Chapter Thirty-Seven

Cheers erupted all around me, and it took me more than a few seconds to understand what was happening.

The room was swarming with black-clad police officers. One of them came over and patted John familiarly on the back before untying him. John grinned and started loosening my own bonds.

“Why don’t you look worried?” I whispered as he finished. “These are cops. We should run.”

“It’s fine, Cass,” he said.

“It’s not,” I told him urgently. “When they find out what you do for a living, they’re not going to be so nice. I’m so sorry. Blair must’ve called them.”

“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Blair.”

“How can you be so sure?”

John gave the ground a guilty-little-boy stare and I narrowed my eyes.

“Are you an…informant?” I asked.

“Not exactly,” he replied slowly.

One of the armoured cops came over and handed John a set of handcuffs.

“It’s your collar, Seever,” the other man said. “Why don’t you slap these on Ramirez.”

John shrugged without meeting my eyes, and I watched in amazement as he walked casually to the wounded criminal and then expertly attached the cuffs to his wrists.

“Miss?”

It took me a second to realize the uniformed man was talking to me.

“Yeah?” I replied faintly.

“The EMTs are going to take a look at you, make sure you’re okay. Then we’ll need you to come to the station to give one of us a statement.”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

I looked up at the fresh-faced policeman and nodded.

“All right. I’ll get a detective to collect you for debriefing.” He sounded doubtful, but he walked away anyway.

I was lying, of course. But my issue wasn’t a physical one.

“John?” I called, and then more loudly. “John!”

I couldn’t see him in the crowd, and my knees gave way. I slumped to the ground.

“Hey,” said a familiar gruff voice.

“Billy.”

I was actually glad to see the scar-faced man, and when he pulled me to my feet, I let myself sag against him in relief.

“John’s gonna be a bit busy,” he told me. “I’ll take you somewhere less crazy.”

He led me outside, and when I shied away involuntarily from the noise, the flashing lights, and the dozen or so cop cars that dotted the parking lot, he steered me away from them. I exhaled gratefully when Billy let me into the familiar sedan.

The officers waved him through their roadblock, and Billy guided the car toward the highway.

“You got questions?” he asked after a few minutes of absolute silence.

“I just don’t get it,” I responded. “Is John an undercover cop?”

“Something like that,” Billy snorted. “But more like a rogue agent.”

“And you?”

“I’m worse than he is,” Billy muttered, then laughed out loud.

I couldn’t see the humour in the situation at all. I leaned over and put my head against the cool window.

The gruff man sighed. “I’m just going to let John explain things to you, okay?”

I nodded. “Where is he?”

“At the station by now.”

The countryside passed by in a blur, and we were in the city almost too quickly. When we reached the big brick building, I had to force myself to get out of the car on my shaking legs. Billy held my elbow as we went up the steps. I made myself ignore the curious stares of the cops inside. I knew what they saw—a young girl in torn but expensive clothes, covered in dirt, with a tear-streaked face—and I could only imagine what they thought.

Billy brushed past them like they didn’t exist. We went down a long hallway, and for a second it seemed as though he was going to put me in an interrogation room, but when he stopped in front of a door and opened it, I saw it was actually just a lounge.

“No one will bother you,” the older man assured me. “And I’ll make sure John comes right in.”

“Okay.”

I sat on one of the leather couches and tried to get comfortable. It was an impossible task. Even if I had been able to sit still—which I couldn’t—I wouldn’t have been able to keep my mind from examining every detail of the past few days.

The club. Did he really own it?

The hotel?

Why hadn’t he just said something? Or put me into protective custody?

I was starting to feel angry now that the adrenaline was leaving my body.

What kind of cop endangers a civilian’s life?

The door swung open, and I spun to face him with a furious tirade ready. But as soon as I saw him, the words went out of my mouth.

“You changed your clothes,” was all I could manage.

It was irrelevant, but true. He was wearing charcoal gray pants that hugged his hips in a way that made my mouth go dry. I brought my eyes up, pausing to take in his cream-coloured dress shirt, buttoned up to his collar. It fit well, and it was doubly enticing because even though I couldn’t see the tattoos through the soft fabric, I knew they were there. The memory of my lips pressed against them was enough to make my heartbeat quicken.

