Risking it All (Crossing the Line, #1)(75)

Why else would my own niece refuse to be picked up last night?”

Niece. His body went numb, as if his broken heart had sent him into blessed shock. Everything clicked in his head, making perfect sense. This was why she hadn’t confided anything in him. Why she’d come back last night. Not because she wanted to be with him. She’d just been biding her time until they could get him into handcuffs. He made eye contact with her through the glass and felt her suck the last of his soul away. In a way, he felt relieved. No soul, no way to hurt.

He couldn’t survive this with any part of himself intact.

Very quietly, but very potently, the numbness turned ugly. He craved the ugly, wanted it to stomp out all the beauty he’d stupidly allowed himself to believe in.

“Why are you calling to warn me?”

“I owe you for keeping her safe until we could wrap it up properly.” Newsom paused. “I need you to get her to the precinct immediately. Drop Sera off and go on your way. Even exchange. Her for your freedom.”

Bowen almost laughed out loud.

Freedom. From what? “Then tomorrow you’ll pinch Hogan at the shipment and it’ll all be over, huh? Your niece gets her man and everyone goes home happy?”

Newsom was quiet a moment. “If you’re thinking about tipping them off, I’d reconsider.”

“You have my word. No tip-offs.”

He wouldn’t have to. They’d moved the shipment to tonight.





CHAPTER


TWENTY-FOUR


Something was terribly wrong.

Bowen hadn’t spoken to her since leaving the infirmary. She’d chalked his silence up to his father’s condition, but instinct told her she was missing something. Whereas Bowen normally radiated energy, always jiggling a leg, tapping a finger, or harassing his hair, now he appeared…vacant. The man who’d jogged back to the car twice to kiss her before entering the infirmary had vanished and been replaced by a shell. For all she knew his father hadn’t made it and he just needed time to process it before talking to her. Having lost her brother and working as an ER

nurse, she knew better than most that everyone processed grief differently.

She took a deep breath and laid her hand on top of his where it rested on his thigh. Cold. Unmoving. He made no move to hold her hand, didn’t even acknowledge her touch. After the night they’d shared, touching each other without cease, his lack of recognition set off alarm bells.

A glance out the window had her doing a double take. Why were they in Manhattan? Yellow cabs zipped past, bicycle deliverymen weaved through the steady traffic, skyscrapers towered over them on either side of the street. After being in Brooklyn so long, it felt like she’d been transported to a different planet. She’d been so focused on Bowen and his odd behavior that she hadn’t realized they weren’t driving back toward Bensonhurst.

“Is everything all right?”

A muscle ticked in his cheek. “Fine. I just thought we’d go for a drive. Get out of Brooklyn for a while.”

His flat, emotionless voice made her want to tug her hand away, but she kept it there determinedly. “Whatever you need. We can go somewhere and talk—”

He laughed, but it sounded nothing like his usual amused chuckle. Harsh, sarcastic. “Now she wants to talk. How about we just pull over and f*ck, instead, baby? You seem to prefer that to talking.”

She ripped her hand away and watched his cold hand curl into a fist.

“What is wrong with you?” When he said

nothing,

she

pressed.

“Did

something happen to your father?”

“Lenny is the picture of health.” He whipped the wheel for a right turn, making the tires squeal. “In fact, I might go see him more often. Can’t put a price tag

on

fatherly

advice.

Right,

Seraphina?”

She flinched at the way he said her name, like a curse. Bowen’s detachment was slowly dissipating, being replaced by something darker. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, his voice sounding unnaturally strained. This change in attitude might have something to do with his father, but something else was in play. That phone call. It had to be the phone call he’d taken just before he’d gotten into the car. A pit formed in her stomach.

“Who were you on the phone with?”

He ignored her question. “It must have pissed you off. Knowing what I am and wanting me anyway.” His hands flexed on the steering wheel. “You weren’t faking it in bed, I know that much. You were too wet for it.”

“Stop it,” she shouted. “Bowen, whatever you’re thinking about me, it’s wrong. You just have to talk to me.

We’ll figure this out.”

“Talk to me, talk to me.” He took another hard corner. “My, how the tables have turned.”

The resignation in his voice reached across the car to slap her. Before she could recover, he’d thrown the car into park. She only had a moment to register the industrial-type commercial store before he opened the passenger-side door and pulled her out. Taken off guard, she clutched his shoulders for balance, bringing their faces close. His angry countenance slipped for a split second and she glimpsed utter misery behind his gray eyes. It cut through every raging emotion in her chest, made her ache to take away his pain. She reached up to cup his cheek, but he caught her wrist before she could make contact.