Cuff Me(87)

They’d shifted verbs. Like to love. But Vin didn’t bother to correct his brother. Nor did he confirm his brother’s assessment.

But it was spot-on.

It was the reason he froze when she’d asked if he could love her. If he could ever do forever with her.

He wanted that. Of course he wanted it. Had always wanted it just about as long as she’d been a part of his life.

But he didn’t know how to put it out there. Because he knew that if it was one-sided… if she didn’t love him back, or changed her mind…

He didn’t think he could bear it.

“Vin, listen—” Anth said, sitting forward.

Vincent groaned. “You’re going to go Big Brother on me, aren’t you?”

Anthony ignored this and shifted attention to Luc. “Luca. When you told Ava how you felt about her. How’d it feel?”

“I nearly shit my pants,” Luc said cheerfully, shoveling in another bite of chili.

Anth nodded. “Same with me and Maggie. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, putting myself out there like that. And the best. Easily the best. Dad. What about with you and Mom?”

Tony blew out a breath and looked away. All three of his sons looked at him, waiting.

“It was a long time ago,” he said with a wave of his hand.

“Dad,” Luc said in a coaxing tone. “Do it for our emotionally stunted Vinnie here…”

His father’s eyes flicked to Vincent’s for a fraction of a second. “I threw up. Before I told her how I felt. And after.”

“There you go, big guy,” Anth said with a clap on his dad’s shoulder. “You see, Vin, there’s no such thing as easy. You’re not damaged. You’re not broken. You’re just male.”

Vincent scratched his cheek. They made it sound so easy.

Also, terrifying. Lots of body functions involved.

“If you can’t tell her, how about you start by telling us?” Luc said. “Do you love Jill?”

Vin forced himself to look his brother in the eyes. “Of course.”

Luc smiled. “See? Easy.”

Vin glared.

“Look,” Anth said, “the worst that can happen is she guts your insides. Leaves you a hollow shell of a man, but according to you, you’re already there, so—”

“Okay,” Vin said, standing before Luc could stop him. “Good talk, guys.”

“You going after her?” Luc called after him.

Had his father not been there, Vincent would have shot the finger over his shoulder, but instead he just kept walking.

“I better see that girl at brunch on Sunday!” Tony bellowed.

Vin didn’t respond to that either.

They’d given him plenty to think about. And a part of him knew they were right.

But the other part of him was itchy. Tense. As though something were wrong, but that he couldn’t place his finger on.

He rolled his shoulders, tried to shake it off as he walked back toward the precinct, but the feeling got worse.

Maybe it was all this talk about Jill, and the way that they’d left things. The things he needed to tell her…

He pulled out his cell phone and slowed to a stop in the middle of the busy sidewalk as he saw that he had two missed calls from her.

Vin hadn’t heard from her in days, and she’d called him twice in a twenty-minute span.

The itchy feeling grew worse. The way it did when he knew he was close to the killer, but didn’t know the who.

He resumed walking and called Jill back.

It rang a handful of times before voice mail picked up.

He walked faster and called again.

Voice mail.

“Damn it,” he said so sharply that a handful of people glared at him.

He ignored them. Called Jill again. “Come on, Henley—”

Nothing. No answer.

Vincent made it back to the precinct in record time, ignoring the handful of colleagues that spoke to him either in greeting or with a request.

He went to his desk only long enough to grab his car keys out of the top drawer and then he was off again, all but running toward his car.

He had no good reason to think something was wrong. She could be in the shower. Or on a walk. Or more likely, screening his calls.

But he sped all the way to her place.

Just in case.





CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE


The second Dorothy Birch greeted Jill at the door of her lovely, if modest, apartment, Jill felt like an idiot.

The woman was wearing white slacks, a pale purple blouse, and old-fashioned pearls. Her shoes were the orthopedic kind Jill’s grandparents had both used to wear.

Her expression was polite, but also bewildered.

It was so not the face of a killer.

“Hello, Detective Henley. How lovely to see you again. Won’t you please come in?”

“Thanks for agreeing to see me,” Jill said, feeling awkward as she let herself in.

“I was just making some tea. Would you care for some?”

“That’d be nice, thanks,” Jill said with a small smile.

Dorothy made a small gesture toward the living room, and Jill went to sit in the same spot she had last time she’d been here.

Only this time there was no Vincent.