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Nathan recoiled as if I’d physically struck him. I damn sure felt like it, but it almost looked as if what I’d said had stung him worse than any slap ever could. What can I say? I’m not normally a morning person.
“Sandra, I just… I just wanted to be good to you. I wanted to do something nice—”
“Then you should have listened!” I raged. “You shouldn’t have put both our lives in jeopardy, and by extension, my fucking job!” This was a disaster. All my panic, my self-doubt, and the pent-up frustration I’d been carrying around with me exploded, showering Nathan with the hot ash of my rage. “You think the men out there didn’t notice two thousand dollars’ worth of flowers being carted up here? The whole damn neighborhood probably watched it happen! What do you think the Captain is going to say about this?” I shook my head, flinging off the blanket and pulling a shirt out of my duffel bag. “Just when I’d thought you’d started to change…”
“I don’t get how buying you gifts is a bad thing,” Nathan said, standing up and following me. “Okay, so I took a risk. But I wasn’t followed. I made sure of it. I…”
“You don’t get to hear me say ‘no,’ and then do it anyway,” I snarled, whirling on him so fast our noses almost collided. “That’s not being nice, Nathan. That’s being a fucking entitled asshole who thinks they know best, even when he oh-so-clearly doesn’t. That’s deciding that what you want to do matters a hell of a lot more than what others want. That’s the spoiled rich kid in you coming out to play, and I don’t think it’s fucking cute.”
“Sandra—”
“No! Absolutely not!” I turned back to my bag and stuffed my blanket into it. I didn’t give a shit that I was still in my pajama bottoms, and I didn’t care that there was a big part of me that just wanted to jump into bed with this man and fuck the life right out of him. I was done. I couldn’t do this. Staying here could cost me everything I’d worked so hard to achieve, and Nathaniel Hale wasn’t worth it.
I stepped out into the hall. “Hey!” I shouted. “Hey!”
I waited to see who opened their doors. Nathan once again followed me, staring at me from the threshold, his face losing all color as he realized what I was doing.
“Sandra, please… Please don’t go.”
I looked at him over my shoulder. “I can’t be here with you. I could never be with someone like you. And I won’t waste my time on an man who puts my life in danger on a fucking whim. I should have never…”
I looked away as one of the doors down the hall opened. Despite his casual attire, I recognized the officer behind it and strode up to him so anyone else listening wouldn’t be able to hear.
“The witness has been compromised. I’m heading back to the station for reassignment. He’ll need to be moved as soon as possible.” Before the officer could argue, I began to walk away from him. “Oh,” I threw over my shoulder, “and he’s got a personal credit card still on him. You might want to confiscate that before he puts anyone else’s life in danger.”
I didn’t even look at Nathan as I took the stairs two at a time to the shitty Honda waiting for me in the parking lot. I didn’t bother to see if he was still standing there where I’d left him as I backed out of the space and shifted into drive. I didn’t glance in my rearview mirror to see if he still looked as broken as he had when I first walked out.
Those were things I didn’t want to see, because I was sure that if I did, I wouldn’t be able to do what needed to be done.
Nathaniel Hale was bad news. I’d let my guard down for a man who didn’t give two shits about anyone but himself. I’d let his sweet nothings and handsome face cloud my judgment again and again. I’d let him convince me that I could be better with him around. I’d lost sight of myself, and for a cop, that was just as dangerous as letting a perp get the drop on you.
Hell, maybe it was even more dangerous.
I had to protect myself, and serving Nathan wasn’t going to let me do that. It was time to put some distance between us. I let him have his way with me once, and I couldn’t believe I’d almost made the same mistake twice…
Chapter 8
It had been days since I’d last seen Nathan Hale in person, and yet I couldn’t stop seeing him in my dreams.
My guilt-inspired nightmares no longer just involved my dead mother and sister. Now I saw Nathan with them too, the back of his head missing, brain exposed from a gunshot wound I might have prevented if I’d just stuck around.
“Are you happy?” he would ask me every time I closed my eyes for more than a few minutes. “Did you save yourself, detective?”
I’m the only one I actually can save, I thought as I slipped into the driver’s seat of my police cruiser. I normally drove a less obvious vehicle, but today, I was acting as part of the escort crew moving Nathan to his final destination before the trial began. It was a hotel downtown right near the courthouse with much nicer accommodations than the Peachtree Overlook had to offer, and probably better than the next safe house they’d moved him to after I’d left. At least he’d get one night in a comfortable bed out of this.
“Hey, Marco,” I called out through my open door, referring to the officer coming around the side of the building. My eyes almost immediately fell to his hand as he tried to stuff a white envelope into his pocket. I knew exactly what that was. Every cop did. There was a team of reporters just around the corner, and they would pay cash for the right kind of information for their next big story. A few bills in a plain white and everybody ate just a little better at night.
