I lean my head back and blow the smoke up at the stars while I wait for Detective Layton to come out of the bar.
How did I get so fucking gone for Kira Noland?
I haven’t felt this kind of worry since my mother was alive.
It’s an ugly thing to acknowledge that the worry went away when my mother passed. But her passing meant that I could stop holding my breath, that I no longer had to walk with a fraying thread coming out of my heart. It’s even uglier when you know that my worst nightmare came true, that I held my breath for all the right reasons. I always thought that James would be the end of my mother, but I didn’t think he really had it in him.
That’s what happens when you let your guard down.
And I refuse to let my guard down for Kira.
Finally, the bar doors open. With a whine, the scent of rum wafts over the pavement and around the corner. A laugh escapes, and then it’s silence, save for the muffled footsteps of none other than Detective Layton, just as I finish my cigarette.
He’s shed his blazer, hooked over his shoulder carelessly, but his gun is still holstered on his hip. He’s not aware of me as he takes a breath and surveys the empty street. I bet he thinks he’s invincible right now, but I could take his gun off him before he even knew what hit him.
But I’m here to play nice, despite what he did to Kira.
I stroll out of the shadows with a fresh, unlit cigarette between my fingers.
“Got a light?” I ask.
He jerks, agitation already on his face for being caught off guard, but it fades quickly as he recognizes me, replaced by that well-honed, suspicious superiority all badges have.
I step beside him, letting him size me up, and I keep my eyes on the street. I pull my lighter from my pocket and flick the flint. The flame is brighter than the sign behind us and illuminates my face for him to get a better look, even though Caleb said it seemed like Layton knows exactly who I am now.
“Seems like you already have one,” he says, taking a step back as the smoke curls toward him.
I shrug.
“Jax Landon.” He shakes out his blazer and lays it over his arm, raising his chin in a show of false authority.
“Excellent investigation skills, detective,” I drawl.
It was wishful thinking on my part that he didn’t ID me after our run-in at Kira’s. But at least this way, he probably has the full rundown on the Landons, and now we can get this over quickly so I can get back to Kira, even if it is just to sit on the floor outside her door.
“You know,” he scoffs, “if you’re planning to take me out, you’ve made a mistake.”
I keep my eyes straight ahead and take another hit. “Yeah, why’s that?”
“This bar is full of cops.”
I smirk. He’s so green it’s laughable. Either he didn’t ask around enough, or he’s just plain delusional. I flick my cigarette into the street, watch the embers tumble, and then slowly turn.
“Cloverwick cops?” I raise a brow.
He narrows his eyes like I’m stupid, but there’s the tiniest hint of uncertainty in the pinch of his features.
“Because Cloverwick cops—” I eye the doors to the bar thoughtfully. “They don’t like to stick their noses where they don’t belong.”
He shifts his weight, not liking where this is going.
“Cloverwick cops,” I repeat, slower this time, “don’t care aboutjustice.” I throw his final words to Kira back at him. Did I mention I love the grapevine? “They care about their pensions, their side payouts, and making sure they don’t end up under someone’s boot,” I continue. “They play nice with whoever keeps the peace—whether that’s the department or someone like me.”
Layton presses his lips into a thin line. That superiority on his face hasn’t slipped completely, but it’s cracked enough for the truth to leak in.
He tries to stand up straighter. “Yeah, well, I’m not like them.”
I step in closer, bringing my voice down to a whisper. “That badge on your hip would say otherwise.”
