"No, Christian, you don't understand. For me, this job is about putting things right. It's about justice." She leaned toward him, touching a finger to his jawline. Eventually, she drew him back.
Yet by the look in his eyes, he still searched for an understanding. "After all the savagery that you see day after day, doesn't it chip away from who you are? The effects must be permanent. How do you deal with that?"
She felt certain his thoughts no longer reflected his view of her job. The emotion in his words ran much deeper, centered on his own grief. She could identify with his sentiments. The death of her father had robbed her of the innocence of her teenage years. In many respects, they had so much in common. Her connection to him was undeniable.
"But the effects don't have to be terminal. At some point, you gotta let go. Move on. The loss of my father pales in comparison to your tragedy, but I do understand some of what you've gone through."
"Then understand this." He reached for her hand, enfolding it in his. "You putting your life on the line, it's painful for me to watch. Please. I'm asking you to reconsider."
She ached hearing his heartfelt plea. With anyone else, she might've dismissed the concern. But gazing into Christian's eyes, it was nearly impossible. Nearly.
"You and I both have to remain strong. Don't you want to know who's doing this?" She squeezed his hand. Focusing on the facts of the case, maybe she could distract him from his apprehension for her personal safety. "Somehow this is all connected to your past. We just gotta find the key, that's all."
She caught a flicker in his eye. Something she said must have hit the mark.
"You wanted a sign of good faith?" With a pained expression, he jutted his chin down the pier, back toward the clubhouse. "That key you found in Mick's office. It probably belongs to a locker in there. Ask the old man at the marina office."
His words left her stunned. Then he stood, leaving her with her mouth open and squinting toward his silhouette, shielding her eyes with a hand.
"Wait. Where are you going?"
He didn't answer. But his next comment shook her.
"Just let me know what ballistics has to say."
As Christian turned his back, her mind grappled with her heart. The cop in her wondered how he knew what would be in the locker, suspecting he'd tampered with evidence. But the woman in her wanted to blindly trust him. He must have sensed her inner turmoil. He stopped, and with barely a glance over his shoulder, he spoke in a hushed tone.
"The old man was with me. He can tell you that I did nothing more than look in the bag."
For once, she was thankful not to be under the scrutiny of his eyes. It gave her the courage to ask the question she'd had on her mind.
"She's gone, isn't she?" Standing, her arms clutched across her chest, Raven held firm to her link with him. "I've tried her cell number countless times. Fiona's left you to deal with this, hasn't she?"
No words were necessary. The betrayal in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. Lowering his head, he put on his dark glasses and walked away. She found herself hoping he'd stop and turn around.
But that never happened.
Christian had given her more than just a sign of good faith. He'd made himself vulnerable to her investigation.
"Well, I'll be damned," she whispered.
By the time Raven got home, it was after dark. She flipped the light switch and elbowed her way through the kitchen door, carrying a large cardboard box. With a toe, she kicked the door closed behind her, then traipsed into the living room. After setting her burden on a coffee table, she shrugged out of her holster, placing her Glock beside the box. The weight of it lingered on her shoulder. Dim light from her kitchen bled into the small living room as she collapsed onto her sofa, feeling her exhaustion.
A long night lay ahead. She planned to keep working, focusing on the archived box about the Dunhill assassination and a selection of her father's old case files. With so much at stake, her curiosity far outweighed fatigue. The shadows and the comfort of the sofa enticed her to close her eyes, taking a short mental holiday. It had been quite a day.
Just as she nodded off, in that space between reality and dreams, a soft knock at her kitchen door woke her. Sluggishly, she rose off the couch and went to the door, taking a peek through the small window. With a grin, she tugged on the doorknob and gazed upon her partner for a day, still sporting his signature grin.
"Hey, Sam. Come on in." Stepping aside, she let her family friend through the door. "On duty again? You gotta be one tired hombre."
"No, baby girl, not tonight. This old man is wrung out. Just came by to make sure you're settled in for the night." He stood near her kitchen table. His body language told her he wasn't going to stay long. By his changed expression, he was all business. "Any word on that rifle you found?"
"I don't expect to hear anything from ballistics until tomorrow. With any luck, the striations from that H & K will match the bullet retrieved from the body of Charles Dunhill."
"What? You don't have enough to do, you gotta reopen the old Dunhill case? That was a very splashy headliner some twenty-plus years ago," he teased. "If you can pin this on Blair as the shooter, then you got a fresh lead. You might be able to trace who gave the order on the hit."
Normally, the cop in her would have been thrilled by the discovery. Solving such a high-profile case wouldn't hurt her career, but she knew the implications. As with any murder, the investigation would start with the person having the most to gain from his death. That person was obvious. Fiona Dunhill had gained a great deal. Even if she had nothing to do with her husband's killing, the woman's public reputation would be sullied by the new inquiry, dredging up the ugly innuendos. A nightmare revisited.
On the other hand, if she were guilty . . . The thought wrenched Raven's heart. Her duty would obligate her to build a case and arrest the woman. The courts would do the rest. If she and Christian had any hopes of a relationship, surely they'd be dashed now. How would they weather such a devastating storm—no matter what the outcome? She felt certain that Christian had been protecting Fiona, making his show of good faith in turning over the contents of the locker all the more astonishing. Why the sudden change of heart? So many questions bubbled to the surface.
"What's the matter, honey? I thought you'd be more excited."
"Oh, nothing, Sam. Guess I'm just tired, that's all." She rubbed her forehead, feeling a stress headache coming on.
"Well, that's my cue to leave. You got a big day tomorrow. Get some rest, honey girl." He yanked the door open, standing near the threshold. "The troops are positioned outside, like last night. As soon as I get some rest, I'll be back at it tomorrow. Maybe we can finish our talk about your daddy's old case files."
"Yeah, sounds good, LT." Standing on her toes, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek. His face reddened to the color of his hair. "Thanks."
"Good night, darlin'. Don't spend the whole night readin'. Getting your rest is important, too." He gently tapped a knuckle to her chin, then walked toward the street. From the shadows, she heard him say, "I'll tell your watchdogs that you'll be up late."
Locking the door behind him, she leaned against it, folding her arms across her chest. Her eyes found the cardboard boxes in her living room. Feelings of exhilaration and dread skirmished in her brain. No matter what she discovered, the foundation of Christian's life would be undermined. In that moment, she understood the courage it took for him to open his past to her. But the responsibility weighed heavy.
"I just hope you're not gonna hate me when this is all over," she prayed, her voice a whisper.
The beam of the flashlight strafed his position. He held his breath, willing himself not to react. At one point, the cop stared right at him. With nerves of steel, he remained calm, confident he wouldn't get caught. He melded into the shadows like a ghost. In such a quiet, unsuspecting neighborhood, the dark side of his nature took control, a predator among sheep.