Chapter 5

Hope was shocked by the stab of hurt that shot through her when she overheard Operator Aaron Nash saying he didn't care whether his team liked her or not.

Not exactly a new or unique sentiment among law enforcement personnel but, dammit, they had no right to judge her. She didn't even want them here.

She slammed the door and ignored the startled looks of the men hanging blinds in her living room.

There was that saying about eavesdroppers never hearing good things about themselves, well, that had turned out to be accurate. She'd been hoping the FBI might reveal something about Leech that they hadn't shared with her. Instead, she'd heard veiled animosity and the fact that regardless of whether Leech turned up or not, this was a useful training exercise for them.

This was her goddamned life.

What right did they have to stand in her house and condemn her when she didn't even want them here? Goddamn it.

Hope stomped into the kitchen, opened the freezer, but the idea of cooking, even simply defrosting something and reheating it, was beyond her.

She opted instead for boiled eggs and toast.

She should have been used to the quiet whispers and accusatory glances, but these had caught her off guard. Perhaps because these men had forced themselves inside her home and they were supposed to be professionals. They didn't know her. This was her safe space, and she had a horrible feeling, until Leech was found, they'd be right here with her, a constant thorn in her side.

Maybe she'd go on a cruise…but her case load was heavy and never seemed to get any lighter. Then there was Ella Gibson. Ella needed her to be in court tomorrow the way Hope had promised. And the idea of doing nothing for a week didn't appeal.

What was the point?

She could travel again though, like she and Danny had done before they'd had Paige. Head to Colombia or Argentina, or maybe somewhere farther afield like Vietnam or Thailand. Explore the world and see how other people lived, people who'd never heard of Julius Leech or the na?ve fool who'd foolishly defended him.

She could make it into a research trip and tie it into her next Frankie O'Malley crime novel, but she wasn't sure how a New York detective would end up half a world away when her beat was Manhattan.

Realizing she was thirsty, Hope poured herself a glass of water and drank it down in one long gulp. She wiped the back of her hand across her lips. Taking a vacation right now was a pipe dream. She wasn't going anywhere. Not until Ella's trial was finished. Not until that bastard Leech was back in prison or dead. She didn't care which.

Aaron Nash came into the kitchen with Lucifer in his arms. The cat, who usually hated strangers, writhed flirtatiously, purring and rubbing his nose against the man's black tactical vest—which was now covered in white hair.

Traitor.

"What you overheard?—"

She held up her hand. "Don't bother to make excuses."

"I wasn't going to make excuses. I was going to apologize if you overheard anything that suggested judgment in any way—that is unacceptable—and to explain that we have two new members of HRT on this team and it's my duty to make sure they receive proper training on this particular op?—"

"I am not an op!" She shoved the loaf across the counter and grabbed her head in her hands as if it might split wide open from the pressure building inside. She breathed deeply and then let out a long exhale.

The sudden silence made her realize the other men in her apartment had heard her lose her self-control too. Something she rarely did.

Great.

This was all simply great.

She took another deep breath. "I'm an experienced professional who receives death threats on a weekly basis. And I hate that Leech is once again influencing how I live my life when he should be locked up in a concrete cage writing letters no one ever reads. And I resent being referred to as an op, as if I have no autonomy." The words came from between gritted teeth. "It makes me furious, apparently. Along with the fact I haven't eaten since breakfast."

"Here." Aaron handed her the cat, and she had no choice but to take the little fur ball. "What were you gonna make?"

"Two boiled eggs and toast. I can do it," she insisted, though she was rapidly losing her appetite.

"I can do better than boiled eggs."

The man opened the fridge and pulled out green onions, cheese, milk. "How about an omelet?"

She stared at him, suddenly overwhelmed with the memories of another dark-haired man making her an omelet, taking care of her.

She'd taken it all for granted.

Every magical day. Every blissfully mundane moment.

"It's a peace offering. An apology." Nash misread her silent stare. "Go start whatever work you plan to do, and I'll bring it to you when it's ready."

Yearning tightened in her chest. Pining for a man who was long dead. All because of her. Her and a sadistic serial killer she'd gotten out of jail.

She could have kept quiet about how the cops had planted evidence. She could have turned the other way. But she'd liked to win. Needed to prove she was the best and that the concept of legal justice was more important than people getting what they deserved, than keeping innocents safe.

She was no longer an idealist. That had died along with Danny. She didn't care about legal games anymore. She only cared about putting killers where they belonged.

"You okay with onions?"

She nodded mutely. And because she could feel herself weakening in response to this man's dark good looks and easy charm—even though he wasn't Danny—she turned away and walked out of the kitchen.

The rest of the apartment was empty now, and it felt weird to be alone with this stranger. Intimate in a way she hadn't felt in years. The blinds were pulled all the way down. They looked good, she conceded, despite herself. At least she'd gotten something out of the irritating situation.

She pulled out her notes on tomorrow's case but found herself staring unseeingly at the papers.

Julius Leech was either dead or out of prison and free to enact his sick games on whoever was unlucky enough to cross his path. She hoped the former because the idea he might kill anyone else when he was supposed to have been dealt with, punished, was unbearable.

She didn't allow herself to think about the man often—she considered it a win for him whenever she did. Instead, she concentrated on prosecuting the cases that came across her desk, or allowing her fictional detective to punish the fictional bad guys in ways that often crossed the line. She derived a lot of pleasure from her fictional brand of justice, so different from the letter of the law she strived to live by.

Was that wrong? Did that make her as sick as Leech?

