Chapter 46
Opening the door and facing down two of Verity’s big brothers, one of them a cop in full uniform, was about the stupidest thing Reed had ever done.
But he didn’t want Verity lying for him or getting into trouble because of him. He’d take the blame for being there, do whatever it took to get their attention off her and onto him.
The bearded brother, the one she must live with, took one look at Verity, then at Reed and sighed like one of those TV dads. One that loved their kids, no matter how often they fucked up or how many times they disappointed them.
But the cop?
His gaze took in everything from how close Verity stood to Reed, to the messed-up quilt on the bed, to the first aid kit on the side table, to Titus pressed against Reed’s side, before settling his glare on Reed.
And while Reed didn’t give a shit that Jennings looked like he wanted to skewer Reed’s balls on a rusty nail, when he slanted a narrow eyed, tight lip look at Verity, Reed smirked.
Like some asshole who’d spent all night railing the guy’s little sister. Was proud of it.
And couldn’t wait to do it again.
Which got the cop’s attention off her and back onto Reed.
Just like he’d wanted.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” Verity blurted.
The bearded one gave a pointed look to where her fingers were still wrapped around Reed’s arm, then moved that look over her messy hair, down her pajamas, and then over to Reed’s bare chest.
He raised his eyebrows. “So you didn’t sneak a boy into your room last night?”
Reed could practically feel the massive eye roll Verity gave her brother, but her fingers tightened on his arm. Trembled, like she was nervous, and she swallowed audibly.
This girl. She couldn’t lie worth shit.
But she sure as hell could talk.
“I mean, if you’re going to be technical about it. But there were extenuating circumstances. Such as the fact that he was hurt and had nowhere else to go. And I, being the responsible, caring person you both raised me to be, could not, in good conscience, leave him to sleep in his truck in his condition. What if he got hypothermia and died?”
“It was sixty-five degrees last night,” the bearded brother said.
She waved that off. “Be that as it may, it would have been… cruel… and heartless and selfish and… and… cruel—”
“You already said cruel.” This from the cop.
“Oh, so sorry,” she said in her snippy tone. “I hadn’t realized you were also the repetitive word choice police.”
“Just tell me you used protection,” the bearded one said.
“We didn’t have sex. God. And if we had, of course I would have used protection. Contrary to what you obviously believe, I’m not an idiot. But, really, look at him” —she swept her free hand up and down as if to showcase what a sad sack of shit Reed was— “he’s hardly in any shape to steal a girl’s virtue.”
Turning his head slightly, he caught her gaze. “Oh, I don’t know about that, princess,” he murmured. “I can do a lot of damage to a girl’s virtue, no matter what shape I’m in.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw the bearded guy frown at him. The cop stiffened.
But the girl still holding his arm?
She saw right through him.
“Yes, yes,” she said, and while she didn’t roll her eyes this time, an eye roll was clear in her dry tone, “you’re a big, bad rebel, dangerous to all who encounter you.” Now she used her free hand to give him a mocking pat on the shoulder. “We get it. You don’t have to try so hard to prove it all the time.”
Well, fuck.
Saw. Right. Through. Him.
“Mind if I do my job now?” the cop asked his brother.
The nape of Reed’s neck prickled. Do his job? What the fuck did that mean?
It only took a moment before he figured it out.
The bearded guy shrugged, then stepped into the room. The cop followed. And that was when Reed saw the other cop, this one a tall white woman with brown hair and a sharp, watchful gaze.
Like Assistant Chief Jennings, her gaze swept the room, taking in all the details, before settling on him. “Reed Walsh?”
He nodded.
“Mr. Walsh,” she said, “you’re under arrest—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Letting go of his arm, Verity leapt in front of him, standing between him and the cop, her arms outstretched, his own personal curvy bodyguard with bedhead and sleep marks still on her cheek.
“Jesus Christ,” the bearded brother grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose at Verity’s theatrics. “Verity, let her do her job.”
“No,” she snapped at him, then whirled back to the lady cop. “You can’t arrest him for spending the night in my room. He didn’t break in here. I let him in.”
The lady cop didn’t bat an eye, just glanced at Jennings.
“He’s not under arrest for spending the night here,” the cop said quietly. Too quietly, his gaze flicking to Reed’s for a moment, the look sympathetic.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Reed’s stomach turned, a sickening mixture of fear and dread that rose in his throat.
He swallowed it all down.
“You’re making it worse,” Reed muttered to Verity.
She looked over her shoulder at him, all wide-eyed, pissed off, offended attitude. “Excuse me?”
“You know your brother better than that.” Hell, everyone knew there was nothing corruptible about Assistant Chief Jennings. Not even if it meant keeping his sister from someone like Reed. “Now move.”
Flushing, she swallowed. Licked her lips. “What did you do?”
Her voice was soft. Scared. And the way she looked at him, so open and honest as she searched his expression for more than he wanted to give her…
It gutted him.
He didn’t know what was about to happen—but he sure as fuck could guess.
