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He didn’t move until she knelt before him, her palms flat on his knees. “You okay, Gabe?”
He looked up to find her blue-green eyes filled with sympathy. And understanding. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly.
She flipped her hands over so that her palms were facing up and he slid his hands into hers. “That’s a perfectly acceptable answer. You’ve had a rough couple of days.”
He swallowed hard, but his words still came out sounding rusty. “Thank you.”
She smiled up at him. “For what?”
“Knowing that I’d need you.” He hesitated, then, once again, figured why the hell not. He tugged on her hands. “Sit with me.”
She eyed the chair. “I don’t think there’s room for both of us.”
“I know.” He tugged on her hands and she rose willingly, then eased onto his knee. He put his arms around her waist and tugged her closer until her cheek was resting on his shoulder. She slid one arm around his neck and then went pliant against him.
“He didn’t cheat,” she whispered.
Gabe’s eyes burned. “No. And I’m ashamed to have thought he had.”
“No,” she soothed. “It was a normal reaction given the information. And I don’t think you really believed it.”
He considered her words, then realized that she was right. Again. “Not really, no.” He was quiet for the next few minutes, taking comfort from her presence, finally close enough to smell her hair without feeling awkward. Because it wasn’t awkward at all. It was... nice.
So very nice.
And her hair smelled like oranges.
“Why does your hair smell like oranges?” he asked, the words out before he could pull them back.
She chuckled. “It’s a shampoo for swimmers. Gets the chlorine out of my hair.”
He’d learned something new. “You swim?”
“Four or five times a week when I’m not on a case. Burke gives us a gym membership as an employee benefit. We’re more likely to catch the bad guy—and survive the bad guy—if we’re fit. I do the machines and swim laps and I’ve been taking Harper for swim lessons. Her therapist thought that getting out with other kids would be good for her.”
“Surviving the bad guy is preferable,” he murmured, making her chuckle again.
She didn’t say anything more as the minutes ticked by, allowing him to think. His brain slowed to a mostly normal speed, and then the truth hit him hard.
“Someone killed my father to stop him from investigating a murder. A murder his cop bosses didn’t want him solving.”
She stroked his hair and he hoped she’d never stop. “So it would seem. Now it’s up to us to finish what he started. I won’t rest until we find out who killed that woman during Katrina. I give you my word.”
He knew she would. “They threatened my mother.”
“They did.”
“I want them to suffer. I know that makes me sound vengeful.”
She leaned back far enough that he could see her face. “I’m good with vengeful, Gabe. You won’t hear any argument from me. You should want them to suffer. You should want them caught. You should want to see them rot in prison. And if you want to see them dead, I wouldn’t blame you.”
There was something in her tone, something in her eyes that gave him pause. “Did you want to see your brother-in-law in prison?”
“Oh yes. For the rest of his life.”
He hesitated. “Did you want to see him dead?”
She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, he saw staggering guilt. “Yes.”
