CHAPTER TWELVE #2
“I got in the truck and I drove up Tideline Road. I knew I’d pass him somewhere on the stretch past the switchback where there aren’t many streetlights.
I kept telling myself I was just going to scare him.
I wanted to make him think twice about coming around and asking questions again.
” Her voice dropped. “But when I saw him walking on the shoulder, something just took over. I turned the wheel toward him and I hit the gas.”
“You hit the gas,” I repeated blankly, resisting the urge to reach across the table and strangle her.
“Yes.” She sounded breathless as she continued.
“I felt the impact. I knew I’d hit him. And I just kept driving.
I made a U-turn a few feet up the hill, then I drove back down.
I saw him in the ditch. He wasn’t moving, and that comforted me.
I didn’t see any other cars. I parked behind the Anchor, went back inside, and finished my shift.
Gil didn’t even know I’d been gone. Nobody did. ”
The room was quiet. Bree had stopped writing and was staring at Tess. I took a slow breath.
“Was there damage to Craig’s truck?” I asked in a surprisingly calm voice.
Tess watched me nervously, as if she’d picked up on my anger.
“His truck is big. Sturdy. There was a dent on the front bumper. Nothing too obvious. Nobody knew I’d driven his truck instead of my car.
I figured if the police checked my car, it would be clean.
Craig’s truck already had a few dings on it. He didn’t notice.”
“And you didn’t tell anyone what you’d done. Not Gil, not Craig.”
“No. Nobody knew. When I heard the next day that Spencer was in the hospital and alive, of course I was relieved. I hadn’t wanted to kill him. I just wanted him to stop.”
I didn’t believe her.
“Okay, I’m going to summarize a few things, and you just tell me if I’ve understood what you told me here tonight.” I cleared my throat. “Tess, for the record, you’re saying you intentionally drove Craig Barlow’s truck into Spencer Cross as he walked home on Tideline Road?”
“Yes.” Her voice was barely audible.
“And earlier tonight at the Rusty Anchor, you pointed a loaded firearm at Spencer Cross and threatened to shoot him.”
“Yes.” She sighed. “I was angry at him. He ruined everything. But mostly, I just wanted to get out of there with Gil. Are you sure you won’t let me talk to Gil? I really need to talk to him.”
I ignored that, intent on getting her confession on the record.
“And on the night Eddie Salcedo died, you took a skiff to the Pacific Lady, confronted Eddie, pushed him, causing him to strike his head on the gunwale, and then tampered with the GPS and staged the scene to look like an accident.”
“Yes.” She suddenly looked emotional again.
Tears slid down her face, but her voice was steady.
“I did all of that. I know it makes me a terrible person, but I’d do it all again to protect Gil.
Even though he hates me now. I’d still do it.
” She swallowed hard, her cheeks flushed.
“I think we’ll be able to work it out. Once he calms down. ”
I studied her, feeling repulsed. There was no doubt in my mind she’d do it all again for Gil.
That was the part that bothered me. She’d killed one man and almost another.
But she wasn’t remorseful about what she’d done.
She was remorseful about the outcome. If Gil had taken the alibi, if he’d played along, if he’d gotten in a car with her and driven away, she’d have considered the whole thing a success.
The only thing that upset her was Gil looking at her like he didn’t want her anymore.
I’d heard all I needed to hear. I ended the interview, had Bree process Tess into custody, and went to my office to decompress.
* * *
I sat at my desk for an hour doing paperwork. Charging documents. Evidence logs. A preliminary report for the DA. The kind of administrative work that was necessary and mind-numbing. Usually that type of mindless paperwork helped center me. But tonight it didn’t.
I kept thinking about Spencer. How horrified I’d been when Tess pointed the gun at his chest. I kept seeing the wobble of the barrel and Tess’s finger on the trigger.
I couldn’t forget the fraction of a second where I’d calculated whether I could draw and fire before she pulled it, and the answer had been no.
If she’d squeezed that trigger, Spencer would be dead, and there was nothing I could have done about it.
The station was quiet. Bree had gone home.
Tess was in a holding cell. Gil had given his statement about the poaching, cooperating fully, and I’d released him to go home pending charges.
We had what we needed to move forward on Eddie’s homicide.
I should have felt satisfied. Instead, I felt agitated.
Unsettled. Worried about Spencer. I thought about texting him or maybe calling, but I didn’t think that would be enough to calm my anxiety.
There had been too many close calls with Spencer recently, and I felt the only thing that would make me feel calmer was to see him in person.
So I grabbed my jacket and my keys and walked out of the station.
The entire drive to his home, I kept weighing whether I should turn around or not.
Was I overreacting? Being too clingy? But when I parked in front of Spencer’s cottage, I knew I had to go inside.
I needed to see with my own eyes that he was okay.
His home was dark except for the glow of a TV coming from the living room window.
I sat in the driveway for a minute with the engine running.
I cut the engine and walked to the front door.
I knocked and waited. I heard footsteps, slow and slightly uneven, and then the door opened.
Spencer stood in the doorway in sweats and a white T-shirt, barefoot, holding a glass of whiskey.
His eyes were a little glassy, and his hair was in dark, messy spikes.
He looked surprised to see me as he said, “Declan, what are you doing here?”
“Hey.” My voice was gruff. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.” He stepped aside, and I entered.
The cottage was warm, and I noticed a half-empty bottle of Jameson on the counter and a glass. The TV was on but muted, casting flickering light across the room. He turned on a lamp and faced me, arms crossed.
