Chapter 33
Two weeks after the raid, Erica sat in a small, shady park across the street from the medical building where Vince was attending his mandatory psychological evaluation.
The Texas sun was bright, but a breeze stirred the branches overhead, making the heat more tolerable.
She spotted him the moment he stepped outside. Tall, broad-shouldered, hatless.
His Stetson was part of the uniform. Off duty, he usually went without it. The afternoon sun glinted off the highlights in his hair—gold with a hint of red, of all things—as he crossed the street. He ambled more than walked in that same long-legged, easy stride she’d noticed the night they met.
Had it really only been a little over a month ago? It felt impossible. Lightning fast, but somehow like she’d known him forever.
In that time, she’d helped solve a murder, been kidnapped by a Russian crime boss, nearly lost the man she loved, and somehow ended up sleeping in his bed every night.
Life was strange. Vince made it a little more normal. Good normal.
He moved from the sunshine into the shade and followed the path toward her. His shoulder was healing well. He still moved a little carefully when he thought no one was looking, but otherwise seemed determined to pretend he’d never been shot at all.
Typical.
He dropped onto the bench beside her and stretched out his legs.
“Well?” she asked.
“The psychologist says I’m fit for duty.”
Relief surged through her.
“Really?”
“Eventually.”
Her shoulders fell.
He grinned. “His exact words were, ‘no obvious psychological concerns.’”
She snorted. “I feel like that’s the lowest bar possible.”
“Worked for me.”
“So you’re done with him?”
“One more follow-up in a month before he’ll sign off.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not under restrictions. At least the surgeon lifted some of them.”
“After you threatened to arrest him.”
“He was being dramatic.”
“He told you not to ride your motorcycle until your stitches came out.”
“Which came out yesterday. So I’m good to go.”
“He didn’t say that. He said you should take it easy and avoid unnecessary risks.”
“Semantics.”
Erica rolled her eyes. She’d seen the report. The motorcycle restriction had been lifted, which meant there was suddenly nothing, not her concerns or a medical license, that would stand between Vince Cooper and his Harley.
His hand found hers on the bench. The familiar warmth brushed across her senses before his fingers even closed around hers.
Not a vision. Not someone else’s emotions. Just him. Steady. Comforting. Safe. Like it had been from the beginning. It just took having it taken away—almost—for her to realize it.
Her fingers laced naturally through his.
“You know what the psychologist asked?”
“What?” she said, looking up at him.
“If I regretted anything.”
“What did you tell him?”
“No. But that wasn’t true.” His thumb stroked lightly across her knuckles. “I should’ve asked you out sooner.”
A laugh escaped before she could stop it. “Earlier would have been the night we met.”
“That’s right,” he drawled, remembering. “I was busy dodging flaming stove covers.”
“You thought I was crazy.”
“Not crazy. Quirky,” he corrected. “I also thought you were cute. Especially when you came out to my truck, barefoot, wearing an ankle bracelet.”
Warmth bloomed in her chest. “You noticed?”
“I notice everything.”
Like the band squeezing her heart, she squeezed his hand. “That’s incredibly romantic.”
His lips twitched. “Don’t spread it around.”
“Judy would melt. No promises,” she whispered.
He turned serious. “If I had to do it over again, I’d still walk into that garage.”
Emotion tightened her throat.
His gaze held hers. “I’d still take the bullet.”
“Vince…” Barely a whisper.
He brought her hand to his lips. “To have you here with me, I’d do it twice.”
Her eyes stung. The memory remained far too vivid—the pain, the terror, and the hollow ache that followed.
Without a word, she leaned in, her lips meeting his. He kissed her back, lost in the moment, neither of them caring that they were in a public park.
When she pulled away, he looked overly pleased with himself, his smile too wide. “You’ve been saving that line,” she accused.
“I meant every word, but it worked better than I thought.”
“You are impossible,” she said, equal parts exasperation and amusement.
“So I’ve been told.”
His arm settled comfortably across the back of the bench behind her. Traffic rolled past on the street. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. Ordinary sounds. Things she’d once taken for granted.
“How’s the house coming?” he asked.
She groaned. “Slow.”
Contractors had started the demolition. Next would come drywall, flooring, and kitchen cabinets ruined during Gruzinsky’s visit. Every time she thought they were making progress, someone discovered something else that needed repair.
“It’ll get there.”
“Maybe.”
The problem wasn’t the repairs. It was the memories. She loved her little house. But she wasn’t sure it would ever feel quite the same.
Vince seemed to understand.
“You know,” he said casually, “you could just stay at my place.”
She turned toward him. “I am staying at your place.”
“Precisely.”
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. He wasn’t wrong.
Since leaving the hospital, she’d spent every night at his house. Partly because hers didn’t have a secure front door and a functioning kitchen. Mostly because neither of them had wanted to sleep apart.