No, because she'd never actually hurt anyone.

She wasn't sure what she'd do if she ever saw Leech again. Blood drummed in her ears at the thought. The idea of killing him, the way he'd killed Danny and Paige—a stab to the abdomen followed by a pillow over his face as she held him down…the thought wasn't abhorrent. The image didn't scare her.

And that terrified her.

That she might be like him. That he'd made her just like he was…

Her teeth clenched, and the back of her eyes heated. Even now, seven years on, she relished the idea of a little hands-on justice.

And there was that win for him again.

She jerked out of her thoughts when Aaron Nash appeared with a tray of food and a glass of white wine from an open bottle she'd had in the fridge.

She put her work to one side as the guy slid the tray onto her lap.

It looked amazing. Smelled divine.

"Bon appétit."

He was being kind.

God, she hated that.

"I don't want you here."

He paused, his dark, intelligent gaze steady on hers. "That message has been received loud and clear."

"Not enough to make a difference."

"We're simply following orders, ADA Harper. None of this is personal."

"I don't know if that makes it better or worse." She took a sip of wine. "The Attorney General is covering her ass, knowing the justice system will look weak if anything happens to a serving ADA—by a killer who is supposed to be incarcerated. Doesn't exactly engender public trust."

"Escaped convicts are never a good look. I realize this situation is not something you asked for or are comfortable with." He straightened. Those ebony eyes were soft now. Soft enough that she noticed his full bottom lip. "I will do everything I can to make sure you have the space you need in your own home."

She looked away and picked up her fork. "I prefer my own company."

"So do I." He caught her quick glance at the photograph on the cabinet. "You miss them."

She drew in a ragged breath. "Every day. Every second of every day." The words barely got past the rock in her throat.

"I'm sorry for what happened."

"Most people think it's my fault." Tears built, and she couldn't afford for anyone else to see, to witness, how utterly she'd been destroyed that day. The world saw what she wanted it to see. A strong, confident, powerful woman. A goddamned queen bitch of an attorney. Tonight, in the aftermath of learning Leech had escaped and her life had been invaded by strangers, her defenses had cracked, and emotions welled up through those tiny fissures like blood in a wound. She couldn't afford that. She had other cases to try, other people to help and other killers to convict. She wouldn't let them down the way she'd let down her own family.

This was her penance, her reason for going on.

She put the tray aside and stood, pulling that queen bitch cloak crookedly around her shoulders. "Prosecuting dangerous criminals is all I care about now. It's the only thing that matters to me. Thank you for the omelet, but if you're done, perhaps you'd like to give me that space you promised."

His jaw firmed. He obviously didn't like her rejecting his overtures of friendship or being on the other side of giving orders.

"Not a problem. An operator will be on your roof at all times until Leech is apprehended. I trust you don't mind them using the bathroom on the third floor if they need to?"

Her hands started to tremble. She needed him to leave while she could still hold it together.

"Just keep everyone away from this floor and the second floor." Her voice came out sharp, and she saw his expression flicker to dislike for a split second.

Good.

She didn't want homemade omelets and sympathy. She didn't want anyone taking care of her. She didn't want to like him.

"I'd like a spare set of keys to the building." He lifted his chin as if she might argue.

As she liked her antique doors with their hinges intact, she strode over to the cupboard by the stairs and reached inside. Pulled out her spare set that included a car key, but she didn't think he was going to abscond with her BMW.

He caught the fob she tossed. "There will be a guard outside your door. If you hear someone moving around tonight, please scream for assistance before pulling the trigger on that gun of yours or kicking one of my team in the balls. We'll mount motion sensing lighting and cameras in the outer hallways, garden, roof, and on the fire escape, and it's possible we'll need to come inside briefly to wire something. You can always call me directly if you have any concerns, but you should be safe enough with eleven highly trained operators at your disposal."

He pressed a business card into her trembling hand and then paused. She pulled away, embarrassed that he'd spotted the shakiness that defied her strong words.

"Do you need my cell number?" Her voice cracked.

He shook his head.

Of course not. He already knew everything there was to know about her. God knew there were books dedicated to her and Leech's deadly entanglement.

"Goodnight, ADA Harper."

She couldn't speak.

"See you in the morning."

She forced out a dry laugh that almost choked her. "Unfortunately."

As soon as the door closed, she sank to the floor and wrapped her arms around her bent knees as sobs threatened to rip out of her throat. She didn't let them. She cried silently. She grieved mutely.

Lucifer rushed over and butted his head against her rigid arm, and she gathered him up, one of the last living connections she had to her dead daughter and husband. Paige's kitten. Their only family pet.

Tears rushed in hot torrents down her cheeks, dripping from her face, wetting Lucifer's fur, making her hand catch as she stroked him.

She hated this. Hated the vacuum of sadness her life had become. The pall of misery she carried with her. She wished Leech had killed her on that terrible day. That would have been fairer, surely, than taking a good man and an innocent child?

The tears finally stopped, and the cat ran away as he always did when it suited him.

She smiled sadly.

She and the cat were a lot alike.

Spent and exhausted, she climbed awkwardly to her feet. She went over, picked up her dinner plate, covered it, and put it in the fridge. Grabbed the stack of files she needed for tomorrow's trial. Then she turned off most of the lights except for an under cabinet one in the kitchen and dragged herself to her bedroom. All the blinds in the house had been drawn and she stripped off, pulling on familiar flannel pajamas before sliding under the covers, hugging Paige's favorite teddy bear to her chest in an effort to fill the aching void that was now her life.