Chapter Nine
Octavio
" H ernandez, get in here!" Franklin yells from his office.
I pause in the act of writing a report and glance toward the door to my office, which is right across the hall from his. "One second!" I yell back.
"Now, Hernandez!"
" Mierda ," I mutter, quickly saving the report so I don't lose it. Rewriting a report is a pain in the ass. And I've already got enough of those right now.
I was supposed to be in court all day, but my case got called early…only for a member of the defendant's family to be caught recording video of the jury less than an hour into the proceedings. A new jury will have to be called before the case can be tried now. Who knows how long that'll take?
Faith has barely spoken to me since she kissed me. She refuses to let me explain that I didn't pull away because I don't want her. I wanted to toss her down on the couch and fuck her until neither of us could move.
I stopped her because she isn't ready for what I want. Not even two minutes before she kissed me, she told me she wants freedom more than anything. She's still counting on me to give it to her.
And I can't know what it's like to have her and then let her go. I'm not that guy, as much as she thinks I am. When it come to her, I realize a little more every day that I'm a selfish prick, willing to break every rule and defy every goddamn oath to keep her by my side.
But I can't even tell her that. She's completely frozen me out, refusing to even acknowledge me most of the time. Rick Sanders quit his job the day after she kissed me, but she barely even reacted to the news.
Dios. I never should have threatened to take her door off the hinges. It was fucked up. But her locking me out drove me crazy. I don't like not being able to get to her.
I'm almost positive she's locked her door every night since, but I haven't had the nerve to check. If it is locked, I might actually follow through on my threat, effectively shattering whatever trust she has in me. If it's not locked, I'll drag her back to my bed…and simply holding her won't be enough this time.
I'll fuck her, lock her in a cage stronger than the one Nikolai had her in. And she'll never have the freedom she wants. She'll go from his cage to mine, from cartel slave to overprotected wife. She's never even experienced the world outside of his territory, for fuck's sake.
?Mierda! It's taking everything I have to stay out of her room when she cries out at night. Knowing she's scared breaks my heart. The fact that she'd rather relive her worst memories than accept comfort from me has me ready to snap.
I don't know how much longer I can take it.
"You need me?" I ask Captain Franklin, stepping into his office. Unlike me, he finds order in chaos. Paperwork and case files litter his desk. One entire wall of the large office is a whiteboard, which lists the cases everyone under his command is currently working and the status of each. Family photos and mementoes are scattered around the bookshelves.
Franklin's head is bent over his desk, his eyes skimming over a case file. "Took you long enough," he mutters, glancing up at me. His bushy brows make an almost unbroken, disapproving line above his dark eyes. He purses his lips, studying me like he isn't sure what to make of me.
I stand in the doorway, not flinching. Whatever has him in a bad mood isn't my fault, and I don't intimidate easily. I've never been one to back down and dealing with murder suspects day in and day out only cemented that trait. Guys who are easily cowed don't make it long in this field.
"What do you know about Agent Michael Kincaid?" Franklin asks after a moment.
"Not much. He flew in to help Gregory and the ATF out after Remi Pledger kidnapped Tristan Riley's wife. I met him the night we went in to get her back, but I don't know him personally. Everyone knows of Kincaid though." He's a legend all up and down the West Coast. He's dismantled more gangs on his own than anyone else ever has before. They've tried to kill him more than once but haven't succeeded. All they ever manage to do is piss him off. They don't try often anymore. But Franklin knows that as well as I do. "Why do you ask?"
"Got a tip this morning," he says, still frowning. "Did you know his girlfriend's mother and brother were murdered six ago?"
"Heard about it," I mutter, leaning up against the doorjamb.
"The primary suspects were three members of the Diablos, a local motorcycle gang that's scattered in the years since. Nasty guys. They all had long rap sheets and were suspects in several other homicides." He taps the case file on his desk with one thick finger. "They were shot to death a few days later. The list of suspects was lengthy. No one ever took credit, and no one was ever charged."
"What's this have to do with Kincaid?" I ask, suddenly leery. Kincaid is helping Roman find Remi Pledger and scare our gangs into ending the war. Roman thinks the man might be the answer to a lot of prayers. I'm starting to think he might be right.
