29. Tallus

With a fist, I pounded on Diem’s office door, the irritation at being ignored festering under my skin. If he wanted to ignore Doyle, fine, but I refused to be dismissed so easily.

“I know you’re home, Guns. I saw the Jeep in the parking lot. You’re not ignoring me. I’m coming in.”

Without waiting for an answer, I shoved the door open, half expecting it to be locked.

It wasn’t.

The second it swung inward, chaos ensued. A war cry filled the air. A blur of movement caught my eye. An earsplitting crack made me flinch.

It took a solid two or three seconds for me to register the sound I’d heard was from a gun going off.

My heart launched into my throat, and I froze, shock petrifying my organs and turning my insides liquid. How I didn’t piss my pants, I had no idea.

By the time I gathered my wits, Diem was straddling a woman on the floor. Faye. He had her pinned by the wrists to the ground. In one hand, she held a fancy gun like I’d seen in a noir film years ago.

Diem was shouting, but the words didn’t immediately penetrate my confusion. The blood whomping in my ears drowned it out.

“Tallus. Call the fucking cops,” he was saying.

I fumbled my phone from a pocket and dialed 911, blundering my way through the operator’s questions as I stared at Diem, trying and failing to figure out what had happened.

Faye was half his size but fighting him tooth and nail to get free. Bucking like a bronco. Kicking. Spitting. Wrenching her body side to side. Screaming in his face. Diem didn’t move. Apart from the hold he maintained on her wrists and his knees planted on either side of her hips, he didn’t touch her. He didn’t react to her violent attempt to get free, and he could have easily prevented the assault if he’d wanted to.

It was like he’d zoned out. He took the abuse, ensuring the gun stayed out of play and Faye couldn’t get to her feet.

The operator chattered on. Something about the weapon. Was it secure?

I told her yes. At some point, Faye had released her grip, and the gun had been knocked out of her reach with the thrashing.

Diem’s arms trembled. Faye tried twice to head-butt him. She kneed, and kicked, and squirmed, yelling, “I’ll kill you, you bastard. I’ll fucking kill you.”

A bead of sweat dripped off the end of Diem’s nose, except it wasn’t sweat. It was crimson.

Crimson?

Was he bleeding?

The fog cleared, and I moved, dropping to my knees beside him. “Diem. You’re hurt. There’s blood. Where are you hurt?”

“Cuffs.” He ground his teeth. “Desk. Get them.” His words were broken and raspy.

I raced to the desk and pulled open several drawers until I found a pair of handcuffs. When I returned, Diem flipped Faye over effortlessly and pinned her arms behind her back before securing them around her wrists.

She squirmed and shouted protests, calling him names and making more threats.

Diem shuffled away until his back hit the desk, and his ass landed hard on the ground.

Faye tried to get up, but I kicked her in the ass until she landed on her face. “Stay down. Don’t fucking move.”

She spat at me too, but it mostly rolled down her chin. When I was certain she wasn’t going anywhere, I turned to Diem, scanning him head to toe. It didn’t take long to find the source of the blood. A lengthy gash along the side of his head, an inch or so above his disfigured ear, seeped.

Holy shit. He’d been hit.

I rushed forward and fell to my knees, floundering for the Kleenex box he kept on the desk. I wadded up a handful, took his chin to keep him steady, and carefully pressed the tissue to the injury.

Diem stared through me, lost inside his head. I could see in his eyes the adrenaline hadn’t dissipated, and he struggled to contain it. His arm muscles pulsed as he flexed and released his hands. The stiff line of his jaw was tight enough to crack teeth. His nostrils flared with each inhale.

I tended the wound, gently stroking a thumb along his newly stubbled face, hoping it would calm him.

“D?” The vacant stare worried me. “D, look at me.”

He didn’t, but he spoke through clenched teeth. “Did I hurt her?”

“What?”

“Did I hurt her? I… I had to put my hands on her. I didn’t want to.”

“Are you serious right now? That woman shot a bullet at your head, and you’re worried you hurt her?”

Diem blinked a few times, focused on my face, then dropped his gaze to his lap. His shoulders rounded forward, and he went quiet. The tension drained from his body. His entire demeanor reeked of shame and guilt. Nothing I said made a difference. I tended the cut—the near miss of a goddamn bullet—until the police showed up.

