20

I lingered in the break room as I waited for Marx to return from his “bust.” He had gotten word about where to find his street dealer, and I had watched as he and a few other officers strapped on bulletproof vests and inserted earpieces before heading out.

I was staring into the box of doughnuts, trying to decide which one I wanted, when a familiar voice said, “Hey, kiddo.”

I stiffened and then turned to see Captain McNera standing in the doorway. He gave me a pleasant smile that made him no more likable. “Tough choice?” he asked as he stepped into the room. “Which ones are giving you the trouble?”

He nodded. “Both good options. But I’m guessing you don’t wanna eat both.” When I shook my head, he said, “Tell ya what, cake doughnuts are my favorite and I like blueberry too. My blood is in need of a little sugar, so why don’t we split them.”

“No, I just have a sweet tooth the size of the Atlantic. So what do you say?”

I wanted to say, “take a hike,” but he’d been Marx’s friend for a long time, so I tried to be civil. “Sure.” I grabbed a plastic knife from one of the drawers and cut both doughnuts in half. I paused before grabbing the halves and putting them on a plate for him as I thought of Sam and his germ phobia. “Do you mind my fingers?”

I placed his on a plate and held the plate out without moving toward him. He leaned forward and took it from me.

I licked the stickiness from my fingers as I retreated with my plate to the farthest wall. “Did you really come in here for a doughnut?”

He smiled. “No, young lady, I did not. Rick asked me to check in on you if he wasn’t back in an hour.” That didn’t surprise me. “He said you’ve been having some issues with a man, and he’s concerned about you being alone.” At my displeased frown, he explained, “He didn’t betray your confidence. That’s all he told me.”

He wasn’t worried about Collin breaking into a police station and dragging me out; he was worried about me leaving the police station and getting myself into trouble.

“Rick is an amazing cop, but after Shannon left him, he became a different person—always tired, angry, and distracted. He hardly ever smiled. It wasn’t until he returned from Kansas with you that I noticed the change in him. He’s happier. He smiles more, and to everyone’s surprise, he even laughs from time to time. I’m pretty sure we have you to thank for that.”

He smiled and lifted the doughnut to his lips as he explained, “You just have a way about you.”

I wasn’t really sure what that meant, so I decided to ignore it and focus on my doughnut. I worked on my blueberry half quietly, fully aware that he was still watching me.

“I realize that you and I didn’t get off to a very good start,” he said after a moment. “But I hope that if you continue to be a part of Rick’s life, you can find it in yourself to forgive me.”

“We’ve been friends since I transferred to this precinct twenty years ago. He and I were partners for a time.”

“Rick doesn’t get along well with most people, so he generally works alone. I figured him for my job someday—he was the better cop—but he has a bit of a temper.”

I smirked. I had seen that temper before, but he seemed able to control it better now. “He’s a good man.”

“Yes, he is.” He studied me. “What is it between you two? I know he’s not romantically interested in you, and I don’t get that sense from you either.”

“Hmm.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “Well, if you’re ever having a doughnut dilemma, I’m just over there.” He pointed to his office. “And I’m happy to share a doughnut with you anytime.”

I forced a smile and then sank into one of the folding chairs after he left the room. I watched him through the glass as guilt gnawed at me. He was clearly trying to make amends, but he had made the terrifying situation last autumn even harder, and I would rather upchuck my doughnut than say the words “I forgive you.”

Jesus offered us forgiveness whether we deserved it or not—no matter how many times we rejected Him, and no matter the depth of our sins. What right did we have to deny it to someone else who was seeking it? What right did I have?

I looked at my knapsack on the table as my thoughts turned to Izzy. Captain McNera wasn’t the only one trying to make things right. Was I holding onto my pain and anger so tightly that I was withholding forgiveness?

I pulled my notebook from my bag and flipped it open to the unfinished letter. I stared at the nearly empty page, struggling to find the words to fill it.

