We made a life. The thought sends warmth flooding through me. I cup his jaw, lifting myself into him, a soft sound breaking from my throat.
“I’m never letting you go,” he murmurs, fear still in his voice.
He’s the man I never saw coming. The one who makes me feel easy to love.
I rise into him, my hand gliding up his collarbone to the side of his throat.
And then…
A knock at the door.
It’s the doctor.
She smiles coyly. “Well, everything is looking fine from where I stand,” she teases.
I push myself back up in the bed. Anton shifts back so she can read the fetal monitor. She has another look, but it’s brief. “Freya, we’re happy to release you. Put the antiseptic ointment on all the scrapes you have until they scab over.” She shakes her head. “With a mom like you and your baby’s heartbeat this strong? I think you’ll be giving birth to a superhero.”
Anton and I glance at each other, both recalling ‘Superbump,’I’m sure. It lightens the space between us for the first time.
She removes the monitor, and the nurse comes back to have me sign the paperwork. I slip my shirt back on, but grip the edge of the hospital bed before I’m ready to stand.
“Are you okay?” Anton is instantly concerned.
I sigh. “I’m going to interview Ingram now.”
“I get why you want to.”
I can tell he wants to put abutafter that.
But you don’t have to.
But nobody would think less of you if you rested and went home.
I already know both those things, and he knows I do.
But I need some closure. I want Justin Ingram to look me in the eye and confess to the woman he underestimated.
The station feelsdifferent when I walk in this time.
Like something volatile has finally settled into place.
For a moment, I let myself wonder if I ever could have expected this when I decided to be an officer. This job. This badge. I press a hand to my belly. There sure is a thin line between safety and chaos.
The sound of a chair scraping somewhere around the corner draws my attention, and Callum appears.
“I thought I heard the door.” He scans my face for the answer before he asks the question. “You sure you want to do this?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
He studies me for another beat, then dips his chin. “He’s in the holding cell. I’ll meet you in Interview.”
I follow Callum down the hall and turn into the station’s only interview room while he continues toward the back, where Ingram is being held. The space is small and functional. A table. Two chairs. No room to hide behind theatrics.
I take a seat, shrug out of my jacket, and hang it on the back of the chair. My tote goes on the floor. I pull out my notebook—empty of questions. Callum told me he doesn’t think Ingram is going to make this difficult. After all, he did have a ticket to flee, but he turned himself in instead.
That’s not a man bracing for a fight. That’s a man with a confession on his tongue.
A minute later, Callum returns with Ingram.
