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The idea was nearly inconceivable that someone so vibrant, so passionate, so full of life could be dead.
Pull yourself together. You see life and death all the time. In your job, it’s what you deal with. Everyone dies. You can deal with this. You’ve got a wife and a kid on the way. And a damned case to solve. Get on with it, Reed.
He started the engine, dropped the Jeep into gear, then stopped. Even though he knew the truth, believed what he’d heard from Yelkis and had the information confirmed by Delacroix, he had to hear it for himself. He shoved the Jeep into park, cut the engine and got out of the Jeep. Pocketing his keys, he half jogged to the wide glass doors of the ER.
Maybe, just maybe this was all a mistake.
Or a bad dream.
He had to hear it for himself.
But even as he showed his badge to bully his way to see the doctor who had been tending to his partner, he knew deep in his gut it was an exercise in futility.
Detective Sylvie Morrisette, four times married, four times divorced, mother of two, with her west Texas drawl and caustic sense of humor was dead.
All because his damned wife didn’t know when to back the hell off.
CHAPTER 8
“Dead?” Nikki whispered, staring up at her husband from the bed. He’d walked into their bedroom and snapped on the bedside lamp to wake her and tell her the horrifying news. “Oh, God. Morrisette . . . she . . . died?” Suddenly numb inside, Nikki took a minute to process what he was saying, but she still couldn’t believe it. No . . . not sharp-tongued, balls-to-the-wall, take-no-prisoners Sylvie Morrisette. That was impossible. It had to be.
But Reed’s face said it all.
His tortured expression convinced her.
“Oh, dear God.” Her insides turned to lead. She scooted up against the pillows at the head of the bed and ignored the jab of pain in her shoulder and patted the edge of the mattress. “What happened?”
“Neurosurgeon couldn’t save her.” He closed his eyes, sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress sagging, then let his head fall into his hands.
“But . . . I mean . . .” She had no words, was cold to her core.
“They did their best, but she died while she was still in surgery. Blood pressure went down, heart failed, oh, hell, I don’t know exactly what the hell happened.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat, trying to grab on to the rags of his composure. “I’m not sure anyone knows yet. The thing is: She’s gone, Nikki. It’s over.”
Nikki’s heart broke. Not just for her grieving husband, but for Morrisette’s family, those close to her. “What about her kids?” she asked softly as beside her, nestled in the pillows, Mikado, who had been sleeping, blinked his eyes open and wagged his scruffy tail.
“With their dad.” Reed’s jaw tightened and he sniffed loudly. “Morrisette would’ve hated the thought of that.”
Nikki grew cold inside. “I’m . . . I’m so sorry.”
He lifted his head, his gaze hard, his eyes red as he looked at her. “You should be.”
A beat. Just long enough for her to process.
Her throat closed and she blinked back tears. Shaking her head, she whispered in disbelief, “You’re . . . ? You’re blaming me?”
He seemed about to snap back at her but somehow held his tongue, his jaw working. For a second she thought he would point out her flaws—stupid curiosity, her insatiable need to follow a story and her carelessness of falling into the river. As if she were the direct cause of his partner’s death. Instead he didn’t say a word. Just stared at her with grief-riddled eyes that, if she looked close, simmered with a quiet, condemning rage.
“I didn’t . . . I mean . . . yeah, I shouldn’t have been there and yeah, I slipped into the river, but I was perfectly fine. I’m a good swimmer. I could’ve—”
“Morrisette had no idea what kind of swimmer you were. She saw a person in danger, a person being swept away, a person who could drown, and she reacted like the good cop she is . . . er, was! No, Nikki, you didn’t personally drag her into the river; you were just the eager, unwitting bait.”
“No . . . I—”
He cut her off. “Detective Sylvie Morrisette took an oath to protect and serve, and that was what she was doing when she died! Protecting you.”
She gasped. “Jesus, Pierce.”
He stood then, towering over the bed, staring down at her. “I’m not blaming you. Not directly. But if you hadn’t sneaked into the crime scene against department warnings and orders, this all wouldn’t have happened and Sylvie Morrisette would be alive right now, working the case, bitching about her exes, all four of them, and being able to be the good mother and officer she always strived to be.” He squeezed his eyes shut and threw back his head, willing himself to gain control. “No,” he said, blinking up at the ceiling. “It’s not your fault that she’s dead, but because of your actions she took a risk and ended up losing her life.”