I uncapped the pen, pressed it to the paper, and waited for the words of forgiveness to flow out of it. But what I began to write took an entirely different path:

Your face is the first one I remember after my family died. The first arms to hold me. It doesn’t matter that you took me illegally. It doesn’t matter that I only lived with you for two years, or that you were a criminal. You were all I had in this world to hold onto. And you abandoned me. You were the closest thing I had to a mother and you chose drugs over me. You left me alone. And I hate you for that. I hate you because . . .

I heard Marx’s brusque voice coming from the squad room, and I set my notebook aside. My eyes widened when he strode in with his hand wrapped around the arm of a man in handcuffs. He shoved the man into the vacant chair beside his desk, and the man called him a few choice names.

“Next time, I’ll aim higher,” the man sneered. “You don’t have a bulletproof helmet.”

Marx stripped off his vest, laying it across his desk, and I caught the glint of metal embedded in it. My insides twisted. Was that a bullet?

“There’s not gonna be a next time. Even if you manage to find yourself a lawyer without a conscience to get you off the drug charges, you shot a cop.”

Marx arched an eyebrow and said dryly, “Charmin’.” His head lifted when Captain McNera called him. He motioned an officer in uniform over and requested, “Take him down to bookin’. Make sure he gets his own cell. I don’t want there to be any accidents.”

“Five star accommodations, huh?” the drug dealer asked as the female officer pulled him to his feet. “And a pretty escort.” He looked her over and winked.

She ignored the comment and propelled him forward through the squad room. He looked around the room, and I had a bad feeling as his calculating eyes skimmed over the empty desks and then the few officers who were at the other end of the room.

Recognition lit his eyes when he saw me standing in the doorway of the break room, but I was certain I’d never seen him before. He stopped abruptly, and the female officer tried to force him back in step beside her.

The man glanced back over his shoulder toward Marx and Captain McNera, who lingered outside of the captain’s office to talk quietly, and then back at the officer escorting him. He sized her up quickly and then threw his shoulder into her hard enough to knock her off her feet.

He barged into the break room, and I scrambled back from him. His hands were still cuffed behind his back, but that didn’t discourage him from trying to reach me as I skirted the edges of the room to avoid him. I had no idea what I had done to upset him. I hadn’t even spoken to him.

My back smacked the wall, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go. He opened his mouth to say something more as he closed the distance between us, but his words were lost when Marx wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and slammed his face down on the break room table.

“You don’t go near her. You don’t talk to her,” Marx growled in warning.

“A little jealous, Detective?” The man wheezed in amusement. “I would be too if that was my girl.”

Marx tightened his hold on the back of the man’s neck when he twisted in an effort to see me, and leaned down to growl, “You don’t even look at her.”

“Detective,” the female officer protested, trying to pull his arm away from the man. “Let him up. I’ve got this.”

Marx looked at me less than two feet away from where he had the man restrained, and then at the officer. Frustration laced his voice. “See that you do this time.”

The woman’s jaw hardened, but she only nodded and grabbed the man securely by his arms. Marx released him and stepped back, letting her take over.

“You can’t hold me, Detective,” the man said as he straightened. He ran his tongue over his split lip and then spat blood onto the carpet.

The officer hauled the man out of the room, and I caught Marx’s faint wince of pain as he braced an arm against his side for the barest instant.

He lowered his arm from his rib cage at my quiet question. “It’s just a bruise. The vest took the brunt of the impact.”

I crossed my arms and asked irritably, “Do I get to use that line the next time I get hurt and just don’t wanna tell you about it?”

He grimaced. “You have a habit of turnin’ things around on me, and I don’t like it.” He stared at my unwavering scowl and sighed. “It’s a cracked rib or two. It tends to happen when you get shot in the vest at close range. I’ll be good as new in a few weeks.”

He wouldn’t be good as new, but unfortunately there was nothing to do but wait.

“And no, if somebody hurts you, you don’t ever get to tell me it’s nothin’ to worry about. I expect a name and detailed description so I can hunt them down and return the favor,” he informed me. “Or at the very least, arrest them.”