The entire time, I talked to him. I told him everything Doyle had shared about Noah, Beth, and Olivia. When Diem didn’t respond, I talked nonsense, yammering on about nothing, teasing that he would likely need stitches and we would be stitches twins, and why did he have to go and copy me by getting hurt.

No response. No choked laughter at my attempt at a joke.

I wanted nothing more than to pull him back from the precipice inside his mind, but I couldn’t.

I ran out of things to say and decided to massage my fingers over his scalp instead.

Diem closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. A moment later, he moved his hand to my leg of his own volition and rested it there.

***

A paramedic insisted Diem needed a few stitches, so he was taken to the hospital, under protest, in an ambulance. Doyle and Fox replaced the constables who’d initially arrived on the scene. Once they had everything secure, they insisted I follow them to headquarters for an interview. While the two detectives went over everything with me, a constable waited for Diem at the hospital, with strict instructions that he was to be brought in immediately when released.

Faye had been taken away in handcuffs and was likely warming a cell while things were sorted out.

My interview didn’t last long since I’d arrived at the tail end of events and had no information to share. By the time Doyle and Fox were finished with me, Diem was ready to go in.

We passed one another in the hall, but there was no time for words. Now that things had calmed down, I’d tried to piece it all together and make sense of the chaos I’d walked into. Was Faye connected to Beth’s murder and the attempted murders of Natalia and Olivia? Why had she taken a shot at Diem? What the hell had happened in that office?

I wanted answers, so I hung out, pacing the hallways while they interviewed Diem. He wouldn’t be able to return to his office when they let him go since it was a crime scene and in the midst of being processed. Although I doubted he would take me up on it, I planned to offer for him to stay with me.

Only after the adrenaline had ebbed did I realize how close I’d come to having my head blown off. Flashes returned to me at random. The door swinging open. Faye holding a gun, aimed in my direction.

Diem’s roar.

He had literally thrown himself into the fray and distracted Faye enough to protect me. She’d redirected her aim and fired at Diem instead. The bullet had grazed his scalp. Another few inches to the left and he’d have been dead. But if he hadn’t intervened, I’d have been dead.

Twice, he’d saved my life.

I wasn’t sure what to do with the things I was feeling. It was too raw. Too fresh. All I knew was that Diem was a horribly misunderstood man who deserved compassion. He needed to know that not everyone thought he was a bad person.

Particularly me.

Three or four times, Doyle or Fox left the interview room, eyed me, but said nothing. Once, they returned with take-out food and bottled water. Another time, it was a handful of paperwork. At least they were feeding him.

I hoped they were treating him well. Doyle and Fox had preconceived notions about Diem. They hadn’t witnessed the terror in his eyes or heard the tremble in his voice when he’d expressed concern over hurting Faye when he’d had to physically restrain her.

Faye, who had shot at him.

The more I learned about Diem, the more I realized how broken he was inside, but no one saw that part.

It was nearing midnight when my cousin slid down the wall and sat beside me. I’d long ago given up pacing, too tired to stand, too unwilling to give up.

“What are you still doing here?”

I glanced at the interview room a few feet away. “Diem has nowhere to go. I wanted to… I don’t know. Never mind. What are you doing here?”

“Az messaged and said you were hanging around.”

I huffed. “So he called you?”

“I guess. We’re family.”

“Right. Go us.”

We sat in silence. When Costa didn’t get up to leave, I flashed my gaze in his direction. “Did Doyle tell you to send me home?”

“No. You’re free to do whatever you want.”

“Okay. Good because I’m staying.”

“Cool.”

He didn’t move.

More silence ensued.

After a time, Costa clucked his tongue. “So… you and Krause, huh?”

“No.”

“No? That’s not what the rumor mill’s spitting out.”

“Well, the rumor mill is wrong.”

“Why are you hanging out with him so much?”

“He needed help with another case.”

“Another one?” Costa chuckled, and I knew he didn’t believe me. That was fine. I didn’t care and didn’t have to explain myself to him.

But I changed the subject since I didn’t want to discuss the odd and useless bond I’d grown with Diem. “So… how’s the family?”

