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Sir was a title I now associated with Grace. Hearing it out of another woman’s mouth in such a patronizing way made me want to snarl. Somehow I kept hold of the impulse as I considered how to word my reply.
“Farrah—” Cop number two said with a wince, playing his good cop part to the hilt. “I don’t think that’s necessary in this case. Mr. Carson has done so much for this community. Why, he’s practically a pillar.”
A pillar who’d just fucked his assistant. Ex-assistant, but the work relationship stigma would remain for some.
“We were intimate and fell asleep,” Grace said without faltering. “I can’t give you times of release or anything like that, as we didn’t know we’d need to note them for later court documents. But I’m guessing we fell asleep around two-thirty or three.”
My eyebrow lifted. So I guess Grace didn’t need my tact in this case.
“Well then, that’s enough.” Cop one flipped shut her notebook and tucked it in her pocket. “I feel pretty certain that this is just a case of kids thinking they can do a grab-and-run and didn’t expect to encounter the home owner. The fact that you shot one of them lifts it into another realm, and we’ll do a scan of local hospitals to see if anyone comes in tonight matching the profile.” She glanced at her silent partner. “We’ll also be in touch about that sketch.”
“And about any DNA matches,” I added.
She nodded after a moment, and I knew I’d not be told that information until—and if—an arrest was imminent. But there were always ways of finding out information. If you knew which weak spot to press. And how hard.
“So sorry about the disturbance this evening, Mr. Carson.” Cop number two shot a sidelong glance at Grace as the four of us walked toward their car. There was speculation in that look, and a barely contained smirk on his lips. “You too, Ms. Copeland.”
For reasons I couldn’t define, I slid my arm around Grace’s waist and tugged her into my side. She stumbled and it was only then that I realized she had giant fuzzy bunny slippers on her feet to go with her clingy pants and sweatshirt. Home clothes, though she had no home.
Because you stole hers right out from under her, even if you didn’t know it.
“Thank you,” she said to the cops when I didn’t respond. They pulled away a moment later, and we watched them go in shared silence. It wasn’t awkward. It was…full. As if we simply had so much to say that there was no easy way to start. So we said nothing at all.
Or maybe that was just me.
There was one point I wanted to make clear. One thing I wouldn’t budge on, no matter how much trouble she gave me. I might not have known Grace in this way for all that long, but I knew she would bristle at any attempts I made to shield her
. Her pride was an important consideration, just not at the possible expense of her safety.
“You’re not staying here tonight.”
“I have to clean up. There’s broken glass inside…and the blood.” She pressed her lips together. “I know it’s not my place. I know, okay? I also know you could have me arrested for trespassing if you wanted to.”
Anger spurted up inside me, hot and choking. Not just due to her deception in living at the house. Not even most of it. The bulk of my rage belonged to the assholes who’d dared to break in while we were together. We had so few of those moments. In truth, we’d had none in an actual bed since this had begun. And they’d intruded not only on the intimacy of that, but they’d damaged her home. My home. They’d put at risk something—someone—far more valuable than glass and brick and shingles, and I still didn’t know what to do with my fury. I needed an outlet.
She was too convenient.
“I have staff who can see to cleaning up the place. You’re not the hired help, Grace. What would your grandmother think of you living like this? Squatting in the maid’s quarters like a common—”
“Common what, exactly?” She whirled on me and jabbed a finger in my chest, something she was exceedingly fond of doing. “Common servant? Or common whore? I certainly traded sex for favors, didn’t I? We both know if I hadn’t been your lover, I’d be staring at the inside of a jail cell tonight.”
“Stop it.” Roughly, I gripped her upper arms. She grimaced and I released her to shove a hand through my hair. “You honestly think I would’ve brought you up on charges if I’d learned you were living here? Do you think I have no compassion at all?”
“I don’t know, Blake.” Her usage of my name was soft and intentional. It only came out when we were naked together, or just before or after. Now our bodies were long cool from each other, and she hadn’t returned to calling me sir or avoiding a personal address at all. “There’s a lot I don’t know about you.”
“Same.”
“The difference is I hid things out of self-preservation. You did not.”
“You know that, how, exactly?”
She threw back her head and laughed, the sound harsh in the stillness of the night. “The almighty Blake Carson doesn’t need to worry about that. Your very fine ass is protected at all times. You have enough money to insulate yourself until the cows come home. And that’s even assuming there’s anything you give a damn about in the first place.”
“I care,” I said, letting the words hang there between us until she spun away and clomped on her bunny slippers halfway up the drive.
I followed. It wasn’t chasing after her, if we were simply headed in the same direction.
At least that sounded good in my head.
