the collar of Nickels’s navy blue SWAT T-shirt. A gold band glinted on the hand that anchored the baby to his side. She grinned, crinkling the corners of her whiskey-colored eyes. Michael tried not to look at her. Tried not to think about what she meant.

“Not here. I’ll forget to tell her you stopped by.” Nickels moved to shut the door, but Michael was faster. His hand shot out and gripped the doorframe. At the same time, he jammed his foot in its path. Nickels’s expression went from annoyed to angry in the blink of an eye. “Honey,” he shouted over his shoulder before turning his carefully guarded expression back in Michael’s direction.

Sabrina’s friend Valerie appeared a moment later, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “What is it?” She looked through the open door, her expression turning from puzzled to something more difficult to define. “Michael.” She whispered his name a moment before she stepped through the doorway and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder.

He went stiff, looking at Nickels in hopes of finding some help, but there was none to be had. The cop watched the two of them, his expression softening slightly as he held on to the baby in his arms just a bit tighter.

It was suddenly clear but before he could comment, Val raised her face from his shoulder and looked at him. He envisioned her as she was the last time he’d seen her—small and naked, being dragged along a dirt path by a man who intended to kill them both.

“No scar?” she said, studying the side of his face where David Song had sliced him with a scalpel.

“No. I got lucky,” he lied. It’d taken a few surgeries for FSS’s plastic surgeon to repair the damage Song had done, but the result was worth it. It was as if his confrontation with the man who’d stalked and murdered three women before turning his attention toward Sabrina and Val had never happened.

Almost.

“I’m glad. You’re way too pretty for a scar.” She smiled at him, taking a step back. “Sabrina called a while ago. She’s at the hospital, following up on a case she’s working.”

“Thanks,” he said, lifting his gaze to look at Nickels for just a moment. “And congratulations. Both of you.”

Val gave him another smile. “Thank you,” she said, pulling the baby from Nickels’s grasp and into her arms. “For everything.” She turned and said something to her husband before disappearing back into the house.