Dirty Love (Dirty Girl Duet #2)(47)

I don’t know what’s going on here, but whatever it is, my friend doesn’t want me to know yet. And right now, I can live with that.

“Uh, yesterday. Not yet on the autopsy. I . . . just wanted to see if you were up for grabbing lunch. But we can do it tomorrow or whenever.”

Banner nods enthusiastically. “Tomorrow’s good. I want all the details. Call me?”

She’s already pushing the door shut when I agree and turn for the elevator.

Maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe today isn’t real. How can any of this be real?




Banner’s doorman waves down a cab, and I climb in. Creighton’s address comes out of my mouth instinctively. When in doubt, I run to my big brother.

Holly opens the door and draws me in for a hug over her huge belly.

“How you doin’, girl? You okay?”

I shake my head when Holly pulls back. “No. I—I’m not. Is Crey here?”

“No, he’s at the office taking care of a few things. I expect him back in a few hours.”

Hours. I don’t want to wait minutes to tell someone what’s bottled up in my head. I question the wisdom of laying this on a pregnant woman, but Holly’s one of the most grounded people I know.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course. Anything. But if you need to hide a body, we’re gonna have to call your brother. I’m not allowed to lift anything heavy.”

Choking out a laugh, I follow as she leads me into the living area and pulls me down onto the couch beside her. As soon as we’re seated, she pauses. “Should I have grabbed the moonshine? Because you look awfully serious, Greer.”

I can’t contain it any longer. I blurt out the words. “Cav might have killed someone.”

Both of Holly’s dark eyebrows shoot toward her hairline. “Come again?”

“I think Cav killed someone. And framed someone else for the murder.”

To her credit, Holly doesn’t freak out. “You’re gonna have to start from the beginning.”

The story pours out of me. The prisoners’ rights case. Rikers. Dom Casso being taken in for questioning. And then what Stephen Cardelli told me. With every word, I fight to hold back the impending tears.

Holly must hear it in my voice because she reaches for a box of tissues on the side table and sets them between us. “Well, hell, that’s a lot to take in on decaf coffee.”

“I don’t . . . I don’t know what to believe.” I feel like I’m fighting for every breath.

Holly lays a hand on my knee. “It’s going to be okay, Greer. If I learned anything over the last year, it’s not to jump to conclusions. If you’re thinking of running, don’t. You need to know the truth first.”

A vision of that iconic scene in A Few Good Men runs through my head. The one where Jack Nicholson is yelling about Tom Cruise not being able to handle the truth.

Can I handle the truth? I squeeze my eyes shut and bite the inside of my cheek. I don’t want to put the possibility out into the universe, but the words come anyway.

“What if Cardelli is telling the truth?”

Holly nods, as if lining up what she’s going to say in her own head. “So what if he is? Can you live with it?”

My stomach revolts, twisting into knots and flipping in a double back handspring. Good to know one part of my body is capable of that.

Could I live with that?

“I don’t know. I mean . . . could you?” My voice sounds hoarse and shredded, like I gargled a mouthful of broken glass on the way up here.

“I’d be surprised if your brother hasn’t killed someone. Maybe even be a little disappointed,” Holly deadpans.

“Oh my God.” A wave of giggles escapes me. It’s like someone cued the comic relief.

Holly waits until I’m holding my gut and using the tissues to wipe away the tears of laughter.

“Seriously, though, you have to be able to answer that question for yourself. If by some chance what that guy said is true, you need to walk into that conversation with Cav knowing what you can and can’t live with. You love him.”

The last part is a statement rather than a question, but I reply anyway.

“Yes.”

“Do you think he’s capable of something like this?”

That one I don’t have an answer to. “I don’t know.”

“In your heart of hearts, you have to have a sense of him.”

I lace my fingers together and squeeze. “He’s a good man. I don’t care what Creighton says about him. I know that to my soul.”

“Then go with your gut on this. Do you think you’d fall in love with a cold-blooded killer?”

The weight of her question presses me back into the cushions of the leather sectional. Trusting my gut has had varying amounts of success. Okay, that’s a lie, mostly crap results. But with Cav, I don’t have anything else I can trust . . . except my heart.

“I couldn’t. Could I?”

Holly doesn’t answer me. At least, not right away. “I guess he’s the only one who can answer that question for you.”

I reach out and clamp a hand over her knee. A little too hard, so we both jump.

“Jesus, Greer. What the heck?”

“Sorry, but I need you to promise that you’re not going to tell Creighton any of this. Not that I was here. Not about Cav. Or Cardelli. Nothing. I don’t want to come between you, but you can’t say anything. Swear to me that you won’t. Because if this is all a load of jailhouse bullshit, Creighton can’t ever know I considered it seriously. I need a sister-in-law oath in blood.”