Since Kincaid blew into town, gang-on-gang violence has slowed to a trickle. Tarasova and the Bratva even seem to be falling in line for the most part. They've yet to seek revenge on the Amato family for the bar shooting.
"Our tipster claims Kincaid is the one who took them out," Franklin says.
"You believe it?"
"Not sure." He flips the case file closed and holds it out to me. "He skipped town around the same time they were shot to death. Why don't you look into it? See what you think?"
"You're kidding."
One bushy brow goes up.
Mierda. He's not kidding.
"Captain, I've already got a stack of open cases, not including the bar shooting. I've also got Faith Donovan to deal with. And Kincaid is helping Gregory, who is my neighbor and friend. Looking into this case is a bad idea if not an outright conflict of interest."
"You're the best investigator I've got, Hernandez. If there's a chance he's guilty, we both know you're more prepared to do what needs to be done than anyone else."
"What does that mean?" I growl, taking the file from his hands.
"It means that half of these guys might be tempted to half-ass the case because he wears a badge too. Most of the others won't hesitate to go for him regardless of whether he's guilty or not. You've never flinched from following the clues, regardless of where they lead. And right now, that analytical, no-bullshit mind of yours is what I need." He shoots me a look, daring me to deny that, but I can't, and he knows it. When I clench my jaw and nod, he continues, "If Kincaid did kill these cats, we need to know it sooner rather than later. We've already got one federal agent running amok in the city. The last thing we need is for someone to leak that another might be responsible for three murders years ago."
I rattle off a string of curses in Spanish, which makes him bark laughter.
"I've told you a thousand times, son," he says, "if you're going to curse my old ass to the devil, at least do it in English so I can appreciate it."
I take the file from him. "I'm taking the rest of the day off. I need to take care of something with Faith."
"Speaking of which, I still haven't found anything concrete on her parents." He cocks his head to the side, pinning me with a look I prefer to ignore. "You sure she's not lying about her mom?"
"She doesn't lie to me," I growl, annoyed by the insinuation that she isn't trustworthy. She might not tell me everything, but she isn't a liar.
He eyes me for a moment and then grins, shaking his head. He doesn't say anything though, which is probably for the best. The last thing I need to do is piss him off, and my temper is quickly fraying.
"See you tomorrow," I mutter before stomping out. I cross the hall and set the file on my desk while I quickly make sure my office is in order. I hate leaving shit lying around. A cluttered office makes it hard for me to think. I get distracted by the mess.
Aside from a couple of case files, there isn't much to straighten. I quickly finish up my report and shut down the system before grabbing my phone from my pocket.
Faith's had a phone since the first day I told her I'd get her one, but I don't think she ever uses it. I tap out a text to her anyway, letting her know that I'm on my way. Surprisingly, her response comes a few moments later. It's one simple word—okay—but it gives me hope that maybe she's starting to thaw a little bit.
"Where are we going?" Faith asks an hour and a half later, her voice wavering from flat to curious and then back again.
I fight the urge to smile at the evidence that she isn't nearly as bored by this little outing as she's pretending to be. Her expression is carefully blank, her hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie. She stares out the window of the SUV, refusing to meet my gaze. Ever since I picked her up from Roman's, she's been trying her best not to bend toward me…but I can practically feel the ice melting.
It's about damn time. Her being angry with me is exhausting.
"You'll see," I say.
She mutters beneath her breath and then sniffs loudly.
I turn the radio on, finding a Top 40 station for her.
"How do people listen to this shit?" I grimace, my ears bleeding when some woman starts singing about a DNA test. The song is catchy, but it's not exactly what I'd call music. It's honestly terrible.
"The only popular music I know is what Nikolai's men played," Faith says, her voice soft. "Ilya had a jukebox in the bar. Most of the songs made my head hurt."
"What was your least favorite?"
"The one by Ke$ha and Pitbull. Timber ."
"Why that one?" I roll to a stop at a light, sneaking a quick glance over at her. She's turned away from me slightly, looking out the window, but her hair is piled up on top of her head, allowing me to see the soft curve of her cheek and the way her full lips are turned down into a sad frown.
"It was playing when the shooting happened," she whispers. Her throat works as she swallows convulsively. "Listening to them sing about having a great night while people were screaming and dying was macabre."