I dragged my eyes up to his face, and the pain in his eyes made my throat ache. His face was freshly scrubbed, and even his hair looked like it had been washed. For one second, it made me hyper-conscious of my own sorry state. But his expression was sorrowful, and I pushed down my self-centered thoughts.

“Cass,” John said, barely above a whisper, and the sound of my name on his lips in that heartbroken tone undid me.

Without further hesitation, I dove into his arms and pressed my face into his chest. I inhaled. Under the scent of clean clothes and commercial soap, he still smelled of sweat and dirt, and our shared experience in the warehouse.

“Hey,” John said softly.

He put his hands on my shoulders and gently pushed me away. I looked up into his brown eyes. Their deep mocha hue caught and held me.

And he still looked sad.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered.

He released me and moved away.

“What’s wrong?” he repeated disbelievingly. “We both just about died. I’ve been lying to you since I met you…Please, tell me what’s not wrong?”

I watched him run his fingers across his head in frustration. I stepped closer and reached up to pull his arms down.

“It’s not the worst thing a man has done to me.”

It was meant to be a joke, but John’s face hardened.

“I don’t want to be that guy, Cass,” he replied angrily.

I sat down on the couch again, waiting for him to blow off his pent up frustration. I felt strangely calm as I watched him explode verbally.

“Goddammit! I shouldn’t have interfered with Monato at the club. I should’ve let you take care of yourself. Or I should’ve let him keep thinking you were dead. I had an opportunity to keep you safe and I didn’t.” He finished his rant and looked down at his hands helplessly and finished in a whisper. “I haven’t been able to think straight since I spotted you outside of Yun’s.”

“What?”

John looked at me in surprise—like he had just remembered I was there.

“Outside Yun’s?” I prodded.

He looked away guiltily.

“Start from the beginning,” I commanded.

“I don’t—”

I cut him off. “The very beginning.”

He sighed and sat beside me on the couch without letting his knee touch mine.

“Before Colin died—before Monato killed him—I was on the verge of early retirement. I had used my part of our inheritance money to invest in a few hotels, and I was seeing enough return that I didn’t need to work anymore. Colin was recruited to do an undercover job, straight from training.”

“So he went to work as a mercenary?” I asked.

John nodded reluctantly. “I don’t blame them for wanting him for the job. He was young. An unknown. And it came naturally to Colin. After all, I’m in law enforcement. Our dad was, too. It made sense to take him and groom him for the role.”

“The family business,” I stated. “And no one made the connection?”

“No,” John replied. “They wouldn’t. Publicly, and at work, we used our dad’s surname—Friedman. But legally, we were both Seevers, like my mom.”

“Okay.”

“I told you before he was involved in something over his head,” John continued. “And I got here too late. It was me who found him in his apartment. I got there first, and I found this.”

He reached into his pocket and reluctantly pulled out a piece of paper.

“Before I show it to you,” he said hesitantly, “I want you to know I didn’t find out about this until after.”

I stood up, and reached out to take the paper from him, and froze, mid-grab.

All of the blood drain from my face. I moved back from John unsteadily. He put his hand out to steady me, and I jerked away.

“What is this?” I whispered.

“My brother had it,” he told me. “It was shoved into his pocket. I was the only one who thought it was important.”

I could see the remembered frustration on his face, and I saw him shake off the residual irritation and focused on my face. I was trembling.

“But…what does it mean?” I asked.

“Do you want to sit down?” he replied.

I shook my head vehemently. “Just tell me.”

“The Doc used it as a way to mark his women,” John said simply.

“Like a brand?” I sounded as horrified as I felt.

“Like that,” he agreed gently.

“But it was on my sister. I saw it.”

“I know.”

My stomach knotted. My temper flared, and John looked uneasy. I realized it was probably the first time he had seen me get angry. Even when Monato had been after me, and even when he’d kicked me out of his bedroom, I had reacted with relative calmness. I had managed to keep my emotions under control. But John’s revelation made me seethe.

“What do you mean you know?” I demanded.

“I saw the autopsy pictures—”

It was far as he got. I shoved my way past him and out into the hall, ignoring the questioning eyes as I ran through the station.