Which meant that this moment, right here, right now, was the last time he’d ever be this close to Verity again. The last time he’d ever feel the warmth of her breath on his chin. The last time he’d ever inhale the scent of her shampoo. The last time he’d ever be this lucky.
She’d never again look at him like she’d done earlier this summer. Like he was worth her time. Her attention.
Like he was worthy of her.
But she’d been right, a little bit ago when she said he couldn’t keep doing this to her.
So he didn’t beg her not to believe what she was going to hear about him. Didn’t wrap his arm around her waist and pull her against him. Didn’t hold her close.
He let her go.
“Guess we’re about to find out,” he said, as if it was no big deal the cops had tracked him to her house. That he was about to get arrested in front of her.
That whatever they were about to say about him was a lie.
She made a sound, a snort of disbelief or maybe pain. “You said you didn’t do anything wrong. You said you weren’t in trouble.”
He lifted one shoulder. “Not my fault you believed me.”
She winced and dropped her gaze.
And finally stepped back.
She shot Jennings a quick, apologetic look. “I’m sorry,” she told him, then turned to the lady cop. “Truly.” She glanced back at Reed, the hurt in her expression about taking him out at the knees. “Guess I am an idiot after all.”
Then, head held high, she walked over to stand next to her bearded brother.
The lady cop once again looked at Jennings, who inclined his head.
“Reed Walsh,” she said to him again, “you’re under arrest for two counts of aggravated assault. You have the right—”
“Two?” he asked, whipping his head around to look at Jennings.
That wasn’t right. He wasn’t surprised his old man had called the cops after Reed had stepped in to protect his mom—and come out on top. Even if Pete had gotten in a couple of lucky hits of his own.
But if they were charging him with two counts that meant…
His chest tingled. Grew tight, making it hard to breathe. “My mom…”
Jennings’s mouth flattened, but when he spoke, his voice was almost gentle. The fucker. “She was the one who called it in.”
The sense of betrayal hit him hard in the stomach. Made him want to howl from the pain of it. From the unfairness of it. Grinding his back teeth together, breathing through his nose so he didn’t puke his guts out, he did his best to keep it contained while the lady cop Mirandized him.
He couldn’t let anything show. Not weakness. Not how much it fucking tore him in two.
Not how scared he was.
Jennings was watching too closely.
Verity saw too much.
He stood there, his entire world crashing around him. Any slight hope he’d had for the future, any dreams that he could get a decent job and a place of his own, that he could be better than what he’d come from, were gone.
“Mr. Walsh,” the lady cop said in a way that told him it wasn’t the first time she’d said his name. “Do you understand these rights as I’ve given them to you?”
He blinked. Swallowed. “Yeah.”
Pulling a pair of gloves out of one of the compartments on her belt, she nodded at Titus. “I’m going to pat you down. Will your dog need to be restrained?”
Now he frowned. Glanced at his dog pressed against his leg, then laid his hand on Titus’s head.
Titus was the only good thing he had left.
“Titus,” he said, gesturing to the far corner of the room, away from the cops. “Go lay down.”
Titus glanced over to where Reed pointed, then up at him.
His dog knew something was wrong.
And he wasn’t moving from Reed’s side.
Panic spiked in Reed’s stomach. He didn’t think either of these cops wanted to hurt Titus, but if they felt he was a threat, they might.
And there’d be nothing Reed could do to stop them.
“Go lay down,” he tried again, but all his angry tone did was cause Titus to whine, his big body vibrating with unease.
“Titus,” Verity called, her own voice soft and sweet and coaxing as she dropped to a crouch. “Come here, baby.” She patted her leg. “Come on.”
Titus swung his head around toward her, his tail wagging, hitting the back of Reed’s shin with a thump, thump, thump. Then he looked up at Reed again.
Reed jerked his head in her direction. “Go.”
Titus raced over to Verity, knocking her onto her ass as he launched himself into her arms.
“Hold your arms out to your sides, please,” the lady cop said.
His stomach twisted, knowing what Verity was about to witness.
Knowing how it was going to change everything between them again.
For the last time.
Lips pressed together so tightly they went numb, he gazed at a spot out in the hall, then slowly lifted his arms.
The lady cop approached him. “Are you carrying a firearm, knife, or anything else that could be considered a weapon?”
“No.”
She knelt and checked his boots, then patted his shins. “Do you have any illegal drugs or drug paraphernalia in your possession?”
“No.”
She moved up his legs, her touch thorough but impersonable. “Is there anything sharp in your pockets that might cut or poke me? Any needles or razors?”
“No.”
She patted his pockets, then dipped her hand into them one at a time, pulling his wallet from his front right pocket. He’d left his phone in the truck. She handed the wallet to Jennings, then took a hold of Reed’s right arm and pulled it behind his back.
Verity leapt to her feet, keeping one hand on Titus’s collar. “Are the handcuffs necessary?” She looked at the lady cop, then her brother, her eyes wide and glossy and, fuck, Reed wouldn’t be able to handle it if she cried over him again. “Miles? Please?”