Dios. She never ceases to catch me off guard. I keep expecting her to give me stock answers to my questions, but she never does. She always has a reason for every like, every dislike. It's always deeper than I expected, though I should know by now that she's not like most people. She sees things most don't, remembers what most forget. Her mind is an incredible thing, her heart full of empathy and compassion when most who have lived like she did would have hardened and turned bitter.
"What was your favorite song?" I pull off again when the light turns green, taking a left. Our destination is up ahead, far enough from gang territory to be the last place anyone would think to look for her.
" Human by Rag'n'Bone Man."
"Why?"
Instead of answering me this time, she shrugs. I file that away for later, knowing the answers she refuses to give are as significant as those she gives willingly. More so, perhaps. I'm just not sure what that means yet. I'll have to look up the song to see if I can piece together why it speaks to her.
When I pull into the parking lot, she glances at the building and then back to me, her nose scrunching up. "We're going to the movies?"
"I thought you might like to get out of the house for a while." I pull into an empty spot and turn the truck off, suddenly uncertain. "If you'd rather not, we can do something else. Whatever you want."
"I've never been to the movies," she whispers.
How is it possible for one woman to break my heart so easily? A simple sentence, whispered in sorrow, cracks it wide open, leaving me bleeding for her and all the things she never had an opportunity to experience. If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to give her back a little of what was stolen from her, first by her mother and then by Tarasova.
"Then let me give you this experience," I say, holding out a hand to her. "We'll fill up on popcorn, soda, and candy, and watch whatever movie you want to see." My lip curls up at the corner. "I'll even sit at the very front of the theater if you want."
She glances over at me and then down at my hand. Her tongue peeks from between her lips, swiping along the bottom. Her expression is torn, reluctance to bend warring with the desire to have this experience.
Eventually, desire and curiosity win out. She nods and places her hand into mine. I bring it to my lips and press a kiss to her soft skin. Her honey eyes go wide. Before she has a chance to think too hard about anything, I release her hand and climb out, circling around to help her down.
She's quiet, sticking close to my side without touching me as we walk toward the entrance.
"What do you want to see, angel?" I ask, holding the door to the theater open for her. I point out the theater's marquee sign with the movies and start times listed, letting her choose.
She examines the board carefully, her brows furrowed as she contemplates her decision.
"Can we watch Mufasa ?" Her voice is soft as she turns toward me. "I liked The Lion King when I was little."
"Yeah, we can watch Mufasa ."
I guide her toward the ticket window and pay for our tickets before getting in line at the concession stand. Faith's eyes are wide as she looks all around us, trying to take it in. The theater isn't anything fancy, but it's full of movie posters, arcade games, and marquee lighting. She eats it up like she's starving for the experience, her eyes growing wider and wider as they bounce all around.
"What do you want to eat?" I ask her, stepping up to the counter when it's our turn to order.
"Whatever you want is fine," she whispers.
I reach out and hook a finger under her chin, forcing her to look up at me. "Tell me what you want, little bunny," I whisper. "You can have anything."
She glances at me and then at the candy display. "M&M's and Sprite."
I smile, releasing her chin. "She'll have M&M's and a large Sprite. I'll have Buncha Cruncha, RedVine, a large Sprite, and a large popcorn. Do you want butter on the popcorn?" I ask Faith.
She nods.
"With extra butter."
The college kid at the counter rings us up, sneaking furtive glances at Faith as he does. I hand over my debit card, clearing my throat when he doesn't take his eyes off her long enough to notice me practically waving it in his face. Even dressed in a hoodie and leggings, she's too goddamn beautiful for words.
Faith notices him staring at her and shuffles until she's all but hiding behind me.
"Eyes to yourself," I snarl at the kid. "It's rude to stare, and you're making her uncomfortable."
His eyes go wide. His hand actually shakes when he takes the card from me and swipes it. "Sorry, sir."
"Detective."
"Detective," he repeats, gulping audibly. His face pales.
Faith laughs softly from behind me. The sweet sound blows through me like a hurricane, wiping every thought from my head but the desire to hear her make that sound again and again. I spin to face her.
"Do that again," I demand.
She blinks up at me, her mouth partially open in adorable confusion. "Do what?"
