Page 27
He was going to pay for saying that.
“What’s up?” He closed the office door behind him, the heavy quiet surrounding him.
Propped on the desk, he listened while Sealy reviewed what he’d learned from the informant he’d been working a couple of days. Twisting sideways, he grabbed a notepad and jotted out a quick list, changes in assignments, points to make sure all his teams knew. Long minutes later, Sealy rang off, and Tick snapped a photo of the list.
He tucked his phone in his pocket and opened the door to the foyer. Angry voices, quarreling in Italian, drifted from the family room. He paused in the kitchen.
Her attention on the television, she curled into one end of the couch. He settled next to her and picked up his laptop.
She leaned into him, gaze focused on the screen. The couple there faced off across an elegant breakfast table. Tick eyed the man, his face set in dark, stubborn lines.
Yeah, that guy might not be the only dumbass in the room.
He opened his mouth and paused. What was there even to say? He cleared his throat, a knot in his gut.
“We should block out a weekend soon.” She turned her clear green gaze on him, lowering her knee to slide her foot to the floor. “When was the last time we did that?”
His stomach hollowed out. “Folly Beach before my birthday.”
“Doesn’t count because we were with my family.”
“Then Turks and Caicos back in May.”
“Eight months. We need the time. Pick a weekend on your calendar and close it out.” She studied him, gaze steady and serious. “What we do with the Bureau is important. What we do together is more important, Tick.”
“I know that.” The quiet reminder felt like an indictment, burrowing under his skin and leaving a trail of uneasy guilt. He sighed and shifted closer on the couch, arm stretched along the back. Her attention slid to the television, the female lead crying as she confronted the main male character.
He stilled. The melodrama, the small lines about her eyes and mouth . . . yeah, she was coming off something hard at work. And she hadn’t mentioned work in at least a couple of days. Maybe not since last week, before Louise.
The realization hit dead center of his chest. He’d abandoned her, and not just in the bedroom. The uneasy guilt transformed to a sick twist in his gut. Snapping the laptop shut, he laid it aside.
With the lightest of touches, he traced L-E-C on her upper arm. “What are you working on this week?”
“Beatty has a couple of murders HPD requested assistance with. They thought it was related to trafficking, but . . . I don’t think so.” With her hand on his thigh, she slanted a wry glance at him.
He grimaced. “Don’t look at me like that. Know I haven’t been clocked in like I should.”
“Calvert.” The wry note extended to her patient voice. “We both know a partnership involves unequal giving at times.”
“I can’t . . . I can’t abandon you just because I’m having a hard time.” He swallowed hard. “Or them.”
Her gaze dipped to where her body curved into his chest. “This is not what I’d call abandoned.”
“Physically is not what I meant, and you know it.” A hint of irritation burned through him.
Her low sigh vibrated into him. “This is not about Louise, really, or work.”
“No.” Getting the syllable out was like gritting broken glass.
With her gaze on the television, she rolled one shoulder in an easy shrug. “The loss simply opened the old wounds when work already had your bandwidth stretched.”
He clenched his jaw so hard his temple ached. “Not your place to fix me.”
“I’ve never tried. You don’t need fixing, Lamar.” Her voice remained even and calm, almost cool, a hint of her Bureau tone making an appearance. “You need room to heal and have never had it.”
He rubbed a hand down his face.
“I know you don’t want to.”
