Chapter 8
After a restless night of failed sleep, I finally gave up and headed out to the garage to get my morning workout in. It’s not quite five in the morning yet, but I’ve already successfully worked up an impressive sweat. Although the frustration coursing through my veins hasn’t gotten any better.
She nearly died.
For a case they deemed an accident.
Why?
I rack the squat bar, then roll my shoulders and drop down for another set of pushups. Normally, I have a better plan whenever I come out here, but today, I’m doing whatever I can to work off the nightmare that woke me up once I’d finally fallen asleep.
In it, I was too late to save her.
By the time I reached Beckett, her attacker had already drained the life out of her eyes, and I’d found her just like that—pale and wide-eyed, like so many of the countless homicides I’ve worked over the years.
Once I hit fifty, I take a break. Instead of going in for another set of squats, though, I grab the shaker bottle with my electrolyte and BCAA mixture. I down what’s left, then run the back of my wrist over my sweat-beaded forehead.
“Room for another?”
Nearly jumping out of my skin, I turn to see Beckett standing in the doorway, wearing leggings, a baggy t-shirt, and tennis shoes. She’s tied her dark hair back in a messy bun, and the bruises around her throat are even more prominent now.
Still, there’s such light surrounding her. A strength all the more noticeable now that she’s survived something meant to send her running home.
Because I know I’m staring, I clear my throat. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“You didn’t.” She steps into my gym and nods. “This is impressive, Detective.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Do you mind if I jump in?” she asks.
“Not at all. Go for it.”
“Thanks,” she says with a smile before heading over toward the yoga mat I set up for stretching mid-workout. I’m unable to tear my gaze from her as she drops down on the mat in a plank position, her head dropping forward.
So much beauty.
Strength.
Resilience.
It’s all of the things that drew me to her even when we were basically enemies on opposite sides of the table.
She’d been defending her friend, and I’d been trying to catch a killer.
Of course, Riley Hunt had been innocent, but I’d hoped he could lead me to the person who killed the stepbrother of the woman who is now his wife.
That case was one twisted web.
Before she can catch me staring again, I shift my attention back to my own workout and get beneath the squat rack for my final set. All while my thoughts drift right back to her.
By the time that case was closed, I found myself completely entranced by her. So much so that I’d asked her to dinner the night before she headed home. A dinner that went horribly wrong on so many levels.
My mom was diagnosed with cancer, something I found out hours before I picked Beckett up. Because I was desperate for a distraction, I went anyway. And because it wasn’t great first-date conversation, I kept it to myself, and the date had gone miserably.
I’d been a complete jerk. Inattentive because my mind was on my mom, short-tempered when it came to the wait staff messing up my order. Something that is completely unlike me.
But I’d been distracted and ruined any chance I had at a future with Beckett Wallace.
And now she’s doing mountain climbers in my home gym.
“Did you sleep okay?” I ask as soon as I’ve racked the squat bar again.
“Not really. But it didn’t have anything to do with the room. The bed was way more comfortable than my own.” She drops both knees on the mat and sits up, her cheeks slightly pink.
“I’m glad. My mom stayed with me for a while, so she’d picked it out.”
“Well, she did an amazing job.”
“Thanks. I’ll be sure to tell her next time I see her.”
Beckett smiles. “Good.” She extends both legs out in front of her and reaches for them, easily grabbing her toes and bending forward.
Because it would be weird if I stayed out here and didn’t exercise, and because I don’t want to go inside and lose these moments with her, I grip the top of my pull-up bar and lift myself. “Any more harassing calls?”
She chuckles softly. “No, you buttoned that one up for me.”
It hit me after I’d taken the phone from her that I was crossing a line, but all I could see was the brief hurt on her face when she said he’d accused her of not wanting a relationship “because of her dead husband.” It set me off, and before I knew it, the phone was in my hand.
“Sorry if I overstepped,” I say as I drop down to the ground and face her. “I shouldn’t have grabbed the phone from you.”
“No,” she agrees. “But I still appreciate the fact that I’m no longer getting a dozen text messages and random phone calls from him.”
“You’re welcome, then,” I reply with a grin.
