A Chip and a Chair (Seven of Spades, #5)(103)

Of course, that was assuming he returned to work at all. Like Martine, he was currently on paid leave-but unlike Martine, he’d be required to undergo a thorough psychiatric evaluation before the LVMPD restored him to active status. The way things stood now, any halfway decent psychiatrist who spent five minutes with Levi would deem him unfit to be a crossing guard, let alone a homicide detective.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to get better when he couldn’t trust anyone, living in this pressure-cooker of nosy reporters, pitying colleagues, and constant reminders of Natasha’s betrayal. And who said that all of Utopia’s moles had been found? That network had existed long before the attacks; Freeman and Montoya could have missed someone. Even if they hadn’t, there was no guarantee that the FBI or the local government had cleaned house.

For fuck’s sake, he couldn’t even go back to his own apartment. He loved Las Vegas, but he couldn’t breathe here.

Slumping in his seat, Levi made the mistake of looking up, only to see Sawyer heading straight for him. He clutched his glass more tightly, wondering if it was too late to crawl under the table.

“Detective,” Sawyer said, stopping at the table’s edge. He was wearing an elegant black suit, perfectly tailored to flatter his body, and was holding a glass of red wine.

“Sawyer. What are you doing here?” Levi hadn’t seen Sawyer at the funeral. Then again, if Sawyer had arrived after Levi and sat behind him, there was no reason he would have. It wasn’t like he’d been monitoring the crowd.

“At the wake of one of the city’s new heroes? Someone from the firm had to make an appearance.” Sawyer’s lips quirked. “Especially after the debacle with Mr. Hatfield.”

A thrill of savage triumph ran through Levi. Hatfield, along with the rest of his cronies from the Whitby, was being held in the CCDC without bail. With the terrorism charges he was facing, all the money in the world wouldn’t save Hatfield from spending the remainder of his life in prison.

“Look,” Levi said, biting the bullet, “I’m sorry about-”

Sawyer held up his free hand. “Don’t apologize. You were doing your job. You were wrong, but that happens to everyone. Or so I’m told.”

Levi rolled his eyes, though he was relieved that Sawyer didn’t seem set on holding a grudge.

“Besides, now I’m known all over the country as the dashing lawyer who was wrongfully accused. There are worse forms of publicity. And the combined downfalls of Park and Hatfield have created a serious power vacuum at the firm.”

“A problem I’m sure you’re all too happy to solve.”

Shrugging one shoulder, Sawyer sipped his wine with obvious relish.

Since Sawyer wasn’t here to tell him off, Levi asked the question that had been gnawing at his mind for weeks. “You figured out Natasha was the Seven of Spades while I was interrogating you, didn’t you? When I told you the names of those early victims, you realized you’d discussed all of those cases with Ezra, and that it had to be her.”

Sawyer twirled the stem of his wine glass. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t think there was any way you’d believe me.”

Fair enough. Levi sighed, set down his own glass, and pushed it away.

“I just came over to express my condolences,” Sawyer said. “Learning the truth must have been devastating, and for her to die so soon afterward-well, I can’t imagine. Nobody should have to experience that kind of pain.”

Sawyer spoke frankly and with compassion, but not an ounce of pity. A lump formed in Levi’s throat as he realized that, while many people had told him they were sorry Natasha had been the Seven of Spades, not one had said they were sorry she’d died.

Maybe he wasn’t supposed to mourn her, to miss her even as he despised her, but he did. And it meant a lot for somebody to acknowledge that.

He had to clear his throat to manage a gruff, “Thank you.”

Sawyer nodded, then glanced to his right. “I’d better make myself scarce before that studly boyfriend of yours comes back. Be well, Detective.”

Without giving Levi a chance to respond, Sawyer vanished into the crowd. Seconds later, Dominic returned and placed two fresh drinks on the table.

“Was that Sawyer?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Levi picked up the Boulevardier, held it to his lips, and set it back down without taking a sip. “I think we should go. I’m obviously making everyone uncomfortable.”

Dominic didn’t look put out or grumble about how he’d just gotten new drinks. “Okay. Let me hit the bathroom first, though. No telling what traffic’s gonna be like.”

Suddenly overwhelmed by his love for this man, Levi gripped Dominic’s tie and pulled him in for a kiss. When they separated, Dominic grazed his thumb along Levi’s cheekbone before he left the table again. Levi got out his phone to text his parents, whom he’d lost in the crowd within the first couple of minutes, so they’d meet him outside.

And then what? Back to the hotel room that had become a cage? Back to having nothing to do all day except relive every mistake he’d ever made and obsess over what he could have done differently?

“Excuse me, Detective Abrams?”

Levi lifted his head to see a conservatively dressed woman standing where Sawyer had been minutes earlier. He didn’t recognize her, and she definitely wasn’t a cop.