“No. Why? You offering to hold my hand?”
“I was offering to hold a lot more than that.”
She opened the door a crack. The cab’s interior light came on, illuminating her rueful smile. “Not tonight. Last night was…” She hesitated, searching for the right word.
“An aberration?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Well, maybe. Unexpected is what I was trying to say.”
“All right. To be clear, I didn’t go to your house last night with that end in mind.”
“You didn’t? Is there something wrong with you?”
“Ramsey.”
“Sorry. I know you didn’t. I initiated the trip to my bedroom. That’s on me.”
“And you regret it?”
She sighed. “I don’t know what I think. Not regret. Not exactly. How could I? I’m feeling uncertain, I suppose.” She laughed a little jerkily. “Can you tell?”
“I’m getting that.”
“It’s hard not be an open book around you.”
“Really? Because I’m not getting that at all.”
“Well, it is. Trust me.”
“I do. It’s the reverse that’s the fly in the ointment.”
Ramsey nodded heavily. “And we’re back to that.” Keeping an elbow resting against the door to keep it open, she reached under her coat and into the front pocket of her jeans, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She held it out to him. “Here. Take it. Since we’re fussing about other things, it seems like a good time to fuss about this.”
Sullivan took the paper but didn’t unfold it. “What is this?”
“I did some research. It’s the lot numbers for those pallets of Caribbean Coast that Paul brought in.” His reaction was entirely unpredictable. She’d known he wouldn’t be pleased, and he proved it by slowly crumpling the paper in his fist. Still, she was undeterred and added helpfully, “I put a check beside the ones that are no longer in our inventory.”
For all that he wanted to unleash his dark side, Sullivan’s tone was remarkably even. “Do you recall what I said about this when we discussed it at Valentina’s?”
“You mean about keeping your theory confidential?”
“That was part of it.”
“Then you must be talking about the part where I stay out of it.”
“That’s it.”
“Yeah, well, about that…” In the face of his scowl, Ramsey didn’t dare play the innocent. “Look, Sullivan, I knew you wouldn’t like it, but I told you my favorite book of the moment isThe Count of Monte Cristo, and I figured this was as good a way as any of needling Paul. I’m not accusing him of dealing opioids out of paint cans, but hedidaccept delivery of the pallets so it can’t be all good for him. How else were you going to come by the lot numbers? You needed me.”
He put out the hand that wasn’t fisted around the crumpled paper. “Stop, Ramsey. Just stop.” He watched Ramsey’s mouth snap shut. “How I gather the evidence is my problem. It’s my job. What you did is a breach of my trust. You tell me, where does that leave us?”
She stared at him, lips pressed tightly together, and said nothing.
Sullivan was not prepared to let her off the hook by remaining silent. “Well?”
Her lips parted on a soft exhalation. She searched his face and realized she had never seen his features so implacably set. Except for the muscle that jumped in his jaw, he was still waiting for her as a predator might, watching her closely with slightly narrowed eyes and quiet breaths.
“Sorry is inadequate,” she said finally.