"Laugh," I growl, taking a step toward her. "Do it again."
"I…" The tip of her tongue peeks out again, her gaze leery.
Mierda. I'm making her nervous. I shake my head, forcing myself to take a step back to give her a little space. "You have a beautiful laugh, conejita ," I whisper. "I've never heard it before."
"I don't have much to laugh at," she says, shrugging sadly.
"I'm going to change that."
She stares up at me for a long, silent moment. Distrust and doubt linger in the depths of her honey eyes, searing me to my soul. Dios. I have a lot of fixing to do with her. Starting with an apology for threatening to take her door off the hinges.
I open my mouth, but the kid at the counter speaks up before I can.
"Your order is ready," he says, his voice squeaky.
I huff a curse and spin to grab everything from him. By the time I turn back to Faith, she's several steps away, examining a movie poster. Her posture is stiff, her arms crossed over her chest. I nearly snarl in frustration at the sight. She's shut me out again, retreated back into the silent, standoffish woman she's been the last few days.
" Más terco que una mula ," I mutter, striding forward to meet her. She's as stubborn as a mule.
"What the fuck?" I growl, jolting to a stop as the car in front of me slams on the brakes before we even exit the movie theater parking lot. The Tahoe lurches forward and then grinds to a halt a few scant inches from the car ahead. The SUV behind us plows into the back of us, throwing me forward in the seat.
I throw my arm out in front of Faith to protect her. Her seatbelt catches her and slams her back against the seat hard enough to make her head bounce. She cries out in shock, but I don't think she's hurt.
The sound of scraping and crumbling metal fills the air.
The Tahoe lurches forward again, pushed into the back of the car in front of us.
"Are you all right, angel?" I ask Faith.
"Yeah," she whispers, her eyes wide. "Oh my gosh. Someone hit us."
"Yeah, fuck." I throw the car into park to go check on the occupants of the other vehicles, but an engine roars and the car behind us—a blacked out SUV—takes off, the engine roaring as the driver floors it out of the parking lot. A loud pop sounds from the gray passenger car ahead of us, followed by another and then another.
"Shit. Get down!" I shout at Faith, grabbing her and shoving her toward the floorboard as the sound registers. They're fucking shooting at us.
My heart pounds, adrenaline rushing through me in a tidal wave.
Three more gunshots go off, shattering the driver's side mirror before tires squeal again. Faith whimpers beside me, curling in on herself.
"Are you okay, little bunny?"
"F-fine," she whispers.
"Fuck," I mutter, lifting my head just enough to glance around. There are vehicles parked all over the place, but if anyone is watching us, they're staying out of sight. My hackles rise anyway. I've pissed a lot of people off in my career, but I doubt this was directed at me. They were after Faith.
I reach over her to grab my gun out of the glovebox.
She whimpers when she sees it, her face paling.
"Stay in the car, conejita ." I wait for her to nod and then hop out, quickly glancing around. There's no one out here but us. Fucking hell. I glance at the Tahoe, assessing the damage. The driver's side headlight is smashed and there's a small scrape on the fender.
I drag my phone out of my pocket and dial Franklin's number, making a circuit around the SUV to check the rest of the damage. The back is all fucked up. The fender is crumpled, and the cargo hatch is dented in.
"Hernandez," Franklin greets me when he answers the phone.
"Someone just hit my car and then shot at us," I tell him, pitching my voice low so it doesn't carry to Faith. I don't want to scare her any more than necessary. She doesn't need that right now. "It was an ambush. A gray Sonata braked in front of us, and a black SUV rammed us from behind. Both vehicles took off headed eastbound on Ventura. The back of the Sonata will have some damage. The front-end of the SUV should have significant damage."
"Jesus Christ. You okay?" he asks.
"Yeah. Faith and I are fine."
"I'll get someone out there to make the report and will have patrol units keep an eye out for the vehicles involved."
"I'm going to move to another location. We're too exposed out here." I don't want Faith out here any longer than necessary in case whoever it was decides to come back.
"You think it was Tarasova?"
"I'd stake my life on it."
"Do what you have to do. I'll get someone over to check for security footage. Where are you?"
I give him the name of the theater, causing him to go completely silent for a long moment, but he doesn't say whatever he's thinking. He just mutters a curse under his breath.