He smiled. “I’ll do my best. I sent a message to Jordan. He’ll be by in about an hour to pick you up.”

“Because I have paperwork and an interrogation to do after my briefin’ with McNera. I don’t want you to be stuck in this room until midnight. And then there’s the fact that you were almost attacked less than a minute ago.”

Marx shot me an unamused look. “Whatever the reason, I’m not comfortable with you bein’ here when I’m otherwise occupied.”

“And yet, you want me to stay here while you’re otherwise occupied for the next hour. Or are you wanting me to go outside and wait for Jordan on the curb?”

He frowned. “You know I don’t want you waitin’ on the curb. Stop bein’ difficult, and don’t get into any mischief.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, sliding onto the table beside the box of doughnuts.

“Mmm hmm. If I didn't know you, I might believe that. If you need me, I’ll be in with McNera. Don’t be afraid to knock.”

Time seemed to drag by at a snail’s pace until a familiar face I couldn’t quite place passed by the break room window. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but no one gave him a second glance, so he was likely an off-duty cop.

I perked up with interest and suspicion when he stopped by Marx’s desk. He glanced around the room before shifting a few folders. He tilted his head to read one of them. Now he was snooping.

I hopped off the table and walked quietly into the squad room. “What are you doing?” I asked from behind him, and the man jumped, startled.

He whirled around to see me, and I watched surprise and irritation flash across his face before recognition settled. His lips spread into a dazzling smile that probably made most women swoon.

I folded my arms and pointed out, “This isn’t your desk, and those aren’t your files.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s Marx’s desk. Have you seen him? I was hoping to talk to him.”

His smile turned sheepish. “Yeah, I have a curiosity problem. Mom always told me I have a tendency to poke my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Oh,” he said, sounding a little disappointed. “I guess I’ll just leave him a note. One of my buddies might have seen someone he’s been looking for. Actually, maybe you can give him the message for me.” He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his jeans pocket and offered it to me.

I took it from him hesitantly and looked down at it. There was an address written on it. “What’s the address for?”

He leaned back against Marx’s desk, and his eyes roved over me with enough interest to ignite a tiny spark of anxiety in the pit of my stomach.

I had seen that look before, and the memory of our first meeting stirred in my mind. It had been at Marx’s apartment the night someone threw a rock through the window. He was Sam’s partner: Dane? Daniel . . .

I blinked at the unexpected compliment and then looked down at my sweater. It was a vibrant shade of grass green that accentuated my red hair.

Danny’s lingering gaze, which I suspected had little to do with the shade of my sweater, made me deeply uncomfortable, and I folded my arms. “Where’s Sam?”

I hoped he would walk in at any moment and tell his partner to move along. I didn’t want to be rude, but I wasn’t interested in anything this man had to offer.

“Probably sleeping.” He cocked his head as he studied me. “You have stunning eyes, and I don’t just mean the golden root-beer color, but the way they always look deep and mysterious, like there’s an entire interesting world behind them. I’m curious about that.”

The dismissiveness of my words didn’t seem to register with him, because he just smiled. Right . . .

I started to turn and head back toward the break room when he pushed away from the desk. The casual movement brought him within inches of me, and I immediately back-stepped, bumping into the desk chair behind me.

“Um . . .” I floundered for an excuse that would provide me with a polite exit from this conversation. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, especially since he was Sam’s partner and I would have to see him on occasion. “I, um . . . I don’t like cops.”

Confusion furrowed his brow. “You’re staying with Marx, and you don’t seem to mind Sam.”

Maybe I should’ve specified. “I don’t date cops.” Or anyone, but that wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have with someone who was essentially a stranger.

He stepped toward me, sending my heart rate tripping. “I’m not a cop tonight. Just an average guy.”

That made it sound like he was only interested in tonight. I swallowed the nervous lump in my throat and tried to back away discreetly. “I don’t think so.”

“It doesn’t have to be a date. We could just grab a coffee, maybe go for a walk. I know a great coffee shop near Central Park.”

