CHAPTER 44

As Anson pulls to a stop in front of her building, Julie checks her watch and sees that it’s a few minutes before one a.m. She pushes open the passenger door, but he stays in his seat and leaves the engine running.

“Come on, Detective,” she says. “You need a glass of wine every bit as much as I do.”

“I guess.” He turns off the ignition. “As long as it’s the stuff only you doctors can afford.”

Shaking her head, she climbs out of the car. “You need to find yourself an ophthalmologist or dermatologist, not a poor old emergency doctor.”

“Until I land a case involving a visually impaired killer with bad eczema… guess you’ll just have to do.”

She buzzes them through the main door. Inside the elevator, they stand close enough that their shoulders rub. She distracts herself by focusing on the recap he shared of Wade Patterson’s interrogation. “How much do you believe of what Wade told you?”

“With that guy? The bare minimum.”

“How about what he said about Jamie Maddox?”

“I don’t doubt that Maddox is Wade’s supplier. Or at least one of them. Wade’s admission should be enough to get us a search warrant on Maddox’s place.”

The idea of searching yet another suspect’s home dampens her mood. “We’re still not there, are we?”

He gently lifts her chin toward him. “We’re closer than we were yesterday. We’ll get there, Julie. Trust me.”

“God, I hope so.”

His stare intensifies. “I know you saw those kids when they first came in. And I realize you have to deal with the carnage from fentanyl at work every day. But…”

“Yes?”

“It’s like you’ve taken this whole case so… personally. Right from the get-go.”

She clears her throat. “If you’d seen Alexa that night…”

She is saved from further explanation when the elevator opens to her floor. They tread in silence to her unit, but before she opens the door, she turns to him and says, “You need to know something about me, Anson.”

He kisses her softly on the lips. “I want to know everything about you, Dr. Rees.”

“Inside,” she says as she pushes the door open, turns on the light, and pulls him over to the kitchen counter. “Sit. Wine first.”

She pulls two glasses down and then selects a bottle of twelve-year-old Bordeaux that she has been saving for a special occasion, although she never expected it to be a confession. She uncorks the bottle, pours two generous glasses, and sits down beside him.

Julie stares straight ahead, and Anson seems to know better than to rush her. Finally, she says, “I’m an addict, Anson.”

He slowly lowers his glass. “An addict?”

“I’ve been sober nine years now, but once an addict…”

“Julie, I don’t…” He glances at the wine bottle. “What were you addicted to?”

“Opioids. Morphine at first. Then fentanyl.” She pauses. “Michael, too. He was an anesthesia resident. He used to steal it from the operating room.”

“Wow. That’s risky, isn’t it?”

“If he’d been caught, it would’ve cost him his career.” She pauses to have a slow sip of wine. “In the end, though, it cost him way more than that.”

Anson lays a hand on hers. “I’m sorry, Julie.”

She feels a deep flush warm her face, but she doesn’t try to hide it this time. “It was my fault,” she says in a small voice.

He squeezes her hand. “How so?”

“It was the three-year anniversary of our first date. Michael wanted to take me out to celebrate. But all I could even think about was that next high. Craving it like a drowning woman craves air. I convinced Michael to stay in. We…” Her voice cracks, refusing to cooperate. She hasn’t shared these details with anyone except Goran, and that was nine years ago. “We went and shot up in bed. We used to be so careful with the dose, but by then we were beyond reckless. I… I passed out. Michael… he must’ve taken another hit, because when I woke up, the needle was still in his arm. Was the very first thing I noticed. Not that he was cold or blue or not even breathing. No, I focused on the only thing that mattered to me by that point. The needle.”

Anson pulls her in closer. Her head falls into the crook of his neck. “None of that makes it your fault, Julie.”

“If I didn’t—”

“You were doing what addicts do. Enabling each other. It could’ve just as easily been you.”

She lifts her head up. “Do you know how many times I wish it had been?”

He views her impassively for a few moments. “I’m no stranger to survivor’s guilt, Julie.”

“Not like this, though. Not when you’re the one responsible.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Nicole.” It’s his turn to go silent for a spell. “When I told you how she died, I neglected to mention that the whole thing was my idea.”

“The mopeds?”

He nods. “Nicole said she didn’t feel safe renting those bikes. She had never done it before. She worried about the winding roads. I convinced her it was fine. That it would be an adventure.” He swallows hard. “One of the last memories I have of Nicole is her wagging a playful finger at me and saying, ‘You better not get me killed, Constable Chen.’ ”

Julie puts down her glass and throws both arms around him. “Oh, Anson, I am so sorry.”