We locked gazes. Against my will, my heart clenched. “You should have told me.”
His smile was gentle and sad. “I couldn’t. You know that.”
I did, but I hated where it landed us.
“I loved you, Dominique.”
I didn’t think it was possible for him to look sadder. “Past tense?”
“Don’t you fucking dare. Don’t. You. Fucking dare. I gave you all of me, and you gave me lies.”
He held up his hands, warding me off. “I’m sorry.”
“Go,” I choked. With shaking hands, I found his car keys and tossed them the short distance separating us. They fell into a mound of snow, instantly vanishing beneath.
Dominique didn’t move to grab them.
“Go!” I shouted. “Get the fuck out of here. Make an excuse. Quit your job. Sell your house. Take Cosette and get as far away from Ottawa as you can. Find a new city, and don’t look back. If you have anything,anything, tied to those men in your house, burn it. The scarf. The perfume. I don’t care how sentimental. Burn it, Dominique. Do you hear me?”
“Yes.” The word was a barely audible whisper, swallowed by the wind.
He didn’t move. For a long, tortured minute, his husky-blue eyes swam with fresh tears. His heartache echoed mine, but I couldn’t go to him. I couldn’t relieve his pain, not with so much of my own. He’d caused this mess. He’d done this to us.
“Kobe—”
“No. Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter what I decide. You and I end here. You drew an impossible line, Dominique. It’s not because I don’t see the righteousness of your choice. It’s not that I don’t, on some level, feel the same, but we have to sever our connection or risk the people who are still looking for answers following the evidence and figuring you out. We can’t be tied together.”
“Okay.” The resignation in the single word shattered me.
Dominique crouched and dug for the keys. When he stood, he still didn’t retreat. “How will you get home?”
“I’ll fucking walk if I have to. Go.”
“It’s over ten kilometers, and the weather is—”
“I don’t care. Leave before I change my mind.” And oh, how I wanted to take it all back, pull him into my arms, and find warmth in his embrace.
Dominique didn’t argue. With one last strenuous exchange, he whispered, “Thank you.” Then, head down, he trudged through the snow toward the car.
“Hey,” I called before he got too far.
He paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, Kobe.”
“You’re finished, right?”
“Yes.”
I nodded, and he continued on, got in the car, and pulled slowly away, his taillights vanishing into the blizzard.
I spent the next half hour staring at Angelique Sauvage’s headstone. The tundra refused to freeze my heart. It burned and ached and cried for all I’d had and all I’d lost. Deep down, I wondered if I’d made the right choice.
40
Kobe
The following weeks passedin a blur. The university reopened with heightened security. Rue and I conducted dozens of interviews with students and faculty. We examined and re-examined the data we had collected, reviewed video surveillance surrounding the murder sites, and spoke with people at the lab about the results that finally came in.
Rue sensed my tanked mood, eyeing me repeatedly over the preceding days as though trying to figure me out. She never asked what was wrong, but that was our way. When news circulated that the newly hired forensic pathologist had given notice, stating he wasn’t suited to a teaching facility, the pieces clicked. Rue correctly surmised that our relationship had ended. She offered polite condolences. I brushed them off and told her I was fine.
