Love flared in his eyes. “Of course I will.” He hesitated over what he had to ask next. “What will ye do?”
My smile spread. He’d asked. Which meant he thought I’d answer. I needed him to take all the liberties. My decisions affected him, too. “Mila loves that company. It made a lot of money. I can think of a lot of good uses for that.”
His brow furrowed. “The hospitals and care homes.”
“Not just that.” I worked through the thoughts I’d been having, sharing with him what I’d been unable to put into words. “What if it did more? What if it could be made to repay for all the pain it caused? That doesn’t mean it will be easy. We still have to deal with the fallout from tonight and everything that happened before it. Wallace, our grandmother, a thousand other things. But I’m sick of being a victim of it. This time, it answers to me.”
Tyler’s expression resolved to something better. To pride. “Whatever ye want to build, I’m with ye.”
I hugged him hard.
“Take me to bed.”
He hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours, but we stripped those clothes off and fitted together like we were made to be joined.
In the sheets, he held me. “I need to hear it again.”
“I love you. I’m so in love with you.”
At last, the two of us released our hold on the world.
We slept knowing one thing for certain. Whatever happened tomorrow, we had this. And I wasn’t letting it go.
Chapter 50
Dixie
Marchant Haulage’s headquarters loomed over Deadwater Harbour, an ugly brownstone building many decades old. I’d once sat in a café on the opposite bank and watched our grandfather roll up, heartbroken that I couldn’t go talk to him.
Today, I was here to carry out his legacy.
Tyler slowed the car and peered forward. “There’s a crowd. Reporters. Plain clothes cops, too.”
I squinted at the thick body of people around the front doors. Some held banners with slogans about violence to women. “How can you tell the police?”
“Normal people chat to their companions or look at their phone. Cops watch people. They maintain sightlines. Plus they dress to blend in but usually fail. Shoes are a good bet.”
I pursed my lips and considered the individuals acting solo at the edges of the pack. “The guy in the black trainers?”
He smiled. “That’s one. They don’t go with his outfit but are good for chasing. Look now at body language. Anyone with their right hand loose and ready to go.”
“The woman with the high-waisted jeans? Her jacket is a bad match and she’s also in running shoes.”
“Got her.”
I shrank down, nerves crawling through me and fighting to take control. “What if they’re here to arrest me?”
“On what grounds?”
I flailed an arm. “I saw someone killed last night. What if someone told them it was me?”
Tyler didn’t laugh at me or tell me I was nuts. He only rolled a self-assured look my way. “They won’t.”
Okay, then.
Nothing about this felt good, despite my intentions. I’d wanted to walk in there with my head held high, but with the way I felt right now, I’d more likely need to be carried.
A figure appeared on the pavement and waved. Convict, signalling a spot for Tyler to park in. He backed into it, the car facing the right way for a quick escape.
