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“I accused Libby of getting Finn killed.”
He tried to move past her, but she put her arm out to stop him, and he chanced a look at her face. She didn’t look angry or disgusted or even disappointed. She looked…like she wanted to understand.
“Did she? Get Finn killed?”
He almost bit off a quick confirmation out of habit, but the acid died on his tongue.
“No.” He shook his head, staring over her shoulder. “No, I think I’m the one that did that.”
“How?" Her voice was soft.
“It doesn’t matter.”
She placed a hand on his cheek and forced him to meet her gaze. “It matters to me.”
“It was impossible to gauge how many guys DiMarco might have had in his house at any one time. There was never a pattern, so we made an educated guess. We guessed wrong.”
He spoke quickly, clinically. It was the only way he could tell the story. “Finn had a team on the second floor. They were overwhelmed. I had a team on the first floor with two guys shooting at us after backing us into a dead-end hallway. Brogan thinks we could have overpowered them and gotten upstairs to help Finn.”
He took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to take a run at them and lose any men in the process. By the time we took them down and made it upstairs, it was too late. Finn had been stabbed. We rushed him home, and he died on the dining room table. Libby was the last person to talk to him.”
“And you wanted it to be Libby’s fault so you didn’t have to blame yourself?”
Relief flooded his chest. Someone finally understood when it felt like no one had even bothered to see him or his pain or his guilt for months.
He reached up to cup her cheek, brushing his thumb over her skin. “Yeah. Something like that.”
She turned her face and pressed a kiss against his palm before taking his hand and leading him into the hallway. She didn’t offer any platitudes about how it wasn’t his fault and he shouldn’t blame himself. He wouldn’t have wanted them anyway, and he wasn’t sure if she knew that or if she didn’t think he deserved to hear them. The thought of it being the latter was like a knife twisting in his gut.
When she moved to drop his hand as they neared the bottom of the stairs, he tightened his grip, ignoring her startled glance. Evie stood in the foyer, fidgeting restlessly with the hem of her sweater.
“There you are.”
“Where do you need us?” Viv asked, rubbing a soothing hand up and down Evie’s arm.
“I think we’re just going to set up some easy canapés in the solarium. It’s far away from the…from the dining room. And I don’t want to pressure her to stay for an entire meal if she isn’t up for socializing that long.”
“That makes sense. Do you need any help with the food?”
Evie shook her head. “The staff is handling it. I think I’m just looking for moral support so I don’t pass out.”
Viv shot Aidan a worried glance. He’d never seen Evie this panicked before. He had to admit it made him uneasy.
“Where’s Declan?”
“He’s on his way home from the office. He had an early meeting he couldn’t cancel.”
“What’s bothering you, Evie?”
Evie glanced at Aidan and nibbled her bottom lip before turning to Viv. “What if she hates me?”
“Why would she hate you?” Aidan wondered.
“I don’t know. It hasn’t exactly been a banner year since I came back to Philadelphia. I mean, look who I’m talking to.” She gestured widely at Aidan. “You hate me more than anyone.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Viv said quickly.
“Well, there’s no love lost, that’s for sure. And I just…I don’t want to lose her. Not after what happened to Maura. I can’t.”