The lady cop was looking at Jennings, waiting to be told what to do, but Reed ducked his head, turning it toward her. “Put them on,” he muttered so only she could hear. “And get me the fuck out of here.”
She studied him a moment, expression giving nothing away, but whatever she saw in his face, heard in his tone, had her snapping the cuffs on. Then she took a hold of his right elbow and marched him out the door.
He didn’t look back.
***
Tabitha believed victims.
She’d seen too many people silenced by shame or the fear that they wouldn’t be believed.
She’d been one of them.
She was absolutely on her new client’s side. Would be the strongest advocate and fiercest ally she could be for Michelle Walsh.
She believed her.
But she didn’t want to.
And she hated herself for it.
Riding up the elevator to the third floor of Mount Laurel General Hospital, she leaned against the wall. Tapped her tablet’s screen to wake it up, then brought up the file on Mrs. Walsh.
She was being kept a few days in the hospital as a precaution for the concussion she’d received, though she had other injuries as well, including a broken finger and dislocated shoulder. Her husband, Peter, had been checked out at the E.R. last night and was sent home a few hours ago with a broken nose, broken eye socket, two knocked out teeth, and seven stitches along his cheek.
According to the statements they gave police, Reed came home drunk the night before and started a fight with his father, one that had turned physical when Reed threw the first punch. He’d then turned his rage onto his mother when she’d tried to intervene.
No, Tabitha did not want to believe it.
She liked Reed.
She hadn’t realized how difficult it would be working in a small town like this. She’d never had a client accuse someone she personally knew of assault before.
All the more reason to remain unbiased. She couldn’t let her personal feelings get in the way of her doing her job.
Especially since those feelings could very well be wrong.
The elevator stopped and she straightened, tucking her tablet back into her bag. After checking in at the nurse’s station, she walked down the wide hallway, her high heels clicking against the linoleum floor, the pungent scent of antiseptic filling her nose. The door to room 314 was open, but the lights were off, and the shades drawn, the only light coming from the TV mounted high on the wall, the flickering glow illuminating a frail woman sitting up in the bed.
Tabitha knocked on the doorframe. “Mrs. Walsh?”
The woman turned toward her slowly, but it was too dark for Tabitha to see her face. “I’m hurting. I need something for the pain.”
At the sound of the woman’s unsteady voice, a sense of déjà vu washed over Tabitha. Her breath caught, got trapped in her lungs. Unease prickled along her scalp.
And just like that, she was once again the scared little girl she’d been. The one who’d had to be on constant alert for the slightest change in someone’s tone. Who’d taught herself to notice every shift of their expression and the smallest twitch of their hands. Read into every glance. Be wary of every smile.
Terrified of every frown.
The sensation crawling along her skin, making her stomach turn, was nothing new. Nor was the instinct shouting in her head.
Run, run, run, run.
Nothing new, but something that she hadn’t experienced in a long time.
Realizing she was rubbing her fingertip along the scar on her chin, she curled her fingers and dropped her hand before stepping into the room.
“I’m not a nurse, Mrs. Walsh. I’m a social worker with Mount Laurel’s department of social services. Would it be all right if I came in and talked with you?”
“The pain’s bad,” Michelle Walsh said on a groan. “And they won’t give me anything. They think I’m lying, but I’m not.”
“I’ll be sure to let the medical staff know you’re suffering.” Tabitha knew they would never let a patient suffer, but they might be leery of giving her more than what she needed due to Mrs. Walsh’s history of drug addiction.
Mrs. Walsh moaned and turned onto her side, putting her back to Tabitha. “It hurts. It hurts so much.”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Walsh. Our chat won’t take long and when we’re done, maybe you can get some rest.” She took another step into the room. “I’m going to turn the light on, if that’s okay?”
When the other woman didn’t respond, Tabitha flipped on the light. Mrs. Walsh groaned again and curled into herself even more, her frail body shivering under the light blanket.
Walking toward the bed, Tabitha stared at the back of the other woman’s head, another wave of familiarity sweeping through her as she took in her tangled hair, the lank and greasy faded blonde strands streaked with dingy grays.
Forcing her legs to keep moving, she rounded the bed. Mrs. Walsh had her arms covering her head, her forearms painfully thin and mottled with bruises, her short fingernails ragged and torn, a splint on the forefinger of her left hand. “Mrs. Walsh?”
“It hurts real bad,” the woman whispered, her only movement the shivers racking her body. “Real bad.”
“I’m so sorry you’re in pain. As I said, I’ll be sure to let the nurse know you’re suffering.”
“You’ll tell them? You’ll tell them to give me something?”
“I’ll tell them you’re in pain,” Tabitha corrected gently, pulling one of her business cards from the outer pocket of her bag. “But any treatment for that pain is up to the medical staff. Not me.”
They obviously weren’t going to get anywhere today. She’d just let Mrs. Walsh know she was there as her advocate and plan on a better time when they could talk.
“I need something now,” Mrs. Walsh whimpered. “Tell them I need it now. Tell them it hurts real bad.”
Then, she slowly lowered her arms, exposing her face.
And the card in Tabitha’s hand fluttered to the ground.