He looked confused. “For what?”
“Respecting her. She didn’t get that often.” Maybe CJ was the one who’d overreacted. Maybe it was that whole sibling rivalry thing and Braddock had just gotten caught in the middle.
She didn’t know how to explain to him or anyone else that sex, or any part thereof, wasn’t just sex to her. She needed to believe it meant something more than what she’d been exposed to growing up. That was why even one kiss with another woman, her sister no less, was such a betrayal. But she wasn’t sure she could explain that to him. Not and have it make sense. She vaguely recalled having screamed something along those lines at him.
“She wanted you to be proud of her,” Braddock told her.
Emotion swelled in CJ’s chest. Had she ever once told her sister she was proud of her? God, she didn’t think so. CJ closed her eyes. How could she have let her frustration and impatience come between them?
“She was enormously proud of you.”
CJ opened her eyes and looked at the man, some part of her needing to hear exactly that. “I don’t know why.” She cleared her throat. “I let her down.”
“You were always there for her.” Braddock smiled sadly. “That’s what she said. Whenever she needed you, you were there.”
CJ had to be stronger than this. She needed to be there for her sister now. “What’re we going to do about this?”
Braddock held her gaze, his wary. “Do you really understand what you’re suggesting?”
She nodded. “Without question.”
He stared back out at the city lights. “We have to tie Nash to the murders.”
CJ knew that wasn’t going to be easy. “Tyrone never touches the business. He stays clear, lets his goons do the dirty work. You won’t catch him in the act of dealing or pimping. He’s too smart for that.” Shelley had told her that ages ago, back when her sister had foolishly admired the bastard.
“Even the best makes a mistake now and then,” he offered, but it was no consolation. “We have to find a mistake.”
“How do we do that?”
Braddock apparently didn’t have a ready answer for that question.
“Look,” he finally said, “there’s a chance that Nash isn’t the one who killed Shelley or Banks. Like I told you before, the MO is a little sophisticated.”
He was confusing her. “Then if he didn’t do it, why are you focusing completely on him?”
“Because,” he explained patiently, “the murders happened in his territory. If Nash didn’t order them, he’s going to want to know who did. He’s not going to stand for someone coming into his territory and killing his people.”
She could see his point. “So if you watch Nash, he could lead you to the killer. Assuming he’s not the killer.”
“Exactly.”
“But,” she countered, “you’re always going to be one step behind him because none of his people are going to risk giving you the information you need, when you need it.”
“There is that.”
“Unless ...” The idea gained momentum so fast CJ could hardly find the proper words to say. “Unless I give him something he’s wanted for a very long time.”
“What the hell is that?”
“Me.”
Chapter Thirty
11:00 p.m.
Edward peered at the dark street beyond the parlor window. CJ had promised to stay at his home for the remainder of her visit. He sincerely hoped she would not be persuaded to do otherwise.
Each day he grew more and more concerned about her ability to make proper decisions. He had thought that she would surely come to terms with her sister’s death after the prime suspect’s murder. Instead she and that inept detective had found reason to think Banks wasn’t Shelley’s killer.
