NEW ORLEANS

“I need a search warrant.”

Josh Cartwell lifted his gaze from the paperwork on his desk to his stepson standing impatiently in his office doorway.

And Nathan was impatient. He’d needed that search warrant yesterday—a month ago, if he wanted to be honest here—but the district judge had denied Nathan’s request. It hadn’t escaped his notice that they could reach out to Shawna for the documentation, but since being released from jail, she’d actively avoided Nathan’s calls. A search warrant it was, then. He had a feeling that when they were allowed into Miranda Smiley’s home, they’d find a lot more than they originally thought.

“Is this where I invite you in, Detective?” Cartwell asked, cool and collected, per usual.

Nathan took that as good of an invitation as he’d ever get. He kicked the door shut with the heel of his combat boot and took a seat at the chair he’d once claimed belonged to him.

Funny how in the month since Cartwell had ordered Nathan to show Jade around New Orleans, he hadn’t sat his ass in this chair once. Jade wasn’t just good for his personal life—it seemed she was good for his professional one too.

“How can I help you today?” His stepfather reclined in his chair, folding his arms across his barrel chest with an air of power that seemed to shrink the size of the room.

Nathan refused to allow Josh to get a rise out of him. “Search warrant,” he grunted plainly, “for the Zeker case.”

Now that got Cartwell’s attention.

“Do you have a lead?”

“The ex-girlfriend, who claims she’s a wife. But her wedding registry seems to support the theory that she may have faked Zeker’s signature. There’s no mention of the marriage at all with the state.”

Cartwell drummed his fingers on the desk. “And you know this . . . how?”

Struggling to limit the affection that naturally seeped out at the mere mention of her, Nathan coolly replied, “Jade. Your buddy’s daughter.”

“Yes, I haven’t forgotten who she is—including the fact that she isn’t a detective.” He paused deliberately, as if imparting an important fact. “She works in crime lab, Danvers.”

“Yes, she does.”

Cartwell snorted loudly and rummaged around in his desk. He withdrew a sharp-tipped dart, took aim at Nathan’s head and set the dart flying—

Just past his left ear. It was buried into a dartboard posted on the back of the door.

Bull’s eye. Naturally. Lieutenant Joshua Cartwell would score no less.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Nathan demanded, once his body had uncoiled and his heart retreated back to its place in his chest. “What the hell was that?”

Cartwell withdrew another dart, though this one he held out to Nathan to take. “Look at the tip.”

Images of a teasing Jade flitted through his mind. He shoved them, and the innocent reminder of her love for pizza tips, away.

Snagging the dart, Nathan squinted as he turned it over. He looked back up at his stepfather. “Why do you have the P.I.B. president’s face on here?”

“Because he’s a cocksucker out to make my life a living hell.”

Nathan coughed into his hand.

“You just spend your days hurtling darts at the board with your enemies’ faces on them?”

Cartwell took back the dart, fingering the tail as he held it up to the light. “It’s not always P.I.B. up there. Had your face for a while, too.”

Because that just made for all the warm and cuddly sensations. “Good talk, Dad,” Nathan muttered, sarcasm heavy on his tongue. “Let’s get back to the search warrant thing, yeah?”

He flattened a document on the desk with the palm of his hand, then tapped his finger on the feminine face. “Name’s Miranda Smiley. Like I already said, we have reason to believe that she played a part in Zeker’s death.”

“You know protocol,” Cartwell said. “Gotta go to the judge for this.”

Yup, he’d done that. “Judge said no. I need this approved.”

“Mother-effer—” Cartwell slipped a pair of wire-rimmed glasses onto his face and peered down at the paperwork. “This could take weeks, maybe even months, Danvers.”

Nathan knew how it worked. And, yes, he knew that sometimes warrants took weeks if not months to be verified, only . . . “We don’t have weeks or months, Josh. We’ve already been sitting on this case for nearly a month, and we’re likely to keep sitting on it if something doesn’t happen soon. We spent too much time with Shawna Zeker in jail. By the time the DNA came back . . . we’ve lost too much time.”

Cartwell’s eyes turned flinty. “And you say that this . . . Miranda Smiley is the leading suspect.”

He refused to let himself think that there might be another case scenario. “Her M.O. lines up. Married but not actually married. The jealous wife but possibly the jealous lover instead.”

“And you hadn’t thought of her as a possible suspect until now?”

Nathan had prepared himself for that question on the drive over to Headquarters. But somehow preparing for something and then actually having to form a response were two different things. He dragged his fingers through his hair, yanking at the strands as though he could relieve some of the pressure building in his head.

“I had,” he said, choosing to keep his explanations short and brusque, “but there was little circumstantial evidence at the time that circled back to the fact that she murdered Charlie Zeker.”

