Chapter Eleven

Eleven

After I left Gonzo's offices, I pulled Dylan Welch's phone out of my pocket. I'd never told Maurice or Sky that I was taking it. But the way I saw it, I didn't owe that information to them. It wasn't their phone any more than it was mine.

Dylan's battery was at only 5 percent, so when I got into the car, I plugged it into my charger. I set my own phone in the holder on the dashboard, told Siri the address of Rhonda Lewis's workplace, and maneuvered my way onto I-90 West, which I took toward Watertown. Driving was beyond slow-going, but that was no surprise. It was rush hour, and rush hour during holiday season in Boston was otherwise known as the Ninth Circle of Hell. I was used to it.

Well, I used to be used to it.

As I sat behind the wheel of my car in standstill traffic, ignoring a podcast while surrounded by the incessant and pointless blare of horns, I couldn't help but think of the Jersey Shore right now, the empty beach roads as twilight approached, the only sound the soothing roar of Atlantic.

And the sunsets…

I hadn't planned on calling Richie. I'd texted him this morning to let him know that Rosie and I had arrived safely home, but beyond that, I'd been determined to let this day come and go without communicating with him. I'd even told him as much. I love you, I'd said as I was getting into my car, but if I'm going to survive until the next time we see each other, I'll need a day or two to myself.

But it was more than that. I needed distance from Richie in order to gain some perspective. Was a move to Asbury Park truly a good idea, or was I letting my heart (and other parts of my body) lead me into making the wrong decision? Obviously, I couldn't figure out the answer to that question unless I was on my own for a solid block of time.

But you know what they say about the best-laid plans.

Richie's phone started ringing before I realized I'd called him. He answered before I could hang up. "Well, this is a pleasant surprise," he said.

"For me as well as you."

"Huh?"

"This call," I said. "I wasn't even aware I was making it. It was basically an involuntary physical response."

"You mean like the type of thing that keeps you alive?"

"That's a little dramatic." In the background, I could hear the thump of a mic, a guy saying "testing," then counting to ten. "It is good to hear your voice, though."

"Thanks."

Someone launched into a very loud guitar solo.

"Kind of," I said.

"Huh?"

"It's good to kind of hear your voice."

"Sorry, that's The Wild and the Innocent," Richie said.

"Who?"

"Tonight's Springsteen tribute band. They're doing a sound check."

"I'd say it's a little heavy on the sound."

"Let me take you outside, where we can be alone."

I grinned. "It sort of turned me on when you said that."

"That was my intention."

I heard Richie telling somebody he'd be back in a few as the drummer started in. "We're almost there," Richie said. I heard a drumroll, the crash of cymbals, a door closing. Muffled music, footsteps, and then quiet. A gust of wind. "Better?" Richie said.

"Much." I felt like I could almost smell the ocean.

Back in Boston, someone behind me leaned on their horn. "What the fuck?" I shouted.

"Are you okay?" Richie said.

I let out a sigh. Traffic had apparently moved two inches forward and I hadn't followed suit. I took my foot off the brake, and the asshat finally eased up on the horn. "I'm fine," I said. "I'm just…driving."

"Say no more," Richie said.

"Yet another aspect of Boston that you don't miss at all."

"All of that is canceled out by what I do miss."

I felt myself blushing. I wished I could travel through the phone. "Jeez," I said, "you do know how to lay it on thick."

"How are you, Sunny?" he said. "How has your day been?"

"Well, for starters, I took that Dylan Welch job."

"Really?"

"Really."

"What changed your mind?"

"His mother," I said. "She showed up at my office this morning, offered me more than triple what Bill did."

"Holy crap."

"I know."

"I realize that a mother's love is boundless," he said, "but that's a hell of a lot to pay to find somebody who's probably in a hotel room somewhere, eyeball-deep in cocaine and hookers."

"We call them sex workers, Richie."

"Sorry."

"Anyway, I'm not so sure it's that simple," I said. "Most people don't love Dylan Welch as much as his mother does. It's very possible he's hiding from one of them. Or…"

"One of them found him."

"Yep."

Richie was quiet for several moments. Anybody else, I would have asked if he was still there. But not Richie. That was just how he was—he never spoke before organizing his thoughts. Traffic moved a few more inches. I gazed at the car in front of me—a minivan with a bumper sticker that said My Other Car Is a Broom . Good thing she decided to take the van.

Richie said, "Maybe you shouldn't be involved in this case."

I stared at my phone. That wasn't what I'd expected him to say. "What?" I said. "I've been involved in cases like this since you've known me."

"I know."

"It's me, Richie. It's what I love."

"And you're great at it," Richie said. "But there's a reason why cops retire early."

"I'm not a cop."

"True. Your job is more dangerous."

It was my turn to go quiet.

"I worry about you, Sunny."

I forced a laugh. "I haven't managed to get myself killed yet."

"You almost did," he said. "Back in July."

"That's an exaggeration."

"You were in a coma for three days."

I winced. The guy behind me honked again. I flipped him the bird and he leaned on his horn harder and yelled something out of his window that I couldn't hear. "You should worry more about me driving on I-90 with these lunatics."

Richie was quiet again. I waited for him to collect his thoughts, but it was taking too long.

"Where did all of this come from, Richie?"

"This weekend."

"What about it?"

"It was great," he said.

"Of course it was," I said.

"And it made me think."

"About what?"

Richie took a breath. Let it out. "I want to grow old with you."

I'd never thought it possible to be annoyed and deeply moved at the same time—and yet here we were. "Me too," I said.

"Really?"

"Look, one reason why I took this Welch case is because I've been thinking about getting a second place near you," I said. "With this kind of money, I could spend part of the year in Asbury Park at first, then stay longer. And then, if that works out, we could maybe think about giving living together another shot."

"What about your job?"

"I could move my business to Jersey."

More silence.

"Richie?"

"I want you to think about us," he said.

"I am thinking about us," I said.

"I want you to think about our future. I want you to think about being alive for it."

I gripped the wheel. I nearly said, Since when do you get to tell me what to think about? But I didn't.

"I'm not suggesting you retire," Richie said. "But maybe you should take on cases that are less…dramatic."

I inhaled sharply. "Pushing paper around a desk."

"They have computers now," Richie said.

"No kidding?" I heard the ding of a phone—not mine. Dylan's. "I'll think about it," I said.

"I love you," Richie said.

"I love you, too," I said.

We hung up, which was a lot better than arguing. I knew Richie's intentions were good, but still the conversation bothered me, and if I'd stayed on much longer, I would have told him so. My mother had said something similar to my father when she was convincing him to retire. And while he'd acquiesced, for her sake, it was hard not to think that in urging him to stay out of harm's way, she was missing a crucial part of who he was. That may have been okay for my dad—being in love with someone who didn't fully comprehend his soul. But was it okay for me?

Richie had come from a dangerous and powerful crime family. And even though he'd steered clear of the Burke business, he'd nearly been killed himself, more than once. I'd thought that made us simpatico—different sides of the same coin. Yet after this conversation, I wasn't so sure.

If I'd explained to the man I loved that the main reason I needed to hang up was to check a missing douchebag's text messages on a phone I'd stolen from his office, would he understand?

I doubted he would—and that made me sad. But at the moment, I was more interested in reading the douchebag's latest text.