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“Okay.” She pauses and I sense her desire to question me further. “Take care of yourself,” Rissa says softly. “I’ll cover your cases today.”

I end the call and sink into a kitchen chair, guilt settling heavy in my stomach. I should be working. The weight of my badge presses against my chest though it’s upstairs in my drawer.

But I’m compromised. How can I investigate crimes objectively when I’m married to a man who operates outside the law? When his blood-stained clothes are still in our bathroom floor? When I helped clean up evidence of a shooting last night?

I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold together the pieces of who I thought I was—Detective Landry, protector of victims, seeker of justice—with who I’ve become—a woman caught between duty and survival, law and necessity.

The whiskeyburns as it slides down my throat. I’d prefer my gin, but it’s in the kitchen, and I’m avoiding people. Zeke’s private stash only consists of whiskey. And expensive whiskey at that.

I pour another generous measure, the amber liquid swirling in the crystal tumbler. It’s barely past noon, but with everything that’s happened, I need a drink.

I sink into the leather armchair in Zeke’s study, away from prying eyes. The room smells of him—leather, expensive cologne, and that indefinable masculine scent that makes my body respond even when my mind protests. My badge sits heavy in my pocket now, a constant reminder of who I am. Who I’m supposed to be.

Detective Landry wouldn’t be day drinking in a mansion paid for with blood money. Detective Landry wouldn’t have helped clean up evidence of a shooting. Detective Landry wouldn’t be falling in love with a man who operates outside the law.

The whiskey doesn’t burn as much on the second swallow. Or the third.

I close my eyes, remembering the terror on Leo’s face last night. Christ, what am I doing to him? Rose trusted me to give him a stable home, a normal life. Instead, I’ve dragged him into this shadowy world where violence erupts without warning and the line between right and wrong blurs more each day.

My fingers trace the rim of the glass as I think about how many victims need justice while I sit here protecting a man who takes the law into his own hands.

The alcohol dulls the edges of my guilt, but can’t erase it. I’m compromised in every way possible—professionally, ethically,emotionally. And the worst part? I’m not sure I want to change it. Because despite everything, when Zeke holds me at night, when he plays with Leo, when they cook together, when he looks at me like I’m his entire world—it feels right.

I pour another drink, hoping it will quiet the war between my heart and my conscience. But it doesn’t.

The study door creaks open. I don’t need to look up to know it’s Zeke—his presence fills the room like a thundercloud. My fingers tighten around the crystal tumbler, knuckles white against the cut glass.

“Eve.” His voice is soft, dangerous. “What are you doing?”

I laugh, the sound brittle and sharp as broken glass. “What does it look like?” I lift the glass in a mock toast. “I’m having a drink. Several, actually.”

He moves closer, and I catch the slight hitch in his stride—his injury from last night. The sight sends fresh guilt coursing through me, mixing with the whiskey in my stomach, a toxic cocktail.

“This isn’t like you,” he says.

“No?” I meet his gaze, defiant despite the room’s slight spin. “How would you know what I’m like? You left before you really knew me, remember?”

Pain flashes across his face, there and gone like lightning. “Eve—”

“Don’t.” I stand, swaying. “Please let me have this moment of … self-loathing. There’s blood on your couch. Your brother was shot. Leo—” my voice breaks. “Leo was terrified. And I just … I can’t be both anymore.”

“Both what?”

“Both your wife and a detective. Both the woman who loves you and the person who’s supposed to stop men like you.” The confession tumbles out, weighted with whiskey and truth. “I’mlosing myself, Zeke. Every time I look the other way, every time I choose you over justice—I lose another piece of who I am.”

He reaches for me, but I step back, bumping against his desk. “I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper. “I don’t know how to love you without hating myself.”

“Do you want to leave?” Zeke’s question cuts through the whiskey haze, sharp as a blade.

I grip the edge of his desk, steadying myself. “That’s not—” The words tangle in my throat. “I’m not talking about running away.”

“Then what are you talking about, Eve?” He steps closer, his presence overwhelming in the confined space of his study. “Because it sounds like you’re giving up.”

“I’m talking about the fact that your brother is fighting for his life.” My voice quivers, hindered by alcohol and fear. “I’m talking about Leo having nightmares because he saw you covered in blood. I’m talking about lying to my partner every day, compromising everything I’ve worked for, everything I believe in—”

“To protect our family,” he interrupts, his dark eyes intense.

“Our family?” I laugh, the sound bordering on hysterical. “Is that what we are? Because this…” I pound my fist on my chest. “My heart hurts, Zeke. You could have died last night, and then what?”