“The fact that she was his lover didn’t ring any alarms for you?”

Nathan gritted his teeth. “Regardless, I need a search warrant. We’ve reason to believe that she’s responsible for Zeker’s death.”

Cartwell did not look impressed. Still thumbing the tail of the dart, he said, “And by ‘we’ I’m assuming you mean yourself and Jade believe this to be the case.”

If he grinded his teeth any harder they’d turn to sawdust in his mouth. “Yes,” he bit out, “that’s correct.”

“I hear that y’all are seeing each other now.”

High-pitched whistling erupted in his ears, and Nathan could do nothing but stare blankly at his stepfather. “Who told you?”

Cartwell’s shoulders lifted. “Does it matter?”

It did matter. “Did Lizzie tell you?”

“Actually, Jade’s father told me, who learned about you two from Sammie, Jade’s younger sister.”

Shit. The Skype session. He hadn’t thought anything of it then, as he’d been much more curious to meet one of Jade’s siblings than to pay any attention to the fact that he’d been warned against dating Jade in the first place.

Hell, he’d been warned against it while sitting in this very chair a month ago.

Jumping up, the chair screeched against the linoleum floor as Nathan paced the small office. He needed to figure out what to do, what to say. Nathan wasn’t embarrassed that his stepfather knew about his and Jade’s relationship, but he’d been told . . .

“I seduced her,” he blurted, not for one moment stopping to think of how that might sound. “I mean, she wanted it, too, but—”

“I was told you love her.”

Nathan stopped in his tracks. Swiveled to look at the man who’d been as close to a father figure as he’d ever had, sitting behind the desk. “Who said anything about love?”

“Sammie, for one.”

He breathed out through his nose. “And, for two?”

“Your sister.”

Of course, because secrets were never secrets when it came to the youngest of the Danvers-Cartwell family. Feeling weak in the knees, he dropped into the chair he’d just vacated.

“I love her.”

Cartwell’s expression didn’t alter.

“If you’re expecting me to apologize, it won’t be happening anytime soon.” Nathan gave a beat of a pause, waiting for his stepfather to speak up. He didn’t. “You can be terrifying, Josh, but you’re nothing in the face of a police chief. Not that there are plans to apologize to him in the works either.”

More silence.

“Jesus Christ, are you going to say anything at all?”

“I don’t expect you to apologize, Nathan.”

It was Cartwell’s use of his first name that stifled any lingering fight in him. In the decade and more that Josh Cartwell had entered his life, Nathan could not remember a single time that the older man had used his name. Maybe once, just after they’d first met, when Nathan had been a little shit with a big mouth.

Sometimes he was still a little shit with a big mouth.

Pushing the wire-rimmed glasses to the top of his head, Cartwell said, “Don’t look so surprised, kid. You don’t think that your mother and I want you to be happy? Beth is over the moon.”

Working around the sudden lump in his throat, Nathan edged out a gruff, “To be honest, I didn’t think you cared one way or the other.”

“That’s because you’ve got this solitude complex that’s been going on for at least twenty-nine years too long.”

Jade’s words filtered back to him about refusing to ask for help. Nathan had taken her words into consideration, but hearing them from a man who he had shared little companionship with for over a decade? Hearing the same words spit back in his face was a hard pill to swallow.

“Sinking in a bit now?” his stepfather prompted. “Your mother realizes that she’s a bit to blame when it comes to this.”

Hearing Cartwell place ‘Beth’ and ‘blame’ in the same sentence went over about as well with Nathan as could be expected. “Mom shouldn’t be blamed for anything. It’s not her fault that she was married to an asshole with a penchant for using his fists.”

“But don’t you think she’s at fault for staying with him? For choosing him and not your well-being?”

The words were said so quietly, even though they felt like a sharp arrow carved into his chest. Nathan suddenly found it hard to breathe. Had he held a subconscious grudge against his mother for years?

Had he stayed in his house, knowing that it made Beth feel uncomfortable—and yet taking misplaced satisfaction that his entire childhood had been one long streak of guilt, fear, and hatred?

Hatred for his father, who’d been nothing but a glorified sperm donor.

And, yes, hatred for his mother who had confined Nathan and Lizzie to their father’s wild mood swings and swinging fists.

On a broken breath, he whispered, “Damn.”

“Everyone’s come-to-Jesus moments happens differently,” Cartwell said, rummaging through the desk drawer again. He pulled out another dart. Placed it in the center of the desk. “Take a look at it.”

The chair creaked under Nathan’s weight as he leaned forward to grasp the tail of the dart. The face staring back at him was one he knew all too well—after all, he saw it every day when he looked in the mirror.

But there were differences. Gray hair mixed in with black above the ears. Craggy age lines fanning out from the eyes, eyes that were a bleary blue, the single facial feature that Nathan did not share with his father.

