“You think I didn’t?”
She turned sharply toward me, skin tinged blue from the dashboard lights.
Dammit, why had I said that?
We kept driving. I thought she’d dropped it, but then she said, “You could tell me, you know. What that necklace is really about. The rifle round.”
Fuck. This woman had a way of cutting my rib cage open and reaching inside with just a few words. I felt torn between wanting to tell her the entire ugly truth about me and wanting to protect usbothfrom that forever.
“Maybe I will someday,” I said softly. Knowing that was a lie.
“That’s what friends do. They talk to each other.”
“So we’re friends again? I hoped so, but you hadn’t said it.”
“You know we are. I couldn’t stand eating so many meals with you otherwise.”
I felt the corners of my mouth lifting. “Your friendship means the world to me. It’s the best thing I’ve got going for me at this point.”
“Asshole,” she said with a laugh.
“That wasn’t sarcasm.”
She had no idea how sincerely I’d meant it.
Keira rolled her shoulders, stretching them. “Anyway. I’m glad you know what you’re doing, at least. Otherwise, I would insist on doing the driving. I’m allowed now, you know. Not my first stakeout or mobile surveillance of a suspect either.”
“Yeah, I know, Deputy. Next time, it’s all you.”
“Dean,” she said a little while later. “Do you honestly think you’re a bad person because of the things you’ve done?”
“Yes.” The word came out rough. Like something scraped up and bruised. “I know I am. Good people always have a tiny moment of hesitation about taking a life, however brief, even when it’s their job. That means you still have a soul. I don’t ever want you to lose that.”
“What about you?”
“I lost my soul a long time ago.”
“Let’s say for a moment I believe that’s true. Just because you’ve lost something doesn’t mean you can’t get it back.”
Her words echoed in the quiet of the cabin, answered only by the faint rush of the tires as we drove. I didn’t know what I could possibly say in response.
But I wanted her to be right.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Dean
We kept followingWoodson until he pulled into the parking lot of a strip club. A neon sign with a naked woman flashed at us from the roof.
“A nudie bar,” Keira deadpanned. “Why am I not surprised?”
We were way out near the county line. I pulled our vehicle into the lot, picking a spot within view of Woodson’s truck and the entrance, and watched him go inside. Loud music spilled from the door, and a row of motorcycles was lined up out front with men chatting beside them.
“We’ll wait for the right opportunity,” I said, “and then I’ll put the tracker on Woodson’s truck.”
“No,I’llput it on his truck. My hands are little. I’m much more nimble.”
“I’m nimble,” I protested.