He gestured to the bottle of whiskey. “Want a drink?”
“I’m good.”
“Well, I’m going to keep drinking.” He grabbed the bottle of whiskey and the glass and carried them over to the couch. He sat down, watching me. “Are you just going to stand near the door the whole time?”
“No.” I followed him to the couch, sitting down beside him.
“You look tired,” he said, pouring himself some of the amber liquid.
“I’m exhausted,” I confessed.
He took a drink of his whiskey and then frowned. “Are you okay?”
I opened my mouth to say I was fine, but the lie wouldn’t come out. “I don’t know,” I said instead.
His gaze flickered. “Why wouldn’t you be okay?” He frowned, appearing anxious. “Did the case fall apart or something?”
“No, nothing like that.” I held his relieved gaze. “I just wanted to see you. Make sure you were okay after what happened.”
He hesitated and took a drink of whiskey. Once he’d swallowed, he shrugged. “I’m alive. That’s the best-case scenario, right?”
“You almost died twice in a short amount of time.” My voice was ragged. “That’s got to have you rattled.”
He laughed and held up his glass of whiskey. “You think?”
I moved closer to him, and he watched me. “What happened rattled me more than I’d like.”
“Did it?” He sounded breathless.
I nodded. “Hate to admit it, but yeah. I felt pretty fucking powerless watching Tess point that gun at you. If I’m honest, I can’t stop thinking about it.”
His eyes softened. “It all turned out okay. Nobody got shot and you got your man. Or woman. Both, I guess.”
I gritted my teeth. “But she could have shot you, and I couldn’t have stopped it.”
Spencer set his glass down on the coffee table. “Declan. I’m fine.”
I had a lump in my throat as I stared at him. “But, what if she’d shot you?”
“But she didn’t.” He frowned.
“I know. It just… scared me.”
“Yeah? You were worried about me?”
I nodded.
He smiled and moved to straddle me. I put my arms around his waist and held him close. It felt so good to feel the living warmth of his body and to hear his heart racing beneath my ear. I smoothed my hands up his back, inhaling his clean, masculine scent.
He wiggled closer, but then he grunted in pain. “This position is awkward for my ribs.”
“Oh, shit. Are you okay?” I asked guiltily, pulling back to look at him.
He laughed and slowly got off of me. “Lie down.”
“On the couch?” I toed off my shoes as I spoke.
He smiled. “Yeah, lie down on the couch, Declan. It’s a thing people do.”
“Don’t mock me. I’ve had a traumatic day.” I scooted to where my head was on a pillow that rested against the armrest. “How’s this?”
“Let’s test it out.” He slowly covered my body with his, grinning down at me. “Oh, yeah, this is much better.”
I put my hands on his ass, and he leaned down to kiss me.
I tasted the peaty whiskey on his mouth, and he moaned when I slipped my hands up under his T-shirt.
The kiss deepened, and we rocked against each other.
I hadn’t come here for sex, but we hadn’t fucked since before his accident.
We were both hard within minutes. However, I controlled myself from pushing his sweats down and selfishly taking what I wanted.
I cupped his face, feeling unexpectedly emotional as I gazed into his light blue eyes. “I know neither one of us is ready to label this thing we’re doing, but I really do like you, Spencer.”
“I like you too,” he said softly.
I frowned. “But I worry that we don’t really know each other.”
“No, we don’t.” He hesitated. “Although, I know you’re the kind of man who’ll step in front of a gun for me. That’s pretty impressive.”
“Well, I am a cop.”
He wrinkled his brow. “Is that why you did that?”
“No,” I admitted. “I wanted to protect you because I care about you. Not because I’m a cop.”
“Then that’s one thing I know about you now. You’re protective.” He smiled. “What’s something you know about me?”
“You’re tenacious,” I said immediately.
He laughed. “Okay, not as flattering as being protective, but it’s something you know about me.”
I laughed sheepishly. “Let me try again. I have a better one.”
“Go ahead.” He smiled.
“You’re warm, and you care about people. That’s why you’re a good journalist. People want to talk to you. They want to open up to you.”
He looked pleased. “Thanks.”
“I want to keep seeing you,” I said huskily. “I’m curious where this will go.”
He studied me. “We both have a problem putting work before anything personal. That’s not a good thing.”
“No.” I touched his cheek. “But we both said we wanted to do better with that.”
“We did say that,” he murmured.
I frowned. “You don’t think we can change?” That was a depressing thought. Here I was saying I wanted to keep seeing him, and he seemed worried we weren’t a good fit.
“Not exactly. But I think change takes time,” he said carefully. “It takes concerted effort over a long time.”
I held his enigmatic gaze, feeling anxious. “Are you saying you don’t want to try?”
“What?” He smiled. “Of course I want to try. I’m tenacious, remember?”
I gripped his biceps, scowling. “God, Spencer, you scared me for a minute.”
“Did I?” he asked softly, looking almost surprised.
“Yes. I told you I care about you,” I whispered, pulling his head down so I could kiss him.
He responded immediately, and I suddenly felt calmer about everything.
I remembered how hard it was for him to trust and to let people be there for him.
I knew from the way he looked at me and kissed me that he wanted this to work.
But he had trouble showing that. Allowing that.
I’d need to remember that when I felt insecure.
Spencer wasn’t going to be easy to get close to.
But Spencer wasn’t the only one who was tenacious.