Page 77 of Tough Justice

Still shellshocked, Deck didn’t know what bothered him more, that his mom was online dating after all this time or that she’d suggested he do it, too.

Or maybe it was because the comment made him think of Tori.

They hadn’t spoken since that night in the hospital. She hadn’t come to his room again, and he hadn’t made any effort to reach out to her. He’d made sure to keep busy, going to the doctor’s office for checkups, plowing through PT, then rehabbing at home. When he wasn’t working out, he’d been catching up on the police reports about the attempt on his life. The second attempt. But he couldn’t deny there was a gaping hole in his heart.

“Your mom’s right,” Evan said between crunches. “You really have been cranky.”

Deck shot his friend a duh look. “Nearly getting assassinated will do that to a guy.”

“You sure that’s all it is?” Brett stood and returned his weights to the rack.

No. “Yeah.” He gave Thor a quick pat then stood and grabbed the bottle of over-the-counter meds sitting on the table. It was a compromise, of sorts. He popped two, washing them down with a swig of water.

Compromise. Not for the first time, he considered one of Tori’s parting shots. Was he really too hung up on the past?

“Have you talked to her?” Brett asked. There was no need to specify who her was, and they all knew it.

“No.” But he missed her more than he thought possible. In fact, he missed everything about her. Her quick wit, her laughter when he’d taught her how to play foosball. And making love to her. The connection they had was off the charts, physically and emotionally. “It’s better this way. She can’t handle my job, and I’m not about to leave the DEA.” Then there was that other issue still hovering in the air. She still hadn’t been cleared of diming out their operation to a drug dealer.

“Maybe you don’t have to,” Brett suggested. “Didn’t you say Rivera was retiring? You’ve got enough time on the job to put in for ASAC.”

Deck shook his head. “I’m not a desk guy. I’d go nuts pushing paper for the rest of my career. Besides, I can’t imagine not working with Thor.”

Hearing his name, Thor went to Deck’s side and sat, looking up at him.

“Is it really just about the job?” Evan asked. “Only Rivera actually thinks she may have ratted out the Loveland op. Brett and I were talking. We don’t believe it.”

Deck didn’t believe it, either. He never really had.

“As for being pissed she wanted to give you pain meds, what did you expect her to do?” Brett added. “Watch you writhe around and punch another hole in your lungs? We were there.” He looked at Evan. “You were in bad shape, man. If the decision were left up to me, I might have done it anyway, to hell with what you wanted.”

Evan’s brow furrowed. “I’d do anything to save someone I loved.” He didn’t have to say who he was referring to. His missing sister.

Deck was reminded of the last Christmas before Marianne died. Like typical teenage siblings, they’d fought over something stupid that morning, but he loved her anyway. He would have done anything to save her. Anything. In fact, hadn’t he?

Only weeks before she died, he and his parents had essentially kidnapped her and forced her to go to rehab. Against her will.

He grabbed a towel from the table and slung it around his neck. Tori was all the more trustworthy because she’d listened to his wishes, even when it clearly broke her heart. Could he say the same thing? No.

Another image came to mind, him tracking Tori down and begging for forgiveness. But to what end? He would always be a DEA agent. They’d already had that conversation. Like their relationship, it was dead and buried.

Deck felt sick to his stomach. I fucked up. “Tori and me…not in the cards. But the least I can do is get her off Rivera’s radar.”

Evan’s brows rose. “How?”

“Did you guys read the interview report of the guy Thor took down in the park?” His friends nodded. “What did you think?”

“It sucked,” Evan said.

Brett nodded. “Piss poor. Totally superficial.”

Exactly what Deck had thought. “Up for a detour before lunch?”

…

The cell gate clanged shut behind them. A uniformed guard led Deck, Brett, and Evan to one of the prisoner interview rooms. They’d had to pull some strings, but since Ricky Beauchamp didn’t have a pot to piss in, he hadn’t made bail. For some stupid reason, Beauchamp was representing himself, so Deck hadn’t needed authorization from defense counsel to talk to the guy. Beauchamp could still tell him to pound sand, but Deck wanted a go at him anyway.

Another guard led Beauchamp into the room. Wearing shackles, he shuffled in before sitting at the table opposite Deck. The guard ran a chain through his cuffs, securing it to the table. Something about those orange jumpsuits always seemed to suck the life out of a prisoner, and Beauchamp was no different. Deck already knew the guy was only thirty-one, but the bags under his eyes and the deeply etched lines fanning his tight lips made him look fifty.