Busted

Chapter Twenty-nine

For the longest time, he didn’t speak.

Then, just when Ressa was about ready to pull away—no, run away—Trey cupped her face in his hands.

He pressed a kiss to her brow, one to each eye and then brushed his lips over her cheeks. When he pressed his mouth to hers, she almost choked on the sob.

“You did the only thing you could have done,” he said softly.

“I—”

“You did the only thing you could have done.”

When he looked at her, his eyes were intense, that surreal blue green all consuming. “I can understand that she was probably scared of this guy. He probably had her convinced that she had to lie. I can’t imagine how she felt, or what she went through. But he’d killed somebody. She wanted to take her baby and run off with this guy. What else were you going to do?”

She grabbed at his wrists. “I didn’t even try to look for another way out. I just called them. All I could think about was Neeci. I didn’t think about Kiara or what might happen. What does that make me?” she demanded.

“I think it makes you a mom,” he said softly.

She sucked in a breath.

His thumb brushed over her mouth. “You reacted out of a need to take care of a baby you loved.”

“I’m not her mother,” she said. “What I did caused Neeci to lose her mother.”

“What you did protected her—her mother, or at least the woman who gave birth to her—sounds like she’s already lost.”

“I . . .” She stopped. Slowly untangling her hands from his wrists, her legs from his, she stood up. “I’d do it again. In a heartbeat. I told Mama Ang what I did and I lied to her face when I said I was sorry, but I’d do it again.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less. Honestly, Ressa . . . do you think that little girl would have been happy with Kiara? Shit, we can set that aside completely—would she have been safe?”

“No.” She didn’t even have to think it through.

“Then I’ll say it again—you did the only thing you could do.”

He got up and rubbed his hands over his face before he tipped his head back.

“Fuck,” he snarled.

“Trey, I . . .”

He just shook his head and held up a hand. “Nothing’s changed,” he said softly. “Not for me. But . . .”

He blew out a breath and moved to the closet.

She stared at the black raven that stretched out over his back, watched the wings flex as he reached up to grab a box down from the shelf.

“Your sister . . .” When he looked back at her, his face was grim. “Her last name isn’t MacAllister or Bliss, is it?”

“What?” Confused, she shook her head. “No, it’s . . .”

“Oxford,” they said it at the same time.

Ressa sucked in a breath. “How do you . . . ?”

She stopped as he moved to the bed. He took the lid off the box.

“The night of my wife’s funeral, I couldn’t come home,” he said, taking out a folder and flipping it open, then closing it. “I couldn’t stand the thought of sleeping in the bed I’d shared with Aliesha—not without her.”

Ressa’s gaze involuntarily moved to the bed they’d shared.

“It’s new.”

She looked back at him.

“I donated the old bedroom suite a few years ago. I wasn’t even able to sleep in here for almost a year—used a guest bedroom. Then I decided I’d avoided the truth long enough . . . it was hard. I had to go through it twice . . .”

He found something—a letter. When he opened it, something fell out.

“Twice?” she asked, distracted by whatever it was he held.

“Yeah.” He looked over at her now. “I’d gone out. Went to a hotel and rented a room, then hit the closest bar. Got shitfaced drunk—I don’t remember much. Much—shit. I don’t remember any of it. The next day . . .”

He paused and looked away. “I woke up in the hospital. Travis was there. I’d forgotten. For a few minutes, I’d forgotten that Aliesha was dead.”

“Why—” She stopped the question when her voice cracked. Holding up a hand, she took a deep breath and then forced the question out. “Why were you in the hospital?”

“I think you already know, Ressa.”

Ice replaced the blood in her veins. Turning away, Ressa shoved her fists up by her temples, shaking her head. “No.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“You—” She spun around, questions and denials and rage choking her.

And he held out the letter.

She almost dropped it when she caught sight of a name on it.

Mr. Barnes

My partner and I understand that you didn’t want to file a report regarding the events of . . .

Her heart lurched as they landed on the date.

Most of the letter turned into a blur but her heart froze as she read her cousin’s name and read a brief, concise version of the charges that were placed against Kiara for the thefts she’d been involved in—thefts, and several sexual assaults.

A few of the victims had filed reports.

And Christo had kept more than a few pieces of evidence . . . souvenirs that had ended up weighing very heavily against him and Kiara.

Your wallet was found among the items recovered. As it had a picture of you and your wife and was monogrammed with your initials, I feel fairly confident it’s yours.

Kiara Oxford and Christo Klemons were both found guilty in separate trials. Christo matches the description of the man you were seen to be fighting with the evening of the events.

I realize this happened at an awful time for you. I hope this doesn’t add to your grief, but offers some closure. If you’d like to claim your belongings, please contact me.

It was signed Detective Julie Maynard.

Julie . . . She barely remembered her, but she knew her.

Julie had been Hank Moritz’s partner.

Two of the detectives involved in the case against her cousin.

The letter fell.

She didn’t even notice.

“It was you,” she said, the words a flat monotone. It didn’t even sound like her voice.

“Looks like.”

She rubbed at her mouth, her fingertips feeling oddly numb. “How . . . I . . . I don’t . . . why are you telling me this?” she whispered.

“Why?”

*   *   *

The haunted look in her eyes would haunt him.

She wanted to know why.

It was now or never, he realized. Either what they had was strong enough, or it wasn’t.

He closed the distance between them and didn’t know if it was a good sign or not when she didn’t move. She looked trapped, frozen in place.

Wrapping her in his arms, he pulled her up against him.

“The why is easy.” There, he pressed his brow to hers, held her gaze. “I love you. It started months ago . . . seeing you with Clayton, watching you act like you weren’t trying to watch me even while I was doing the same. I think I was already half in love with you the first night we were together.”

“You . . . What . . .”

She twisted away and he had no choice but to let her.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?” He kept his voice level, stayed where he was, although what he wanted was to grab her, hold her.

She spun back around and stared at him, eyes half wild. “Don’t do that—don’t sound all reasonable right now. I’m terrified. I’m confused . . . and I’m mad at her all over again. Don’t sound . . .”

She blinked and shook her head. “You make it sound like that’s all that matters.”

“It is.” He reached out, traced his fingers along the bow of her upper lip. “I love you. For me, that is what matters. And I don’t know about you, but if the two of us can work through this? I’d say we can handle just about anything else life throws at us.”