If she were being honest, she’d grown attached to the arrangement. So had Whiskers.
The cat had claimed the enormous picture window overlooking Vince’s backyard. Every morning he perched there like a king surveying his kingdom: birds, squirrels, the occasional rabbit. Hours of feline entertainment.
Cat TV, Vince called it. Whiskers seemed to agree.
“He won’t want to leave when the house is done,” she warned.
“It took time for him to warm up to me, but in the end, turns out he’s an excellent judge of character.”
“He likes everyone who feeds him treats.”
“Sounds like a solid life philosophy.”
She laughed. It felt good. Easy. The way things should have been all along.
His phone buzzed. He shifted, pulled it out, and glanced at the screen. “Sutton.”
The call lasted several minutes. Erica watched his expression shift from mild annoyance to serious.
“No,” he said. “That tracks. Morgan had access.”
The mention of the former agent’s name made her uneasy. Vince must have noticed, because his fingers tightened around hers.
After another pause, his jaw clenched. “Why am I not surprised?”
Whatever Sutton said next made him mutter something under his breath. “Let them convene,” he said finally. “It’s overdue.”
Without saying goodbye or thanks—a cop thing, apparently—he disconnected and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
“Burnside?” she guessed.
“He’s dirty. Always was.” He didn’t soften it. “The FBI is digging through everything Morgan touched. Turns out our visit wasn’t the first time he and the senator met. The appropriations Burnside kept pushing? They weren’t for infrastructure. His entire office is lawyering up.”
“You mentioned something convening.”
“An ethics investigation. The DOJ is all over it, too. His reelection campaign is the least of Burnside’s worries.”
She considered how the senator had wrapped himself in patriotism, family values, and public service, all while back-door dealing with men like Morgan and Kedrov. Somehow, it still shocked her.
“What happens to Shannon?”
He hesitated before answering. “Burnside cut her loose as soon as the news broke. She has agreed to testify. Even though her reasons were justified, she’ll have trouble finding similar work.”
Erica looked down at their joined hands. “She did what she had to do to protect her sister. In her shoes, I’d have done the same thing.”
“Most of us would have,” he agreed.
She was quiet for a moment. “What about her and O’Reilly? Are they… done?”
“Seems so.”
Her brows drew together, anger sparking. “None of this is fair. Shannon was Kedrov’s victim too.”
“I know.” He didn’t say anything else for a beat, and she could almost hear the wheels turning. “I’ll follow up with her when we get back. See what I can do. About work, not Justin.”
“Would you?”
“Absolutely.”
The other name he mentioned, she didn’t want to bring up. He did instead.
“Sutton gave me an update on Morgan too, if you’re interested.”
Did she care if he rotted behind bars? No, but curiosity won out.
“I shouldn’t be but tell me anyway.”
“He’s in federal custody, in isolation. They’re keeping him separate until they sort out who he talked to and what he traded. Cops aren’t well-liked in jail. Especially former federal agents.”
“Too bad. He shouldn’t get special treatment. He deserves to experience all the discomforts of gen-pop.”
He nearly choked on a laugh. “This is a bloodthirsty side of you I haven’t seen.”
“Don’t expect me to be sympathetic toward the man who shot you.” Erica leaned against him and sighed. “I’m done with investigations. I mean it. I can’t do this again.”
His arm curled around her shoulders, pulling her closer. “Suits me fine. I don’t want you anywhere near this kind of danger.”
She knew, as did he, that if someone was in danger and she could help, she would walk into the fire again. Some things didn’t need to be said.
“Lauren texted me this morning,” Erica said.
“How’s she doing?” Concern threaded through his voice. Kedrov and his thugs had left significant collateral damage.
Lauren had spent a few days under observation for dehydration, mild malnutrition, and exhaustion. Nothing serious. Thank God.
The physical wounds would heal. The rest would take time.
“She’s seeing a trauma counselor,” Erica said, “and she’s finally sleeping through the night.”
Neither of them spoke for a moment. It isn’t fair, echoing in her head.
Vince shifted and settled back against the bench. “What do you say we stop talking about criminals and trauma?”
“I like that plan.”
A slow grin spread across his face. Immediately, she became suspicious.
“What?”
“Here’s the plan I like. Since I couldn’t ride, I had the Harley serviced. Now I’m looking at four weeks of medical recuperation.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Vince.”
“Studies show hitting the open road on the back of a bike is therapeutic.”
“Cite one.”
He chuckled, pulling her into his arms again. “The Pacific Coast Highway is calling, darlin’. And it’s not gonna ride itself.”
She tried hard not to smile and failed completely.
His grin widened. “That’s what I thought.”
And just like that, she knew how the next month was going to go.