“He sold a man who was under my protection for parts. Now, it won’t happen again.”
I shook my head, trying to piece it together. “Are you saying hesoldKyle Rourke for his organs?” I pressed, stepping closer, voice sharp. “Was he the one who dumped Rourke’s body? Work with me, Doc. Anonymous tip, that’s all I need—let me close this case for Kyle’s family.”
Doc’s expression hardened. “No.”
Temper flared in me. “Why do you want this buried so bad? Did you order the body dump? Is this on you?”
Doc’s gaze flicked away. “Why doyouwant it solved so bad?”
“Who carved up Kyle Rourke? Who left his body out there like trash?”
“I’m dealing with it.”
“Killing people is your fix?”
He didn’t even blink. “It wasn’t me who killed him.”
I wanted to believe there was more to him—fuck knows why—some plan, some hidden reason—but the stillness in his face told me there wasn’t. Had he overseen murder before? Had he ordered it? Would he do it again? Was there a reason for what he’d done that would make it make sense? And why the fuck was I compelled to see the good in him? The thought hit like a punch to the gut—Why was I looking for humanity in someonelike him? He was no different from the monsters the Cave had hunted down, a killer with too much blood on his hands. Shame burned in my chest. What the fuck was I thinking?
“Did he deserve to die?”
“Who?”
“Jesus Christ! The man you just killed.”
“As I said, I didn’t kill him, and yes, he sold a human,” he said, a faint, amused tilt to his lips.
Silence filled the space between us, his face inches from mine, breath mingling in the charged air. For a heartbeat too long, I thought he might close the distance again. The air felt charged, too warm, too close, and for a second I couldn’t tell where fear ended, and something else began. I couldn’t tell which of us was more dangerous—the man who stood by as someone killed without flinching, or me, who didn’t step in and stop a murder.
“You should go home, Detective.”
“Why? So, you can dumpthisbody, too?”
There was that disappointment again. “Because if you stay, you’ll start to understand,” he said. “And once you do, you won’t come back from it.”
“Cut the cryptic shit.”
He shrugged and turned his back on me, hesitating for a moment and then rounding his car to the driver’s seat.
“Good night, Detective.”
I stood there long after Doc disappeared into the dark, the sound of the engine fading to nothing. My hand still gripped the gun, because fuck knows who that other man was and whether he answered to Doc or was out to eradicate witnesses. I’d seen too much.
I got into my car, and the drive back to the Cave felt endless, headlights carving through the black, my mind replaying the scene over and over. The blood. The calm. The kiss after.
By the time I reached the Cave, dawn was bleeding into the horizon. I sat in the parking lot, engine running, and stared at my reflection in the rearview mirror. I’d been there. My body had decided before my badge could. That made me complicit. It made me part of whatever Doc was. The Cave didn’t murder people—they hovered on the morally gray line, sure, especially recently, but why did I just stand there? Why didn’t I arrest Doc?
I shut the car off, jaw tight, and stepped into the chill air. Inside, the Cave was silent aside from the hum of computers—no one here overnight.
I took my seat—the only desk without a computer, not sure where to go next. I don’t know how long I sat there, but Killian was the first into the office, suited and booted, probably ready for court.
“What happened?” he said immediately.
I shook my head, and he made coffee, then we sat across from each other, the weight of the night pressing down between us. I told him everything—how I’d seen a murder, how I’d done nothing, how Doc had been there and I’d still done nothing. I couldn’t meet his eyes when I said it.
Killian leaned back, studying me as if he were trying to decide whether to be judgmental or concerned. “You saw it happen,” he said slowly. “And you didn’t stop it.”
“I couldn’t,” I said. “It was over before I even understood what I was seeing. And part of me—” I hesitated. “… shit… if the dead man really was the one who sold Kyle Rourke for organs, then was it justice?”