He frowned and glanced around the squad room. “Busy hanging out at the police department? There have to be more exciting things for an attractive woman to be doing. I’m heading out in a few minutes if you wanna join me, or I could pick you up later this evening.”

He advanced another step, as if he didn’t realize I was backing away from him. I wanted this conversation to be over. “I—” My blind retreat sent me straight into a solid, warm object, and a frightened squeak escaped my throat.

I stumbled over a man’s large feet, nearly losing my balance, but gentle hands on my upper arms steadied me.

“She said no,” a familiar voice said, and I looked up to realize that the person I was stomping all over was Jordan. He deliberately stepped aside to give me an escape route, and I took it, but he kept his eyes on Danny.

Danny appraised Jordan in a challenging way, caught sight of the sheriff’s badge on his waist, and frowned. “Let me guess. You’re another one of the cops she supposedly doesn’t like.”

“I’m her friend, and I think she made it clear she’s not interested in spending time with you.”

“Maybe you should get your hearing checked,” Jordan suggested. “Because I specifically heard ‘I don’t date cops’ and ‘I don’t think so’ in response to your offers.”

Danny’s eyes sparked with irritation. “We were having a private conversation.”

“In the middle of the squad room? If she were interested in having a private conversation with you, you would be having it in private.”

“My problem is that she declined your offer and you should’ve let it drop. But you kept pushing until you made her uncomfortable.”

“I wasn’t pushing,” Danny shot back. “And I didn’t make her uncomfortable.”

Jordan snorted. “She was backing away from you. As a cop, I would think you’d be better at reading body language.”

Danny’s face turned crimson. “What business is it of yours if I ask her out or not? You’re not her boyfriend and she’s not wearing a ring, so she’s fair g—”

Jordan stepped forward, and Danny swallowed the rest of his words, a look of wariness crossing his features. They might be about the same height, but Jordan was more imposing.

“Fine, I get it,” Danny said, throwing up his hands. “She’s unavailable at the moment. Just . . . don’t tell Sam I asked her out again.”

Danny heaved a defeated breath and cast me a slightly dejected look before leaving the squad room. I slumped against the door frame in relief.

I would’ve preferred to resolve the situation on my own, but things hadn’t gone according to plan.

“Sorry if I stepped on your toes, but you looked like you wanted an exit,” Jordan said as he strode over.

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who stepped on your toes.” Or rather, stumbled clumsily all over them.

“I ignored him last time.” But that was a little harder to do face-to-face. “He’s not creepy, just . . .”

“Persistent?” he asked, when I tried and failed to find the right word. “I can understand that.”

Heat crept into my cheeks, and I ducked out of the doorway so he could join me in the room.

“You know, I think I almost had him convinced I wasn’t interested before you stepped in.”

“That’s not how it looked from where I was standing,” he said, lips quirking in amusement.

He laughed. “If it makes you feel better to think that, sure. I couldn’t see a thing from across the room. Fifteen feet away. With a clear line of sight.” He stripped off his jacket and tossed it on the table.

There were scratches all over his forearms, some of them deep enough that they had scabbed over. He glanced at them without concern. “I forgot to wear long sleeves during training.”

Horrified, I asked, “I did that?” I had never meant to hurt him. I didn’t even remember scratching at his arms. “I’m so sorry.”

“They’re just scratches.” He shrugged and dropped into a chair. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be sure to wear long sleeves next time.”

Next time. My stomach flipped at the thought of enduring another of those frightening sessions, however necessary they may be.

“So can we talk about why you’re avoiding me?” he asked, leaning forward in the chair.

“You’ve come to work with Marx the past three days and hidden in this room instead of doing something with me, and when I send you a text, I get a one-word response—yes, no, fine. That constitutes avoidance, and it’s been happening since self-defense training.”

“Look, restraining you while you were terrified and crying isn’t one of my fondest memories either, but please tell me you understand that I would never actually hurt you.”

“Of course I know that. I just . . .” Needed some space after that unsettling lesson. Lots and lots of nonconfusing, safe space. “I’m not really sure . . . where exactly we stand on boundaries now. Because I can’t . . . I mean I’m not comfortable with . . . that.”