"I'll get someone out there. Where do they need to meet you?"
"Just have them meet me at the house. It's ten minutes from here."
"Got it. Be careful."
I grunt an agreement and then disconnect before taking photos of the scene. I snap a few of our position in the parking lot as well and then of the parking lot itself.
"Are we leaving?" Faith asks, frowning at me after I climb in beside her, keeping my gun on me just in case.
"Yeah, we're going to head home. Someone is coming to meet us there." The engine roars to life and I click my seatbelt into place. "You good?"
"Fine," she murmurs, wrapping her arms around herself. The fear and sadness in her gaze kill me. Before I can say anything to her, she breaks my gaze, glancing down at her lap.
"Fuck," I growl, frustrated as she retreats into herself again. One of these days, she's going to open up to me willingly, let me comfort her. I guess today isn't that day though.
I sigh heavily and turn toward the road.
"They were here for me, weren't they?" she asks a few minutes later, her voice small.
"I don't know."
"You think so."
I hesitate for a long moment, torn between the need to protect her and the responsibility to tell her the truth. "Yeah, angel, I think so," I admit, unable to lie even to protect her. "My captain is going to send someone over here to look at the security footage, see if they can find anything. Did you recognize either vehicle?"
"No. They looked like every other car to me. I don't know much about cars or what any of Nikolai's people drive."
"It may not have been them. As far as we know, they don't know where you are," I murmur, trying to ease her mind.
"Why would anyone else shoot at you and then drive away?"
"I've pissed off a lot of people in my life. It comes with the territory when you deal with the kind of people I deal with. It could have been anyone."
She shakes her head like she's disappointed, her face scrunching up. Despite the seriousness of the situation, the annoyance in her expression is cute as hell. She's still so innocent. After everything she's seen living under the thumb of Tarasova, she's still ingenuous enough to believe crime and criminals operate by the same set of rules cartels like the Tarasovas operate by. I don't shatter her illusions about the state of the world any further.
We subside into silence. I keep my eyes open, checking to ensure no one is following us. Was Tarasova behind this, or am I just overreacting? If it was him, why shoot at us and then drive off? No one tried to grab her. Hell, no one even got out of the vehicles. Were they simply trying to intimidate her? If so, it's working.
Faith retreats a little further into herself, visibly shrinking in the seat beside me as four cruises pass, headed down Ventura toward the movie theater with their lights and sirens going.
"Are you sure you aren't hurt?" I ask her again when we're halfway to the house.
"I'm fine," she mumbles, but we both know that isn't true.
"Octavio?" Faith says, lingering in the doorway of my home office several hours later.
I glance up from the file in front of me to find her dressed for bed in a tank top and lounge pants, her hair in waves down her back. She chews on her bottom lip, looking vulnerable and uncertain. My arms ache with the desire to pull her onto my lap and hold her, but I fight the urge, knowing it won't get me anywhere with her. She's determined to keep me at a distance, and nothing I do seems to make a difference.
I messed up with her, badly, and I don't know how to fix it. The situation today didn't help. She didn't say anything else the entire way home and then went inside as soon as we arrived. By the time I finished up outside, it was dark, and she was in her room with the door closed against me.
Whoever shot at us managed to avoid the security cameras in the parking lot, meaning we have no viable leads. Franklin is checking traffic cameras to see if they may have caught a license plate for either vehicle, but I'm not holding my breath. I have no doubts Tarasova's men did it, but I don't want to scare her more than she already is. I hate lying to her, even by omission, but she's finally stopped looking over her shoulder all the time. The thought of allowing Tarasova to take that away from her isn't appealing to me.
And yet…he took it anyway. Even if I don't tell her, she fucking knows who shot at us today. She isn't stupid, and she's far from na?ve.
"What is it, angel?" I ask.
"I…I just wanted to say thank you," she whispers. "For today, I mean."
" De nada, conejita ."
She stands there for a moment and then turns to leave, but I don't want her to go.
"Did you have a good time? At the movie, I mean."
She pauses, turning those wide eyes back to me. "I did," she whispers. "The movie was good." A shadow passes through her eyes. "Sad."
