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“I won’t pretend I know what it’s like any more than I’ll pretend I know what you went through,” Marco promised her. “And I won’t pretend that Carter isn’t the reason I’m here talking to you. He’s a good man, better than most people think. And he doesn’t deserve to suffer for Reynolds’ crime.”

She watched him warily but kept her silence.

“I also know Reynolds deserves to pay for what he did or tried to do. For what he’s probably done before, and I’m sure he’ll do again, people like that don’t change.” He hated the way she flinched, and he pushed past the twist in his gut as he continued. “And it’s not fair of me to put this on you. To put what’s happening to Carter, what happened to other women before, and what could happen to others in the future on your shoulders. I know that. And I hate it. I can’t even describe to you how much I hate it.”

“But you’re doing it,” she said, voice neutral.

“Yes,” Marco said because it was the truth.

“Who are you?” Jessica asked softly.

“Someone trying to get justice. For other people and for a damned good man.”

“You love him.”

He hesitated and then went with the first thing that felt like the truth. “Not yet.”

Jessica nodded slowly at that, pursing her lips. Marco could see the war behind her eyes, though he could only guess what each side was saying in her head.

“You don’t have to answer right now,” Marco said, even though it made him ill to think of Carter having to wait. And not knowing what would happen. “I’m not here to demand anything. I just wanted to...present my case, I guess.”

She gave a jerk of her head that might have been understanding, acceptance, or agreement. He didn’t know. Jessica slid from the table and went to the door. When she opened it, Marco waited for her to leave. She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder to stare at him, face unreadable.

And then she was gone.

Marco stared at the spot where she’d been standing. Eventually, Dean appeared in the doorway, face pinched with worry.

“Well?” Dean finally asked after the silence stretched on.

“I don’t know,” Marco whispered. “I just...don’t know.”

And his heart broke at the thought.

CARTER

As much as he’d known being locked up would be a miserable experience, the reality was far different. Time had quickly lost all meaning, even as he knew it was passing, albeit at a glacial pace. The only marks separating one time period from another were the meals and how the light faded in the row of jail cells, only to be lit by the indoor lights.

Carter had no idea how long he’d been locked up, though he guessed it had been a week. He had no idea why they were taking their sweet time to string him up before tossing him into an actual cell to throw away the key. It wasn’t like they didn’t have everything they needed to get rid of him, which he suspected was the fondest wish of a great many people.

The thought might have just pissed him off once upon a time, but his mind flashed, as it so often did, to Marco. Thinking of the man brought warmth and a great weight upon his chest.

It had been good while it lasted. Hell, it had been fantastic, beyond anything he might have dreamed of, let alone hoped for. Carter had even started to believe that maybe, just maybe, something had finally come his way that he could cling to, something that mattered,someonewho mattered.

He should have known better.

Misery was something he’d always denied himself. Self-pity was for others, and it never served him to wallow when he could be better served bydoingsomething about his life, even if that meant hitting something.

Ironic that when he’d finally found something worth being truly happy about, worth keeping, was when he allowed himself to wallow. It felt like that’s all he did when he wasn’t sleeping or eating the food that tasted like sawdust. Like the tide, the misery swept over him and refused to let him go, dragging him out to sea.

And he was content to let it.

“Corporal Grant,” a gruff voice demanded, ripping Carter out of his thoughts.

He pushed himself upright and sat on the edge of the bed. Carter couldn’t tell if he was surprised by his new visitor or not.

“Sloane,” he said.

“Really?” Marshall asked, raising a brow. “That’s what you’re going with?”