Costa rubbed a hand along his thigh. “Well, if you meant my wife and girls, we’re great. If you’re asking about my dad or your dad, then I don’t know. We’re no longer in touch.”

I clenched my jaw. “At all?”

“Nope. I can’t be part of their close-minded lives. My best friend is gay, and I want my girls to grow up in a world where people are free to love whoever they want.”

“It sounds weird hearing you say that.”

“People change, Tallus.”

“Good. They should.”

“You wanna pop outta here and get a coffee or something?”

“No.” I glanced at the interview room door again. “It’s not a good time.”

Costa slapped his knee and moved to stand. “All right. I tried.”

“Wait. I’m not… I don’t want to leave him. I want to be here when they finish.”

Costa tucked his hands in his pockets. “Okay.”

“Can I take a rain check?”

“Only if you want to.”

“I do.”

Costa examined my face, likely seeking honesty. “Give me a call.”

“I will.”

And I would. It was time to mend those bridges with my cousin. It may not be easy to forgive and forget. The memories still stung, but he’d shown a different side of himself lately, and if I could embrace Diem’s rough exterior, then it seemed only fair I look beyond Costa’s past mistakes.

It was close to one when they let Diem go. I jumped to my feet and met him as he came from the room. Doyle and Fox snuck off with a nod of acknowledgment, leaving us alone.

“Hey.”

Diem looked everywhere but at me. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought you might need a place to crash tonight.”

“Oh.” He shifted his weight. “Yeah. I’ll figure things out.”

“D, it’s no big deal. You can stay with me.”

But it was a big deal. I saw it plain and should have known sooner how uncomfortable my suggestion might be for a man who struggled with physical contact. When I’d spent the night at his place, he’d been incapable of sharing the bed. It had caused him enough anxiety he’d resorted to smoking after having quit.

“Where will you stay?”

“Motel.” He shrugged.

I didn’t argue, but I was disappointed.

“Can you take me to my Jeep?” he asked, briefly glancing up.

“I can sleep on the couch. You can have my bed all to yourself.”

“Tallus…”

“Never mind. Yes, I can take you to your Jeep.”

Diem was too big for my car. Even with the seat pushed back, his legs were scrunched, and his head brushed the ceiling.

The drive was quiet. I had so many things I wanted to say but no idea how to express them. When I pulled into the lot across from his building and parked, he didn’t get out.

“They’re interviewing Faye in the morning,” he said to his knees.

“Okay. Good.”

“She admitted to me she killed Noah. She killed Beth too. She didn’t say it, but I know.”

“Natalia and Olivia?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Why? I don’t get it.”

“She was after the women she thought slept with her husband.”

I puzzled it a moment but still couldn’t understand. “But Natalia?”

“I asked her if Noah knew or had been in recent contact with Professor Shore, only I didn’t specify which Professor Shore, and she ran with it, inventing her own reasoning.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah. Doyle said he’ll keep me posted. If you want…” The sentence went unfinished. He wrung his hands, still not looking up.

“If I want?”

“I can… let you know what happens.”

“I’d like that.” Even though I would probably have the answers within the next few days, I took every excuse he offered to stay in contact.

Diem nodded.

A breath of silence filled the car before Diem exhaled and reached for the door handle.

“D?”

He stilled.

I touched his arm and encouraged him to face me. In the deep shadows of the car, his scars were hidden.

I didn’t know what I wanted to say, but Diem reached out a hand before I figured it out. The touch was feather soft. He traced a finger along the underside of the stitches in my forehead. In the chaos, I’d forgotten how beat up I looked.

“I’m sorry about this.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is. I shouldn’t have gotten you tangled in my mess.”

I smirked. “Maybe I like being tangled in your mess.”

The faintest hint of a real smile touched the corner of his lips, stealing the oxygen from the air. It was gone as fast as it appeared, so fast, I was convinced I’d imagined it.

“Take care, Tallus.”

I frowned. It felt like a goodbye, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to close this chapter with Diem.

But before I could find words to express the confusing thoughts swirling around my head, he got out of the car and walked away without looking back, hands tucked in his pockets, shoulders slumped like he was carrying the weight of the world on his back.

***

It took until the following week before the case against Faye Willard was officially closed. Detective Doyle personally delivered the file to the records room, slapping it down on the counter with a cocksure grin.