It earns me another smile, and I’m unable to tear my gaze from her. Lord, help me here. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted. Please grant me the strength to be this close to her and still remain focused.
When she plants both palms on the ground and arches her back to stretch, I turn away, knowing I need to keep my gaze averted to keep my thoughts from going where they have no business going.
Marriage is the only thing that will have me taking any woman to bed ever again.
And marriage is the furthest thing from where we’re headed.
“Sorry you didn’t sleep well,” I say as I reach up and pull myself back up onto the pull-up bar.
“It’ll pass,” she replies sadly. “Every time I closed my eyes, I felt his hands on my throat all over again.” She takes a deep breath. “And the fear turns to anger all over again.”
I drop down from the pull-up bar. “You’re safe here.”
“I know.” Beckett forces a smile. It’s the first time I’ve seen her without her signature bold red lipstick. She doesn’t wear much else in the way of makeup, and right now she’s wearing none at all.
So incredibly beautiful.
She clears her throat. “We argued a lot in the weeks leading up to his death. They said that’s likely why he missed something on the pre-check. He was distracted.” Despite the years that have passed, the guilt is still so fresh.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
She lowers the weights, a thin layer of sweat already on her skin.
“His death,” I continue, “even if he did miss something, it wouldn’t have been your fault.”
She takes a deep breath and chews on her bottom lip. “We’d been trying to have a baby and couldn’t get pregnant. He wanted to stop trying, but I was desperate to be a mom. So I was being pushy about it.”
Pushy. My guess is that’s what he’d called her. It angers me nearly as much as the bruises on her throat because I can see her pain now.
“He’d been angry when he left,” she adds. “Furious, really. Demanded to know why he wasn’t enough for me.”
More anger at the pain I see on her face. What kind of man would say that to his wife? She’s hurting because she wants to become a mother, and he’s going to make it about him?
“I stand by what I said. And for the record, you wanting a family is not you being pushy, Beckett.”
She smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“I’ve spent a lot of time feeling guilty for his death.
Countless nights where I’ve been unable to sleep, so I stared at the ceiling fan, wishing I could go back and not pressure him so much.
Because maybe then our last moments wouldn’t have been bad ones.
” Her eyes fill. “I’m sorry. I know it’s been ten years and I should be over it, but—”
“Be over it?” I snap a bit harsher than I meant. “He was your husband. I don’t imagine there will ever be a day that goes by where you don’t think about it.”
Her gaze softens. “It doesn’t suffocate me anymore. And I think that, once I know the truth, I might be able to finally move forward. You know?”
“I get it. And I promise you, Beckett, I will help you find answers.”
“Thank you, Shawn.”
My name on her lips shouldn’t sound so good, but it makes me desperate to do something to have her say it again.
Beckett Wallace has had a hold on me for years.
Even after our terrible date, I’d fought the urge to call her just to hear her voice.
On nights when my mom wasn’t doing well, I’d nearly given in.
The only thing that kept me from reaching for that phone was knowing I couldn’t be there for Beckett in the way she deserved, and I couldn’t live with myself if I pulled her right down into my darkness.
But now? Maybe now I can be the strength she needs. Even if it’s only temporary.
“You’re kidding, right?” I demand, the phone pressed to my ear as I stand on my back porch.
“She was under duress. It’s entirely possible Ms. Wallace heard what she wanted to hear.”
“Then why leave her alive?” I snap, beyond infuriated that my captain is turning a blind eye to the facts. How can he do this? How can he decide a lead isn’t worth following?
“Maybe they were interrupted. Either way, until we know without a doubt this case is connected to her husband’s accident, then you’re to leave it alone.”
“You mean his murder? Or the cover-up that followed?”
Captain Reynolds is silent for a moment.
“You’re my best detective, Sampson, but I will pull you if you can’t keep a level head.
If the evidence—real evidence—leads you to that case, that’s one thing.
But right now, all you have is the word of a traumatized woman against the official reports of the Washington State Patrol offices. ”
So it’s political. He doesn’t want to ruffle feathers.
Somehow, that angers me more than thinking he was pulling me for budgetary reasons.
“Beckett Wallace isn’t a traumatized woman,” I snap.
