Page 19

“The cops were there,” I supply, not bothering to hide my bitterness.

He says nothing.

We’re quiet as the story gets slightly rewritten in my brain, but only just barely. Because though he didn’t know what Zeb was doing, he still left. He told me he loved me then he disappeared, leaving me to deal with every single hard thing that came next. Alone.

“Where have you been?” I ask, less heat in my voice as I lean against his car. “You just vanished.”

“Atlanta. I finished school in Raleigh, went to the academy. Moved to the city. Worked for the Narcotics Unit for years.”

Ironic. Ford loses his best friend to drugs and spends his life putting people in jail because of them.

“Why’d you come back?” When he hesitates, I add, “And don’t tell me some bullshit line about birds.”

“Redemption, for one. I have a lot to make up for—to a lot of people. And . . .” He swallows, opens his mouth, closes it, swallows again. “I have a kid. Thought it would be better here. Closer to my parents. Slower.”

“A kid?” I whisper, the idea of it sucker punching me to near speechlessness. “Who you raise?”

He chuckles with a slight nod and a soft voice. “That’s usually how it works, Scotty.”

It takes all of my energy not to drop like a sandbag down the side of the cop car. “Girls in Atlanta must be hard up to procreate.”

He doesn’t take the bait.

“That the boss you were talking about?”

He chuckles. “One and only. Ben says that because kids call the shots.”

My eyes find his left finger. Empty. “The mom?”

He says nothing.

I click my tongue; his silence frustrates me way more than I like. “Boy or girl?”

He shakes his head. “Not sharing that one.”

I snort, shifting my cuffed hands behind my back. “Scared of what I’ll do to your kid, Ford?”

He puffs out a breath, slightest of smiles creeping onto his eternal baby face. “Scared of what you’ll do tome, Scotty.”

“Explains the cuffs.” I tug my hands away from each other and the chain clinks.

“So, you and Kid Doe move back to Ledger for a slow life on your parents’ orchard. How perfect for y’all. I hope you eat apple pies until your shit smells like cinnamon. Bet your mother loves that.”

He chuckles but doesn’t make a move to release me. “How did you end up doing this?” He nods toward the crematorium.

“Ah.” I study the back of the old brick building. “Seemed like a good place to get rid of the bodies of men who handcuff me. Which”—I rake my gaze over his uniformed body—“I’ve had better.”

He laughs; it tickles like a feather in my belly. “You’re as much of a pain in the ass now as you were twenty years ago.”

I grin. “Thank you.”

The door of the crematorium swings open, and Wanda goes wide-eyed as she takes in the scene. “Scotty? You okay, honey?”

“Just peachy,” I reply, gesturing toward Ford with my chin. “Trying to figure out what size urn would be required if we cremated someone with such a small dick.”

“Wanda,” Ford says without missing a beat as he spins me around and pushes me harder than needed against his car. I grunt as he presses against me and works to unlock the cuffs. He stays that way, him against me. The warmth of his breath at my ear, the spice of his cologne in my nostrils, his fingers working at my hands.I look at him over my shoulder, and his eyes meet mine. I could swear his breathing stops. Could swear mine does. He steps back, giving Wanda his attention. “Would you believe me if I told you she begged me for it?”

He slips the cuffs off my wrists and hooks them back onto his belt.