He stopped dead in his tracks and looked at me with the faintest flicker of fear. I frowned. “Marco—you’ve been talking to the press? We’re about to move a witness. What the hell did you tell them? If you put this move in jeopardy, I swear…”
The flicker died out. “Relax. I… uh…” he said, then held his finger to his lips. “I just spilled a little sugar for the nine o’clock news, that’s all. It was nothing serious though. Nothing about the witness... I swear.”
I nodded and watched as he walked back into the station through the revolving door. I knew a lot of cops were hard-up for cash these days, and I tried not to judge, though I thought talking to the press usually did more harm than good. There was a part of me that wondered what little police secret he’d just sold, but I supposed I could just wait a few days to see it on the front page. Journalists no longer cared about integrity—they were paid to sell headlines. I was sure we’d hear all about it in the next department meeting, and I couldn’t say what annoyed me more: the fact that Marco had sold us out, or knowing that I’d have to hear the Captain bitch about it.
But why did I care? Even if Marco told the press about Nathaniel Hale, maybe he deserved it. Nathan’s reputation was no longer any of my business. I wouldn’t out him for the secret he’d told me, as I could only imagine how that would detract from the prosecution’s case, but I also wouldn’t worry about whether or not he walked out of that courtroom looking like a saint. Everybody wanted the scoop on who was testifying against Mr. Wallace, and if that meant Marco could afford a few new pairs of shoes for his daughter, I wasn’t going to get in the way.
Still, I couldn’t help but shift uneasily as I thought about the witness transfer that was taking place today. It wasn’t just the bulky Kevlar vest making me uncomfortable. There’d be plenty of cops around to protect Nathan, but what if it wasn’t enough? What if he got hurt and couldn’t testify? What if he got hurt period? Wallace wasn’t known for being kind to witnesses. I was angry with Nathan, sure, and even more angry at myself for thinking that billionaire asshole could ever change his stripes, but I didn’t want anything bad to happen to him, either.
I convinced myself that was all it was—a healthy, professional obligation to an innocent—as I turned the key and listened as the cruiser stuttered to life. I put on my shades to block out the glare of the sun as another officer hurried out of the station’s doors.
This was a guy I didn’t recognize. Cutbacks meant forced retirement for some of th
e old guard, but this guy didn’t look like a rookie. Something about him—maybe the way he walked, or the scar on his face—set off warning bells. I was about to get out of the car when I saw him shake hands with Officer Kimball, a man I did know pretty well. From the expression on Kimball’s face, there was nothing to worry about.
You’re being paranoid, I told myself, letting out a breath to get rid of the jitters coursing through me. The department’s done everything right. You’ve made some mistakes, but getting out of there was the right move. You probably saved Nathan’s life, and you definitely saved your career.
Somehow, that didn’t feel like enough. It didn’t quell the part inside me that wanted to be part of his life, not just the woman who’d made it possible for him to have a shot at living it.
How could I ever be with a man so out of touch with reality? I thought to myself. There was no way I commit myself to someone who put his selfish needs above everyone else’s.
Maybe you should’ve given him more than seventy-two hours to change his entire personality. I took a moment to try and silence the little voice in my head as I shut my door and put my cruiser in reverse. Maybe you weren’t being entirely fair.
That wasn’t an issue I could contend with today. That was something that could be dealt with later after the transfer was complete. Until then, I needed to focus on keeping Nathan alive and putting Peter Wallace’s sorry ass away for good, and then maybe finding the guy who’d waltzed into Nathan’s mansion with a gas can and four groupies ready to kill me to get their way.
“Sounds like a plan,” I muttered out loud, blasting my A/C as I followed the other cruisers onto the highway.
There was no rush today. We were making good time, and Nathan was secure with two officers at the safe house. In fact, we’d been ordered to keep our lights and sirens off so as not to announce the fact that we were picking up the most valuable witness this trial had to offer. No need to broadcast our intent to any unsavory characters that might be waiting for the opportune moment to strike.
What happened next went against all of that wisdom. Kimball’s cruiser turned on his lights, broke left into the emergency lane, and took off ahead of us. I felt the hairs on my nape stand up.
Something isn’t right.
I picked up my radio. “Kimball,” I said, tuning into his frequency. “What’s up, man? I thought we were coasting, K.”
A voice crackled through the speaker. It was Kimball, but he didn’t sound like himself. “Change of plans. Captain Pierce’s orders.”
I frowned, waiting on him to end transmission. “K” was what we said to let the other officer know we were done speaking. It was simple protocol, and protocol was something Kimball always followed without question. As the seconds passed in silence, I felt a twinge of fear rising inside me.