“She’s a hardened attorney who has a reputation for staying calm under pressure. She wouldn’t have imagined it.”
“Then let the evidence lead us there. Because if I go accusing officers of covering up a major accident without more, I’m going to lose my job. Focus on her attack and only her attack until then.”
I let out a sigh in frustration. I know there is more to this. And ignoring a huge portion of the evidence to save face with another agency is a mistake. “I have some vacation days,” I reply. “I’ll be taking them effective immediately.”
Once again, Captain Reynolds takes a long pause. “You’re going to lose your badge if you’re caught disobeying my order.”
“What I do on my own time isn’t the precinct’s business,” I reply. “So long as I don’t break any laws.”
“If I find out you’re investigating that accident—”
“Then I’ll personally deliver my resignation to your desk. I’m taking two weeks. I’ll be back in after Christmas.” I end the call, knowing my hanging up is going to anger him further, but also not caring.
It’s no surprise that Reynolds isn’t interested in ruffling feathers. He’s a bureaucrat put in place to handle things while they try to find a captain to take over since our last one retired suddenly.
He would absolutely take my badge and feel no remorse over it. Honestly, he’d probably be glad to do so. He’s had it out for me since I questioned his theory on the first homicide we took on after he got the captain’s chair, in front of the entire precinct.
I was right, and he hasn’t forgotten.
Frustrated, I set my phone down and grip my porch railing, dropping my head down to take a deep breath.
I became a cop to help people.
To be a shining light in the darkness that lingers in this world.
To find the truth.
And if the local cops who handled this accident truly covered it up? Isn’t that a truth worth risking everything for?
My phone buzzes, so I glance down and feel a bit of relief when I see my mom’s name on the screen. “Hey, Ma.”
“Morning, darling. How are things faring on your side of the city today?”
I sigh.
“What is it?”
“A friend of mine was attacked last night.” Friend is stretching it a bit far, but I’m not sure what else to call the woman currently staying in my guest bedroom.
“Who? Are they okay?”
“You’ve never met her. Beckett Wallace.”
“Beckett? The lawyer?” she asks.
I shouldn’t be surprised she remembers her. The woman has a memory like a steel trap. “Yes. She came to town, looking into her husband’s death, and was attacked in her hotel room.”
“Oh no. Is she okay?”
“She is,” I reply. Barely.
“But?” she asks, stretching the word out in a way only she can.
“What do you mean, but?”
“Honey, I know you well enough to know that there’s more to the story.”
“It’s a lot, Ma.”
“Then you don’t have to tell me. Does she need anything? Is she still in town?”
I run a hand over the back of my neck. “She’s staying in my guest room until I can figure out what happened.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Don’t use that tone,” I snap, a bit ruder than I meant to.
“What tone is that?”
“The tone where you think more is going on than there is. She’s in danger; I’m keeping her safe.”
“I hear you, honey. Are you safe, too?”
“I’m fine.”
“And this case?”
“Not sure. But I’m not dropping it.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to. Will you be at the precinct later?”
“I’m on vacation.”
My mom laughs. “You, vacation?”
“It was that or I had to stop looking into this for her.”
“Oh, you’re serious.”
“Two weeks.”
“Well, what can I do to help?”
I rest my elbows on the porch railing and lean down. “I’ve got this, Ma.”
“Then I’m bringing food over later.”
“Ma—”
“Non-negotiable. You need to eat in order to keep a clear head, so I will feed you. Understand?”
I chuckle because I know there’s no point in telling her no. She’ll just show up anyway. “Fine. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She hesitates a moment. “Are you okay, honey?”
“Just stressed. But I’ll be fine. Thanks for calling, Ma.”
“Thanks for answering. Love you, Kid.”
“Love you, too.”
I end the call, then straighten and turn back toward the house. Beckett is inside on the couch, her Bible in her hand. She’s reading quietly while sipping a mug of steaming coffee. With her attention focused somewhere else, I study her through the sliding glass door.
She looks right sitting here in my space.
Like she fits.
Before I let my mind focus too strongly on that dangerous thought, I shove my phone into my pocket and step inside to deliver the news.
That we’re on our own.