He gives me a smile that comes through from his eyes. There’s an almost paternal concern in there. I wonder how my life might have turned out if I’d had a father who looked at me like that. Like even the little disappointments in my life affected him as deeply as they affected me.
“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “That’s kind of you.”
“Can I offer you gentlemen something to drink?” Kian asks. He’s really playing up the domestic husband role.
“Thank you, but no. We’re not allowed to eat or drink on the job.”
“Of course. Rules are rules.”
I notice both cops start to turn back towards the front door, as though they’ve concluded their search already.
“Wait,” I stammer. “I, uh… Do you need to see the rest of the house?”
I blurt it out before I can consider the consequences. Maybe my first instinct was wrong. Maybe I should tell these men that Drago is dying back there, that he needs their help, that this isn’t my husband and nothing here is normal and if they don’t intervene then I might not live to see the morning.
Officer Sanchez raises his eyebrows, but I’m really looking at Kian out of the corner of my eyes. His perfectly crafted mask doesn’t slip. His tension, though, is like a heat wave rippling through me. Sweat pricks at the backs of my thighs.
“Oh, nah,” Sanchez demurs. “To be honest, you two seem like a nice couple. I’m sure the call was a result of crossed lines, just like you said. No reason for us to take up any more of your time.”
I try not to look too disappointed, even though my heart is beating furiously against my ribcage. Like it’s saying, over and over again, Help-me, help-me, help-me.
“Well, then, how about some water?” I suggest, making a last-ditch attempt at getting them around to the kitchen. “It’s the least I can do. You came all the way out here.”
Officer Briggs looks between Kian and me. His brows furrow just a little. Go to the kitchen, I want to scream. Go to the fucking kitchen!
“Maybe we should finish looking around,” he says, stepping forward next to Sanchez.
“It’s not really nece—”
“Come on,” the younger cop says, cutting Sanchez off.
“Sure thing,” Kian says placidly. He gestures towards the other side of the house. “Follow me, gentlemen.”
My heart beats hard against my chest as I lead the men to the other side of the thick partition wall. Was this a mistake? Was this the right thing to do? God, I hope so.
In three steps, we’re going to round the corner and see my bloodied, dying brother.
In two steps, these officers are going to pull their guns and force Kian away from me, away from us.
In one step, I’m going to be saved.
We round the corner. And…
It’s empty.
I stop short, my breath hitching silently as I look to the kitchen floor.
Drago’s gone. Like he was never there at all. The only thing that betrays his presence is the kitchen towel I’d handed him lying on the floor.
Where the fuck is my brother?
“Oops,” Kian says, brushing past me. “Let me get that.”
When he straightens up again, the towel comes with him. And the tile underneath is perfectly clear.
I’m the only one who notices the way he scrunches up the towel—to hide the fact that the underside is stained with the blood he’s just wiped off the tile.
He tosses the rag into the sink and looks at me. “She’s a great cook,” he chuckles. “But a messy one.”