He closed his palm over the dart. Went for his usual sarcasm. “For target practice on real bad days at the office?”

“No.”

Nathan’s gaze snapped up to rest on the man who’d been a part of the family for over a decade, despite the fact that Nathan had regularly pretended Joshua Cartwell did not exist.

Cartwell dipped his head toward the dart still clutched in Nathan’s hand. “No,” he continued in a steady voice, “I use that particular dart on days that I wish I could plow my fist into your father’s face. On days when I look at your mother, your sister, you, and realize that he fucked y’all up so much more than in just taking swings.”

Just like that, the breath swiftly left Nathan’s body. He slumped back against the chair, racking his brain for the precise moment that Joshua Cartwell had proved himself to be unlikeable—a true reason for why he’d harbored such a grudge, such dislike.

And . . . he came up empty.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Was he really any better than his father?

“I’m sorry, Josh . . . for everything.”

“Don’t be. Let’s not forget I’ve given you hell in this department.”

Nathan cracked a grin, because, yeah, there was the minor fact that Joshua Cartwell had made his life hell since entering the NOPD’s homicide department. He opened his mouth to make a smart quip, but was soundly cut off.

“You’ve seemed happier lately, since Jade moved here. Not as much of a smart ass”—Cartwell gave him a rare grin—“and your mother couldn’t be happier. I just . . . need you to be careful.”

Slowly, Nathan asked, “Of what?”

That rare grin flattened. “Jade.”

Nathan absorbed the one-word answer like a bullet zipping past him. He heard it, saw it, even, but it didn’t connect—her name didn’t connect, register, compute. “Josh, I’m going to need you to explain what you mean.”

Before his brain went to the extreme.

Though, honestly, it was already there.

“Josh.”

Heaving a deep sigh, Cartwell clasped his hands together and leaned forward. “Kevin—her dad—told me that she’d been seeing someone, though guess it was more than just ‘seeing’ since they’d—”

Through gritted teeth, Nathan bit out, “Get to it already.”

“Right.” The older man shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m not good at this shit, just saying. Your mom bailed and told me it was my responsibility as a good stepfather to—”

“Jesus, L-T,” Nathan exploded, hands going up in the air in frustration, “you go years without saying more than a sentence to me and now you can’t get to the fucking point already.”

Cartwell had the grace to look sheepish. “Jade was almost engaged.”

And now he was feeling the bullet. It landed in his gut, among his intestines, because those were always the worst wounds. Before he could think otherwise, he heard himself pathetically ask, “So she isn’t engaged, though . . . right?”

The older man shook his head. “No, she, uh . . . According to Kevin, Jade used her move to N’Orleans as a way to break off the relationship. From what I understand, she wasn’t interested in a relationship at all, not with him or anyone else.”

“So, what, she turned him down and fled?”

“She may have . . . lied and told him that she was a lesbian. From what I understand, it was a miscommunication she took advantage of to get out of Miami. That’s what Kevin told me anyway. But the engaged thing, that’s true.”

Nathan couldn’t even wrap his head around a “miscommunication” like Jade being a lesbian. Anything was possible, but the way she’d begged for him to take her did not scream a woman who played for the same team. She was a fan of the opposite team—Nathan’s team. Except, maybe their whole relationship had been nothing but a rebound.

A way to live a little when she was still bouncing back from a failed, almost-engagement.

The thought more than stung. It fucking hurt. Because while she’d been thinking short-term, Nathan had started to think long-term. Marriage. Kids. The white-picket fence with the dog. The whole nine-yards.

This, after she’d given him grief about him not trusting her—about him not trusting anyone.

He’d been such an idiot.

“I’m sorry, son.”

For once, Nathan didn’t object to the nickname that Cartwell had used sparingly over the years. In reality, he didn’t give a rat’s ass what name Cartwell had for him. It didn’t matter. What mattered was Jade Harper, and the fact that he’d been played like a lovesick fool at the very worst.

At the very least? He’d been an easy lay to get over her ex-boyfriend. A friend when she’d had none in a city she didn’t know.

Nothing more.

“I’ve got to go,” he muttered, kicking back his chair and going for the office door. He needed air, maybe a walk around the block to calm him down. Fuck it. What he really needed was a cigarette, but Jade had stolen the one pack he’d purchased in a moment of weakness.

Cartwell’s voice sounded behind him when his hand landed on the doorknob. “About that search warrant, Nathan—I’ll get it taken care of.”

Nathan nodded brusquely.

The search warrant. Charlie Zeker. Miranda Smiley.

In the span of thirty minutes, his logically laid-out plans had fallen through the cracks and taken him with them. And all because of a beautiful woman he should have known better than to fall in love with.