I perked up, eyeing it. “Is that the Willard case?”

“It is.”

I wanted nothing more than to get my greedy hands on it. Diem hadn’t called. In fact, I hadn’t heard from him in five days. Instead of pestering, I left him alone.

Doyle motioned to his face, then to mine. “Bruising is gone.”

“Mostly. I used some coverup this morning.”

“Just need to get those stitches out.”

“A few more days. Not soon enough. They itch like a motherfucker.” I tapped the folder. “So?”

“Do you want to read it, or do you want me to summarize it?”

“Both.”

Doyle chuckled. “Eager beaver.”

“Shut up and talk.”

“We got a full confession. Faye set the fire at Olivia’s with the intent to kill, and Olivia, thinking the case against Roan Guterson and the threat to her life had been resolved, dismissed her twenty-four-hour-a-day bodyguards, hence leaving herself vulnerable to the attack. Faye acted as janitorial staff at the university to set up the lantern and carbon monoxide tank in Natalia Shore’s office.”

“And Beth?”

“Was injected with a large dose of insulin. Lethal for a nondiabetic and leaves no trace for the coroner to find.”

“But how?”

“Faye waited at her house on the night Beth met with David. When Beth returned home, Faye held her at gunpoint and injected her. Once Beth was unconscious, Faye used Beth’s keys to get inside the house and put Beth on the couch, where her husband found her a few hours later.”

I let the story sink in, analyzing the details and going over everything. It was ludicrous. Insane. Who did shit like that? “Why was Beth’s husband in contact with a criminal defense lawyer? We thought he was covering his ass because you guys were ready to arrest him.”

“No. Beth confided in her husband about the hit-and-run from 2010. She wasn’t driving the car but knew she was equally responsible since she never reported the crime. She feared it would come to light, and she would end up in prison. Her husband contacted the lawyer retroactively in case that happened. Beth got the referral from Shore because Shore had done the same, fearing the truth was about to come out.”

I rattled my head. It was a lot to take in. “Wow. Okay then.”

“Crazy case.”

“I’d say.” I drummed my fingers on the folder. “Did Shore not know about the bloody rag in his car?”

“No. Noah and the girls hid it under the spare tire in the hidey hole in the trunk with the intention of getting rid of it. But in the chaos, they forgot. Noah was a real mess, I guess. Initially, before Torin and I were assigned the case and they were investigating Shore for drugs and solicitation, the cops were checking into past students from York who had minor drug infractions, hoping they could build a case against Shore, hoping those past students might be willing to talk. Noah was arrested for possession in 2010. He was fined, but it stayed on his record.”

“So when the police showed up at his door, it freaked him out even more.”

“Probably.”

“Did you contact Diem?”

“Yeah. He knows.”

“Oh.”

“He didn’t call you?”

“No.”

Doyle shrugged. “He’s a strange cat. Anyhow. I’m out.”

When Doyle left, I spent the next twenty minutes reviewing the file on Faye. It included the interview with Olivia. It was then that I figured out the man we’d seen at the vigil must have been one of her secret bodyguards. We hadn’t considered it at the time, but it made sense.

It was twenty-five after five when my coffee date strolled through the door. “Ready to go?” Costa asked.

Glancing up, I fixed a smile on my face. “Sure. Give me a second.”

I tidied up and shut down the office, tucking the file away to deal with another day.

As I rounded the counter and aimed for the door, Costa handed me a brown box. “I was told to give you this.”

“What is it?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t ask.”

I opened the unlabeled box and discovered my once-broken glasses inside, fully repaired. I stared, confused. Underneath was a handwritten note. I tugged it free from under the frames and opened it. I recognized the messy writing right away.

You told me you didn’t want your cut for the case. I don’t think that’s fair. You worked hard and risked your life to help me. You got hurt because of me. I’m not okay with not paying you, and you shouldn’t be either. Since Faye is locked up, and I don’t expect to see money anytime soon, hopefully, this is compensation enough.

Plus, I like you in glasses.

Diem.

PS. This doesn’t make us partners.

I chuckled and tucked the paper inside the box. “He really is a cuddle bear.”

“Who?” Costa asked.

“No one. Let’s go for coffee.

***

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