Understanding registered on his face. “You’re afraid that since you gave me permission to touch you during training that the boundaries aren’t there anymore.”

It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he took a moment to pull his thoughts together.

“I probably should’ve addressed that earlier. Unless it’s an emergency, I will never assume you’re okay with me touching you. I will always ask before going hands-on during training. And outside of it, I will hover on the four-foot perimeter until you take pity on me and let me step closer.”

Some of the heavy worry I’d been wrestling with the past few days lifted, and I breathed, “Okay.”

Amusement sparkled in his eyes. “What exactly were you worried I would do without those boundaries? Hug you? Tickle you?”

He laughed. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you would make me regret it. So what else is bothering you?” When I cast him a questioning look, he pointed out, “You keep fidgeting, which means you’re still uncomfortable about something, and I’m pretty sure it’s not the threat of tickling.”

I tried to stand still. “What, are you taking lessons from Marx on how to read my thoughts now?”

Embarrassed, I muttered, “I panicked during training and I . . . feel like an idiot.”

His lips flattened into a thin line. “I figured it was something like that. You’re not an idiot, and you have nothing to be embarrassed about or ashamed of. We put you in a position Collin put you in, and none of us expected that to go smoothly.”

He hesitated before asking, “You had a flashback, didn’t you? That last time I had my arm around you.”

I rubbed at my arms and gave a reluctant nod. That horrifying memory of Collin had floated up and wrapped around me so tightly that it was all I could feel, hear, smell . . .

I had panic attacks unexpectedly, but flashbacks were rare. I deliberately avoided situations that might trigger them.

“Okay.” We were both quiet for a moment before he asked, “Do you remember when we were kids and I came to see you the day after you broke my nose with a tree branch?”

He smiled. “I was so scared of you that I was shaking before and during. My granddad described his heart attack to me once, and I was so sure I was having one when I was walking through your backyard.”

“Oh, trust me, I was panicking the whole way. You broke my nose. I was envisioning what else you might break if I came within swinging range. But Dad insisted I had to apologize for making fun of your pigtails.”

“Not my proudest moment, but I’m not afraid to admit it. I walked on eggshells around you for quite a while, afraid you might randomly beat me up again.”

“I guess the roles are reversed now,” he said with a twinge of sadness. “You walk on eggshells around me because you’re scared.”

He smiled a little. “I always thought you had a cute nose. I would never do anything to hurt it.”

I rubbed the tip of my nose self-consciously with my fingers, and he grinned. I thought about reminding him that I had my dad’s nose, which meant he thought my dad had a cute nose.

Before I could say that, though, a frantic voice erupted outside of the break room, drawing both of us to the doorway in curiosity. A uniformed officer pounded on the captain’s door, and it snapped inward to reveal Marx.

The officer inhaled and said in one long breath, “The drug dealer you just arrested and had escorted down to holding tried to hang himself in his cell.”

“With what?” Marx shouted loudly enough to startle the entire room to silence.

“Somehow, he got his hands on a shoelace. Maybe we missed it when we booked him.”

Marx pushed past him out of the office and demanded, “What’s his condition?”

The officer hurried to keep pace with him. “Faint pulse, but he was blue and unconscious from lack of oxygen.”

I frowned up at Jordan, who watched Marx and the officer until they stepped into the stairwell.

“That guy was just up here bragging that the police couldn’t hold him. Why would he try to kill himself an hour later?” I asked.

“Maybe he meant he wouldn’t be alive for them to hold.” At my skeptical look, he said, “Yeah, probably not what he meant.”

Jordan stared at me for a long, thoughtful moment before conceding. “Maybe, but that’s not something you need to be in the middle of. Marx will figure it out.”

He grabbed his coat and shrugged it on. “We go out for a snack. You owe me an ice cream.”

“It’s not my fault your ego’s so fragile,” I teased, grabbing my own coat. After one conflicted look in the direction Marx had gone, I followed Jordan out of the building.