I thought of Angelique lying cold and dead on a steel table two and a half years ago. Her pain gone. Her story over. The pathologist’s harsh words as he’d ushered me from the room, reminding me that I couldn’t take part in her autopsy, rang in my ears like it was yesterday. Devon McCabe might have beena trusted colleague, but knowing Angelique was in good hands didn’t make it hurt any less.
I’d fought with him. Raged. Screamed myself hoarse. How could Angelique leave me alone, and with a child no less? The days following her death were a blur—a nightmare—of late-night feedings and diaper changes, of funeral arrangements and pain so raw I was certain I wouldn’t survive.
Shaking free from the toxic memories that had haunted me for too long, I refocused on the report, trying to concentrate and detach from the gruesome aspects of death. As I stared at the line of photographs of a dead man, Kobe’s voice rose inside my head.The asshole had it coming.And,If I’m right and we’re looking at a woman or multiple women who have been brutalized… I don’t want to stop her. She deserves her revenge.
She deserves her revenge.
She deserves her revenge.
I touched the zoomed-in image of the man’s face. Barely a man. It was the face of a boy. The masked innocence was enough to fool any unsuspecting woman.
Kobe seemed so sure of the truth. He radiated rage when he spoke his theories. His determination stole the oxygen from the room.
She deserves her revenge.
He hadn’t wanted to say it aloud. I’d seen the uncertainty in his eyes. He feared my response.
It was murder. Plain and simple. First degree. It begged the question: What kind of cop was Kobe Haven? Would he turn his back on the culprit if he felt they were entitled to revenge?
He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. But would he? It was his duty to stop killers. Just because he felt one way didn’t mean he would act on his emotions.
Did I really know him?
At the end of the day, would he do the right thing? If he didn’t, was he a man I wanted to know? Was he a man I wanted to get involved with?
I closed the folder and peered at Cosette. She was all I had left, and I needed to protect her at all costs.
Oblivious to my dilemma, she filled in Cinderella’s dress, using so much blue that the point on her crayon had gone flat. Her soft curls curtained her round cheeks. A twist of nausea tightened my stomach when I considered a day in the future when I would have to send her out into the big bad world, trusting innocent-faced boys not to harm her.
Checking the soup and turning down the element, I returned the folder to my office and collected my laptop. It was quarter to twelve. Kobe was due to arrive in fifteen minutes. It wasn’t a lot of time, but the sudden impulse to find out more about the perplexing detective itched under my skin. I had been waffling for days. His unfiltered remarks wouldn’t leave me alone. What if he wasn’t who he claimed to be? I was so taken by him, but was my perspective skewed? Was he a good man? Trustworthy?
I did a search for his name, not expecting to find much. Guilt sat like a stone in my gut as a handful of hits filled the screen—a few rarely used social media platforms, a write-up in a local newspaper about a charity function for the Big Brothers organization, and an announcement for the Little League boys baseball team from 2023. In one article, Kobe was pictured with a child whom I assumed was Émeric. A celebration of sorts. I didn’t read it. The rest of the hits were people who shared Kobe’s name. None of it helped me feel more at ease.
What was I expecting to find? Criminal activity? He was a cop, for fuck’s sake. Whatever transgressions he’d gotten up to in his youth would be long gone, sealed or buried by child-protection laws. His misadventures in Mexico didn’t appear, so were they really that bad?
My search was deceptive and unfair. Kobe didn’t deserve my mistrust. I closed the laptop. He had never painted himself with glamorous brushstrokes. He had been truthful and honest about his flaws. He shared openly about his imperfect family and unsavory past.
I liked him. That much I couldn’t deny.
I would continue to follow my instincts. So far, those instincts told me there was no reason to walk away.
A knock at the door startled Cosette. She dropped her crayon, her bow-shaped mouth forming anO. Her eyes grew comically wide. “It’s Kobe, Papa?”
“It’s Kobe.” Before she could race to the door, I added, “Tidy up, then go wash for lunch.”
The sky was low and grey, painting the world in dreary monochrome. It had been snowing heavily all day, the first significant storm we’d had all winter. A thick layer coated the bare branches on the trees, weighing them down. More buried the vehicles parked in driveways and along the street, mine included. The roads were slushy and track-bare thanks to the ever-present plows working tirelessly to keep them clean.
Kobe waited on the doorstep, his winter hat and the shoulders of his parka speckled with snow. In one arm, he carried a package wrapped in red and green striped paper. A backpack hung over the opposite arm. Dimples cut crescents into his unshaven cheeks, and the tip of his nose was red from the cold.
“Merry Christmas Eve, handsome.”
I waved him inside out of the weather. “Presents were not a requirement,” I said as he banged the snow off his boots.
“There’s only one, and it’s not for you.” He pecked a kiss on my mouth, his lips tasting of cold winter air and ChapStick. “Hold this while I wrestle my way out of these boots.”
I obliged, taking the backpack off him as well and setting both on the floor in the hallway. Once he was free of his winter gear,he cupped my face between his cold hands and drew me in for a proper kiss. He lingered, the silky glide of his tongue against mine fizzing pleasantly under my skin.
I clung to his hips, savoring his taste and solidity. My worries evaporated with his presence, and I scolded myself for having doubts. My brain was my worst enemy, and I didn’t know how to shut it off.
