Julianna

Roman Tyrell may have ended things with me, but I felt as if he'd died. Or perhaps it was easier for me to think of him that way. If he was dead, there was no hope left for us. Hope kept me hanging on to a sunken ship even as it pulled me under.

I still dreamed that he would slip into my open bedroom window.

I still felt his eyes on me when I was awake.

Sometimes I thought I caught his scent on the breeze.

Despite my grief, the cruel world just kept turning. The sun kept rising and falling. The waxing and waning of the moon marked the passing of weeks. Other people found love, got married, had babies. Other people hugged their families: mothers, fathers, husbands at the end of their work day. My pain remained motionless, a crystalized ball in my chest while I stayed numb around it.

I shouldn't mourn a man who admitted he'd killed another. Even if it was to protect me. I shouldn't want a man who broke another man's neck in front of me. Even if it was to stop me from being raped.

I shouldn't.

But I did.

Roman had only done what I'd secretly wished to do. To wield a sword of justice. To play judge and executioner to the scumbags who escaped punishment. No one was any worse off with them gone. They had deserved it. Nobody could ever convince me otherwise. I had held the hand of too many victims, heard the broken sobs of too many of the victims' families, watched too many shattered souls trying to rebuild their lives again after being destroyed.

So, no. I didn't mourn the scumbags that he'd killed. Knowing about Roman's involvement didn't make me want him any less. The truth was, I had fallen in love with Roman Tyrell and I didn't know how to crawl out of love. Every time it felt like I had made progress, I would be reminded of him and I'd slide right back down. It was an irreversible love. An unbreakable love. Completely unconditional. Beautiful and terrible all at once.

The leaves began to turn. The nights became colder, cold enough to need blankets on my bed. I kept a brave face on. Lacey occupied my lunchtimes at the station. Espo kept driving me to and from work. My father took to eating dinner at my apartment several times a week. On weekends, Nora sat on my couch and tried to coax me to come out to the markets and the movies. Sometimes I went, just to keep up the front that I was okay. Mostly, I didn't and we just stayed in nursing cups of tea while she chatted animatedly, being content to let me stay silent. I was surrounded by people who cared about me. Still, I managed to feel like a ghost. I walked through my days chasing distractions, yet I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd misplaced something important.

It was only at night, in the silence, that I was unable to hold back the tide and thoughts of Roman rushed back in. The night breeze blew in the smells of the city through my open window, but they didn't bring him.

I missed him with an ache that burrowed down to my soul. I missed his touch. The way he smelled. The way my world shrank down to just us when we kissed. Every day that went past was one day closer to the time when another woman would make him her husband.

* * *

Rosa Sanchez looked smallerthan she was. Her head hung, staring at the floor as she walked, her shoulders rounded as if she were trying to hug herself, her thin, oversized gray sweater swimming on her slim body. She sat in front of me on the old worn couch in the witness interview room, knees pressed together under her long skirt, a cup of plain black tea untouched before her.

"Thank you for coming in, Mrs. Sanchez. I know it must be hard."

She didn't answer. She kept glancing past me, out of the glass window facing the interior of the station, where her three girls were being kept entertained by Espinoza. They were six, eight and twelve. The two youngest were laughing shyly into their collars at the faces that Espo was making and the way he clambered over the chairs. The oldest just stood there, mouth pinched, watching him with wary cynicism.

Espo would make a great father one day, if he ever settled down. What kind of father would Roman make?

I shook that question off, turning back to Rosa. Back to my job. "Your girls are fine," I said in a soft voice. "See?"

Rosa looked over at me, meeting my stare for the first time since she arrived. I could still see the mistrust in her black eyes, her arms crossed over her body. That was understandable. I was a cop. Her husband had been…a questionable man.

I pressed on. "We just need to ask a few questions about Eduardo."

"Eddie," she corrected in a timid voice. "He used to hate it when anyone called him Eduardo. Only his mother called him—" She stopped speaking suddenly, flinching, her eyes going to the door as if she expected he would burst through at any minute.

She tugged at her sleeve, covering up the purple and yellow mottled bruise around her arm. Understanding knotted around my stomach. She had all the signs. The bastard. My insides simmered. If Eddie wasn't dead already, I'd kill him myself.

I slapped myself internally. You'd kill him, Jules? This was not what good people thought. This was not how good cops reacted.

"When did you last see Eddie?"

Rosa chewed her lip. She didn't answer.

I leaned in. "You can talk to me," I said softly. "He can't hurt you anymore."

A laugh burst out of Rosa's mouth, which she tried to stifle with her fingers. She dropped her hand into her lap. "I know he can't," she said, her eyes suddenly shining. "The bastard's dead."

I was missing something. "Of course."

"He was home earlier that night. He got a call during dinner. He left without finishing. Around seven thirty, I think. He didn't tell me where he was going."

"What did you do?"

She frowned. "We ate dinner, me and the girls. Washed up. Put the girls to bed. Fell asleep around eleven."

"You didn't go anywhere?"

Her frown deepened. "No. Where would I go?"

"So you were…at home, asleep, between midnight and two a.m.? Is that what you're saying?"

Her eyes widened with shock. "Y-You think I shot him? I didn't do it. I didn't do nothing."

I studied her reaction carefully. Most innocent people asked for their lawyers. There was fear in her reaction. Maybe…guilt.

She was hiding something.

Maybe Roman was lying. Maybe he hadn't pulled the trigger. Maybe she was the classic battered wife. She had put up with his abuse until she couldn't take it anymore and bang! she snapped.

I didn't want her to be guilty. What would happen to her kids? Her girls?

I had to follow every lead, that was my job, even if I didn't like where they led.

"Can anyone corroborate your story? Neighbors? Friends?" I offered. Give me something so I can rule you out. "Did anyone call you at home? Did anyone stop by?"

"No." Her fingers fidgeted at her hem. "It was just me and the girls at home. I was asleep," she repeated. "I didn't kill him. I didn't do it. I didn't even know about the money."

Money?

I straightened. "What money?"

Rosa made a small choking sound. She'd said something she shouldn't have.

I leaned in. "What money?"

Her lip trembled even as she pressed them shut.

"Rosa, I want to help you. I want to help you keep your kids. I can't do that if you don't tell me what's going on. If you're not honest with me, then that's what I have to tell social services."

Her eyes widened. "You can't take them. You can't." She began to rise out of the chair, her eyes flying to the window again. I placed a hand on her knee, forcing her to remain seated.

I hated using her kids against her, twisting the truth to get answers out of her. But it was for the greater good. "If you tell me the truth, Rosa, nobody will take your kids."

Her wet eyes snapped towards me. She wanted to believe me.

"Just tell me about the money."

She sniffed and nodded.

I leaned forward.

"After Eddie died, I got a call from an insurance company. Turns out that Eddie had taken out an insurance policy on his life two years ago. Now that he's dead, it all came to me."

"How much?"

"A million dollars," she whispered.

I nodded. "Okay. There's nothing wrong with that, Rosa."

"You don't understand."

"Understand what?"

"The insurance man came to my house. I needed to sign some papers so I could get the money. I saw the insurance policy, the one that Eddie took out."

"Yes?"

Her lashes lifted, her eyes locked on mine, confusion swirling around in them. "It wasn't his signature."