“Whatdidyou see?”
She hitched an eyebrow. She had been duped, lied to. He had warned her but she hadn’t listened. He had told her he wasn’t a good guy, but she had been too gaga to listen. Too stupid to walk away. And now, she loved him. How was she supposed to walk away from that?
“Enough,” she replied, and returned to the living room.
They sat on opposite sides of the sofa, sipping their wine in a frosty silence. She missed him, yet he sat three feet away. She wanted to curl up on his lap and kiss him senseless. She wanted to pull him into her bed and love him all night long. Her world was complete when he was in it and she was happiest when he was by her side.
Except for now. Now, she was too furious to utter a damn word.
19
The Truth
Stryker had a situation. This wasn’t something he could anger away. He couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t pretend it didn’t exist. He loved Emerson, had fallen hard for her. And he wasn’t going to walk from this challenge. But this was new territory for him. First and foremost, she was a woman. His woman, but did she see herself that way? Second, she was the damn law. She hadn’t seen him commit murder, but he had. If he kept that from her, he was a vigilanteanda liar. That wasn’t the kind of relationship he wanted with her.
He shifted in her direction. She looked over. He saw her anguish, felt her anger. But beneath that, he glimpsed her sadness. Was she sad that she had seen him or sad that he had kept something from her?
“You want to talk now or in the morning?” he asked.
“Who said anything about you staying?”
“I’m not leaving until we’ve had this conversation. I need to know if now or later works better for you.”
“Now.”
“I talked to Donny Farraday, the man your brother—”
“I know who Farraday is,” she bit out. “What did he tell you?”
“He set up a meeting with your brother, and some guy named Barca killed him.”
“Did he give you any trouble?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“Who made the arrest?”
“No one.”
She set her wine glass on the end table. “You let him go?”
“No.”
She tucked her feet under her, turned toward him, and tapped her fingers on the back of the sofa. He sipped the wine, wanting something stronger, but letting that urge drift away like seaweed that washes in with the tide, then back out to sea.
“He’s a drug dealer in The Trinity gang,” Stryker said. “Familiar with them?”
“No.”
“Barca takes his orders directly from the leader. He calls himself The Father.”
“How ironic. Did you get his name?”
“No, but that’s who I’m going after.”
She raised her eyebrows and waited. While he wanted to believe that was the end of the conversation, he knew she had more questions.
Pima jumped on the sofa cushion between them. Big, yellow eyes stared up at Emerson, who rubbed his head. Loud purring filled the tense silence. Then, Pima padded over, sat on Stryker’s lap, and stared up at him. When he rubbed the cat’s head, his purring intensified. Then, he peppered in an occasional meow, like he was talking.