Chapter Five #3
“Okay, I exaggerated. We have a weird rivalry, which, since going into our own fields, has spilled into board games and charades and dinner club, but he is . . .” Oh God, am I actually going to say it?
“A good guy. You can stop glowering now.” As if I have to justify someone being in my home to a colleague, friend, or anyone.
This is my home, and I can invite whomever I want into it.
“I don’t like you being alone with him.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Why not? He’s not dangerous, trust me. He’s had plenty of opportunities to hurt me, and he never has.”
“He has, though, Katie. We both know that.” His disappointed face has morphed into that of a concerned parent, which only gets my hackles up further.
The Anthony I thought I might want to date is starting to slip into more and more unlikely territory.
I certainly don’t like being told what to do.
And I absolutely don’t want secrets I’ve drunkenly admitted to be used against me in the light of day when I’m stone cold sober.
Jesus.
Last year, during a particularly bad stretch of the case, I’d drunkenly told Anthony I’d only ever been in love once, and the man broke my heart.
I’m not entirely sure I meant it—being in love, I mean.
Jonesy . . . he meant so much to me, and I was so young.
I thought we were destined to be together.
It was foolish. The wishful wanting of an inexperienced girl who had a lot of life lessons to learn.
“Anthony. I appreciate you coming here. I really do. But I have a lot of work to do, and I’m sure you do too.”
My front door creaks open. Jonesy stands in the entranceway to my house, his arms folded across his chest with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.
“Hi, Detective. Is that for us? I didn’t know you moonlight as a pizza delivery guy.”
Anthony steps forward, but I block him before he can do something he regrets.
The fury flashing across his face. I’ve rarely seen him like this, mostly with suspects when we can’t get a confession or enough evidence to arrest them.
Jonesy hardly warrants this kind of anger, even if he is a pain in the ass.
Anthony leans around me, even with my palm pressed against his chest.
“Fuck you!” he spits, his finger pointing right at Jonesy.
“Okay, boys, that’s enough. Anthony, it's time to leave. We have work to do.”
He ignores me completely, spitting venom at Jonesy as the testosterone surrounding me reaches an unbearable level. “Have you got any idea what she needs? Or is this all just a joke to you?”
“Oh, I know what she needs, don’t worry about that,” Jonesy goads, slipping a hand onto my shoulder. I slap it away, scowling.
“You can compare dick sizes on your own time. If you want to stay—” I turn to Jonesy. “Get inside. Or get out, and you can brawl somewhere else.”
“She likes being in charge.” He sends Anthony a wink over my shoulder.
“For God's sake!” I shout, shoving him into the house.
I turn around, but Anthony is halfway down the path toward his cruiser. I chase after him, not sure whether or not I owe him anything. We’re friends, but he wants more, and I said I wasn’t ready. And now it looks like Jonesy is getting comfortable in my house.
“Hey, could you wait just a minute . . .” I pull his arm back so he spins toward me.
“I’ve been waiting longer than that, and you damn well know it, Katie.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I’m not lying when I say I’m not ready. Last year changed me. It’s not something I can explain right now.” I bite my lip. I’m still trying to figure it out in my head. Trying to figure out what it means for me not only in relationships, but in my career, my whole life.
“Are you in love with him?”
“With Jonesy? God, no,” I laugh.
“Not with him. With Thomas Vale.”
My heart freezes. Literally freezes in my chest. I can’t breathe. My lungs have stopped working as the blood drains from my face. It’s all in my feet. Big, blobby clumps of blood congealing thick and fast, so my feet are heavy and immovable.
“Wh . . . what? Of course not?” I splutter.
“I know he writes to you. The prison guard told me he sends you letters every week.”
How the ever-living hell does he know that? Thank God he sends them to the precinct and not my home address. Even though the man isn’t getting out until he’s in a wooden box, the thought of him knowing where I live makes me feel sick.
“Katie, I know this is your profession, but I think it would help if you talked to someone. I could help you if you just let me in.”
This is too much. He’s getting too close, and I’m not sure I could dare admit the truth to him.
He was too involved. Too close to the devastation that was Thomas Vale.
The chaos that encumbered him. The gut-wrenching agony he inflicted on those women and their families, their friends, their entire lives snuffed out.
No, I'm not in love with him. But what I am is something far more twisted. Far more sinister, I’m not sure I’m even ready to admit it to myself.
“Goodbye, Anthony.” I turn away from him, my heart pounding, returning to the one man who broke my heart.