"You mean Mufasa being an orphan," I guess. She cried during parts of the movie, but I don't think she wanted me to know it. I ached to dry her tears for her but didn't. Every expression that crosses her face and every thought in her mind fascinates me. I want to know all of them. I want to be the one she turns to when she's happy and when she's sad. Hell, I just want her .
She nods.
"I'm sorry you lost your father so young, Faith."
"Me too." She bites her lip. "I'm sorry you lost your family too."
"So am I."
"Can…can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"What happened to your sister?" she whispers.
"I don't know." I glance away from her for a moment, steeling myself against the inevitable rush of memories her question brings roaring to the surface. "Alivia was ten years older than me, but we were always close. When she left home for college, she decided to stay on campus with friends. She started dating a guy her junior year, but no one knew much about him. He didn't attend school with them. They thought he was involved in the mafia, but she swore he wasn't. She left campus to meet him one night and never returned."
"Oh no," Faith whispers, her honey eyes swimming with sympathy. "Did…did you ever find her?"
"No." I shake my head. "I believe the man she was seeing was one of Nikolai Tarasova's men."
Faith's stricken eyes widen.
"I tracked her to their territory, but no one was willing to talk with the threat of Tarasova hanging like a sword over their heads. Leads dried up from there." I scrub a hand through my hair, expelling a heavy breath. "I accepted long ago that I'd never know what happened to her."
It's not hard to guess though. They either killed her or sold her into slavery. It's a horrible thing to hope your own sister is dead, but for her sake, I do hope it. It's been twenty years. God only knows the horrors she would have lived as one of Tarasova's sex slaves in that amount of time. I would wish that kind of pain on no one.
"What happened to your parents?" Faith asks.
"My mom had a fatal heart attack when I was nineteen. My father had a stroke three years later. He passed not long after." I was a surprise baby, born late in life. Losing Alivia aged my parents considerably. They were never the same after she vanished. They never recovered. Eventually, the grief of loss and the pain of not knowing took them both.
"I'm so sorry, Octavio," Faith whispers.
"No more than I am."
"Was your dad a cop too?"
"No. He worked in the IT field. My mom was a pediatric nurse."
"Is your sister the reason you went into law enforcement?"
"Yeah. I wanted to find out what happened to her, and I guess I wanted to help make sure no one else ever had to go through what my family went through."
"That's why you want me to help you with Tarasova, isn't it?"
"I can't bring her back, but I've spent my whole career trying to bring him down," I say softly. "It'll never change what they did to her, but…I owe my parents that much. I owe her that much." I glance at the file in front of me before flipping it closed with a heavy sigh.
As Franklin suspected, our tipster might not have been wrong about Kincaid. I'm not sure where that leaves me, or what I'm going to do about it. Kincaid is a damn good cop, one Roman trusts. Hauling him in on charges is going to cause a lot of problems for this city, and I don't know what to do about that. We need him on the streets…but can I really leave him there if he murdered three people?
"Can I ask you a question now?" I ask Faith.
"Yes."
"If a good cop did something wrong years ago to avenge his family and you found out about it, what would you do?"
She tilts her head to the side, studying me. "How wrong?"
"He may have killed the people who murdered his family."
"Was his family innocent?"
I nod.
She thinks over my question for a moment, considering it carefully. "I don't know what I would do," she admits, "but I think what you're really asking is what you should do."
I sigh. "I have no fucking clue what to do. If I pursue this case against him, a lot of people are going to get hurt. Including some that mean a lot to me. If I don't pursue it, I'm essentially looking the other way when my instincts are telling me there's something here."
"You pride yourself on doing the right thing."
"I took an oath to uphold the law and do the right thing, even if doing it isn't the easy thing." I scrub a hand through my hair, truly baffled. The world isn't black and white, not even when murder is involved. I know that. I accept it. But this case has so many shades of gray I don't know what the right thing to do is. "If I pursue this case and find out that he did it, I'm not jeopardizing just his future. Roman believes we need him to help keep our gangs in line, and I don't necessarily disagree with him."
"Look into it," Faith says, taking a step into my office. "You can always decide what to do when you have your answers, but if you never even look for them, I think it'll always bother you. You don't strike me as someone who's content to have only bits and pieces of the puzzle."
"I'm not."
