“I know. I’m sor-”

“No,” he cut her off, “you don’t. You can’t imagine what it was like for me to watch helplessly as you self-destructed. You can’t imagine how it hurt to have you close enough to touch, but a million miles away. I needed you so…much.”

His words hurt. She pressed her lips together, wishing she could deny them. Defend herself.

But how did one defend herself against the truth?

“I grieved for a long time,” he continued. “Then I became angry. So angry, I…I thought it would consume me.”

He’d never revealed that anger to her. Not through words or actions. Or maybe she had been too absorbed in her own feelings to notice his.

Last night’s pretty dream of a happily-ever-after with Joe seemed ridiculous now.

In the heat of self-realization-then passion-it had been easy. Simple. She loved him. He loved her. This morning, in the harsh light, she saw how difficult-and how complicated-that dream really was.

“You must hate me.”

“I discovered,” he said, “that the line between love and hate is thin, indeed.”

Kitt held his gaze, though it hurt to look at him. She felt she owed him that. “I don’t know what to say besides I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

Tears choked her. She fought her way past them. Even without a happy ending for them, she was so much better off than she had been twenty-four hours ago.

Now, at least, she recognized her feelings. Had the ability to love again.

“Brian’s dead,” she said quietly. “He was murdered last night.”

“Brian? My God.”

“I can’t go into the reasons why, but I believe his murder is related to the Copycat killings.”

Joe crossed back to the table and sat heavily. He looked dazed. She went on. “The one claiming to be the Sleeping Angel Killer called again last night. He asked me to tell him about you. About us. Our courtship and marriage.

“In return, he promised to give me the name of the Copycat killer.”

“Did he?”

“No. He gave me another clue instead.”

“And you ended up here?”

“In the process of telling him about us, I opened a door. And everything I’d locked away came spilling out.”

This time it was she who needed to stand, to walk away. When she had organized her thoughts, she turned back to him. “I always knew I still loved you. But I didn’t think I could let go of the pain enough to really love you. The way you deserve to be loved.”

“And now?”

“Remember at the leukemia event, how you told me you wanted to live again. I want to live again. To let go of the pain and stop hurting.”

He caught her hand, curled his fingers around hers. It reminded her of that day, so long ago, as they had faced Sadie’s doctor. Bracing themselves for whatever came next.

Together. Always. Irrefutably.

“Things are more complicated than you and me,” he said. “You know that, right?”

She knew that. Valerie. Her child.

Too much time had passed to catch their happily-ever-after.

She held his hand tightly. “Just tell me, can you forgive me, Joe?”

“I already have.”

57

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

9:20 a.m.

Where was Kitt? M.C. checked her watch for what seemed like the dozenth time since she had considered Kitt undeniably late. She had expected her in first thing, considering the events of the night before.

A pall hung over the department. One of their own had been cut down.

M.C. hadn’t slept much, for a complicated set of reasons. Every time she’d closed her eyes, she’d relived the murder scene. She recalled Brian in life, that he had a family. She worried about her argument with him and what she should do. Go to her superiors, come clean about her and Brian’s history together and their argument, or hope they never became wise to it.

Brian’s murder had her spooked. If he had been killed because he’d asked a fellow officer the wrong question, that left both her and Kitt vulnerable. Particularly Kitt.

She had called her home and cell phone. The woman had answered neither. Again, weird.

M.C. drummed her fingers on her desktop, considering other scenarios. She could have fallen off the wagon and be home, sleeping it off.

After all, just a week ago Kitt had lapsed, blaming the emotional trauma of discovering Joe was going to be a stepfather. Last night Kitt’s good friend and former partner had been murdered. Kitt felt partly responsible. Enough emotional trauma to send even a teetotaler running for the bottle.

It beat the hell out of the first scenario-Kitt lying just inside her own doorway, shot twice in the chest.

Screw it, she decided, standing. She’d just take a little road trip over to Kitt’s to check on her.

She got no further than the decision when her cell phone buzzed. She answered without looking at the display, certain Kitt was calling.

“Riggio here.”

She learned immediately she was wrong. “I missed you last night,” Lance said.

She smiled. “I missed you, too.”

“I hoped you’d call. Waited until the wee hours.”

“Things took a turn for the worse here. I couldn’t get away.”

“What about today?”

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t look good.” Sergeant Haas appeared in the doorway. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you.”

She hung up, then turned her attention to her superior. “What’s up, Sarge?”

“Sal wants to see you in his office. Now.”

M.C. didn’t like his tone. Too official. “Kitt’s not in yet.”

“We don’t need Kitt for this one.”

When they reached the deputy chief’s office, she saw why not. Sal wasn’t alone. A detective she recognized from Internal Affairs was with him.

The question about whether she should come clean about her argument with Brian had become moot. They already knew.

Another realization followed on the heels of that one:

Kitt had told them about it.

That’s why she was late this morning. Why she hadn’t answered her cell phone. She hadn’t wanted to face M.C. until after IA finished with her.

Bitterness mixed with betrayal. She supposed she deserved it, after the way she had gone behind Kitt’s back about Joe. She had been naive to believe they had worked through that.

“Come in, Detective Riggio. This is Detective Peters, from Internal Affairs.”

She nodded in greeting. “I recognize Detective Peters. We spoke during the Caldwell investigation.”

“That’s right,” the man agreed, the barest smile shaping his mouth. “Have a seat.”

She sat and folded her hands in her lap.

“Do you have any idea what this meeting might be about, Detective?”

Tell the truth and look paranoid or guilty? Or play it dumb and cool? Both came with advantages and risks.

She took the middle road. “One of the investigations I’m working on would be my best guess.”

“And they are?”

“The Copycat killings and Lieutenant Spillare’s murder.”

“A rather small caseload.”

“But intense.”

“Indeed.” The man steepled his fingers. “How would you categorize your relationship with Lieutenant Spillare?”

“Good. Until recently.”

“Until recently,” he repeated. “Could you tell us what happened to change your relationship?”

“The lieutenant began hitting on me. When I refused his advances, he began following me.”

“That would be sexual harassment.”

“I suppose it would.”

“Why didn’t you approach one of your superiors. Or us?”

“I thought I could handle it myself.”

His gaze sharpened. “And did you?”

“If you’re asking did I kill him, the answer is ‘hell no.’ We argued. Yesterday, in fact.”

Sal spoke up. “Why didn’t you come to me with this last night? You had to know how your argument would be overheard. And how it would look. It’s just plain stupid, Riggio!”

No joke.

As had been trusting Kitt.

Peters stood and crossed to stand directly before her. “I think Detective Riggio had her reasons. Isn’t that right, Detective?”