Chapter 9 #2
We finish shopping and return to the house. Fox bounds over to us, tail wagging, and I place the bags on the counter.
“I don’t want to go.”
Forgetting the bags, I hold my breath as Monty closes the space between us. My heart beats against her palm as she rests her hands on my chest. Her eyes don’t shine with false tears, and she doesn’t elaborate on what could be a lie.
So I choose to believe it’s the truth.
Cupping her cheek, I pull her closer. “Then don’t.”
I want her to stay. I want more IOUs and long nights on the couch talking. I want to wake up to her singing in the shower and go to sleep with her close. It could be the biggest risk I’ve ever made, but I’m willing to make it.
“I’m not a good person, Guy,” she whispers.
My next words surprise even me.
“You are to me,” I say against her lips. Her breathing picks up, the taste of cherries so damn close to my tongue. “Stay, Monty. Stay with me.” I kiss her, and she leans into me.
But any heat building between us vanishes when she pulls back.
She presses her fingertips to her lips. “I’m sorry, Guy. I can’t.”
She rushes by me and up the stairs, and I stare after her.
Maybe I pushed too hard. Maybe I’m not being clear about what I want. But do I even know? I know I want her here, but for what? A casual relationship? A serious one? A ringtone pierces the quiet, and I answer my phone.
“Gibson.”
“Chief,” Winston says. “Boy, do I have one hell of a late Christmas gift for you. Guess who was just found dead?”
I frown. “Who?”
“Richard Mason,” he says, and I freeze in place.
“His wife was away for the holidays, and when she came back, she found his body. Suicide. Gunshot wound to the head. And you know what’s even better?
He filmed a full confession. He admitted to killing Erin and the girls, even mentioned things we never released to the press. You were right, Guy.”
I was right. I knew it, always did, but …
My gaze lifts to the stairs, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“When did he die?”
“Coroner says he estimates it to be Christmas Eve.”
I don’t know what it is. Instinct, or at this point maybe even common fucking sense, but I know the truth. “I’ll call you back.” I hang up and sprint up the stairs. Once I reach Monty’s door, I throw it open.
She’s by the window, and when she faces me, she wipes away tears.
Anger bounds through me, because if I’m right, she did this for me, and that’s not what I fucking wanted. It isn’t the kind of man or cop I am.
“Are those tears real or fake?”
She stares at me. “What?”
“Did you kill Richard Mason?”
Facing me fully, she takes a breath. “No. I didn’t even know he was dead.”
I step farther into the room. “Really? So you just so happened to invite over three cops the night he died? One hell of an alibi for both of us.”
She glares at me. “I was here all night, Guy, you saw me.”
“I saw you for five fucking minutes! You were up here!” I bellow. “Tell me the truth for once in your damn life, Monty. Did you kill Richard Mason?”
I’ve never seen her so angry, but I won’t back down. My instincts have never failed me, not once.
“I didn’t fucking kill him!” she screams.
My breathing is fast, my heart racing a mile a damn minute. I snatch out the envelope from my back pocket, take out the blue card, and toss it at her feet. She looks down at it, then back at me.
“Did you kill Richard Mason?” I demand. “There, that’s my fucking question. Did you, or didn’t you?”
Her chest rises and falls with quickened breaths. Seconds stack between us, the tension in the room like gulping down smoke.
“Yes.” I almost rear back. She lifts her chin, as if daring me to question her. “I held a gun to his head, I filmed him confessing, then I shot him.”
The room feels like it’s closing in on me. Anger thunders through my veins, and with every second that I replay her words, my fury grows.
This can’t be happening. This isn’t justice. This isn’t the fucking law.
“You murdered him.”
“He murdered those little girls,” she bites back. “Do you know what it takes to do that, Guy? To shoot children? To shoot your wife? Your family? He’s a monster. Well, he was. Now the world is a better place. Erin’s family can find peace.”
“This isn’t how life works!” I bellow, and she falls quiet. “He should be in prison! He should suffer the right way! You can’t go around choosing who lives and fucking dies!”
“Yes, I can!” She strides toward me. “Tell me you didn’t dream of doing it. Tell me you didn’t lie awake for the last ten years and pray for the strength to do to him what he did to them.”
Of course I did. How could I not? The system wasn’t failing those girls; I was. I couldn’t find a shred of evidence to lock him away, and that was on me—so yes, there were nights I’d fantasize about killing him.
“That’s the difference between you and me,” I say, getting closer, my voice dripping with venom and such fucking disappointment. “I follow the law.”
“The law.” She sneers. “What has the law done for you except steal your life and your daughter?”
Now I do step back. The person she was only minutes ago has vanished, or maybe she never existed. Maybe this version of Monty is the real one, and I allowed myself to be fooled.
“I have no idea who you are,” I say quietly.
“No. You know what scares you, Guy? It’s the fact that you know exactly who I am.
” She moves close again. I search her face for humanity I know I won’t find.
“It isn’t fear, or disappointment, or anger you’re feeling.
It’s envy. You don’t wish you’d stopped me.
You wish you’d done it first.” My jaw tenses at her words—at the truth behind them.
“Get out of my fucking house,” I whisper through gritted teeth, but neither of us move.
“No, let’s switch roles, instead,” she says, her voice low, sultry, almost seductive. “I’ve told you a bunch of truths, so let’s hear yours. What do you hate about yourself more? That you didn’t see this coming, or that even though you know the truth, you still want to fuck me?”
I’m hot. Painfully hot. Blood rushes through my muscles, and every part of me feels stripped back, torn away, like my basic needs are soaring to the surface. It’s primal, terrifying.
Addictive.
I hate her. I should arrest her.
And yes, I envy her. I want to tear off her skin and see the beast beneath the beauty—to devour it, taste it.
She touches my cheek, cautious at first, and God help me, I don’t pull back. “I did it for you.”
I grip her wrist. “I didn’t ask you to.”
“I saw the look in your eye when you talked about him, and I fixed it.” She slides her other hand up my chest, her fingernails grazing the side of my neck until she reaches my nape. Her lips are close, that tantalizing, sweet cherry smell all around me.
“You’re a monster,” I whisper.
She runs her tongue across her teeth. “Your monster.”
God save me.
I pull her to me, kissing her fiercely, forgetting all my senses and the thousand reasons to run from this woman. She responds with equal passion, lacing her arms around my neck.
This is the last thing in the world I should be doing. The woman has just admitted to murder. I should arrest her, take her in, ease my goddamn conscience.
But my senses are muddied.
And I’m so tantalizingly close to the edge of danger that I figure I can risk it a little longer.