She nods like she already knew that and takes another step toward my desk. "You're a good cop, Octavio. You'll know what to do when the time comes. Until then, follow the clues. Maybe you'll find out you're worrying for nothing."
"Maybe." I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my stomach to study her. "You think I'm a good cop?"
"Yes," she whispers.
"But you don't trust me."
"I tr–"
I cock a brow, daring her to finish that lie, but she doesn't. Having confirmation that she doesn't trust me shouldn't bother me, but it does anyway. It's also my fault.
"I'm sorry I threatened to take your door off the hinges," I murmur to her. "I shouldn't have said that, no matter how frustrated I was. You should know that I didn't check it. If you want to lock your door, that's your right."
She nods but doesn't say anything.
"I'm going to earn your trust again someday, angel. One of these days, you'll tell me what you're trying so hard to keep from me. You'll let me help you."
"The only thing I need help with is getting Nikolai to stop looking for me so I can be free," she mutters, refusing to meet my gaze. "The only thing I want is freedom."
"You're free with me, Faith."
"No, I'm not." She offers me a sad smile, turning for the door. "You may be nicer about it than they are, Detective, but I'm as much a prisoner here as I was there. My cage is more comfortable, and my captor is less of a brute, but any freedom I have is an illusion, as easily snatched away as ever."
"That's not true," I growl.
"No? If I wanted to walk out the front door right now, you'd let me?" she asks.
I grind my teeth together, pissed because she's right and we both know it. There's no way in hell I would let her walk out that door. She thinks it's because I need her help, but she's wrong. I can't let her go because I think it might actually kill me if something happened to her. If Tarasova found her or hurt her, it would tear my world apart. I already lost a sister to the bastardos . I won't lose Faith too. But I can't tell her that. She wouldn't believe me even if I did.
"Nikolai wants me back so badly because my mom and stepfather stole hundreds of thousands of dollars from him before they fled," she whispers after a moment. "He's certain she'll come back for me someday, so he decided to keep me close to ensure she had to come to him to get to me."
"Jesus Christ."
"I know you care about what happens to me, but I'm a means to an end for you just like I was for him, Octavio. I don't kid myself about that. Maybe you shouldn't either." She offers me another sad smile and then ducks out of my office. "Goodnight."
I sit there for a long time after she leaves, staring into space. Every part of me wants to stomp after her and tell her that she's wrong. I want her to know that I'm nothing like he is and that the only thing I want from her is whatever little crumbs she's willing to give me.
My entire adult life, I've focused on finding out what happened to my sister. Even after my parents died without answers, I kept searching, hoping to piece together which of Tarasova's men took her and what happened to her. Eventually, I had to come to terms with the fact that I'd never know.
I started focusing on finding a way to make them pay after that.
I want them out of this city so badly it borders on desperation. But I'd walk away from that mission if it meant keeping Faith. She's been here for two weeks, and she's already becoming something vital to me. Something irreplaceable.
Too damn bad for me, because to her, I'm just another man keeping her in a cage. As far as she's concerned, I'm just another motherfucker who can't be trusted. And she's not wrong about me. If she gives herself to me, I'll never let her go. I'll give her the world…but I won't let her go.
And she's made it crystal clear that she doesn't want that.
I sigh heavily and flip open the file on Kincaid again, reading through it from cover to cover. By the time I'm finished, I'm almost certain there's something here. Something I have to pursue. I jot a few notes and then stow the file before opening the one on Faith and Tarasova, flipping through it without really seeing anything.
Why is Tarasova so sure her mom will come back for her?
Nothing I've found thus far holds any answers on that front. Her mom was physically and emotionally abusive. Not even Faith has any illusions about the woman having any soft feelings for her. I doubt Tarasova has any either. So what does he know that I don't?
I have a feeling finding the answer to that question is the key to giving her the freedom she so desperately craves. It might tear my heart out of my chest to watch her walk away…but letting her go is the only way to prove to her that I'm nothing like Tarasova.
" Más tira el amor que una yunta de bueyes ," I mutter the old idiom about love being a strong motivator, returning her file to the drawer and climbing to my feet to go to bed.
I stop in shock right outside her bedroom.
For the first time in days, her door isn't closed against me.
It's standing wide open.