CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THE POUNDING WAS relentless. In her head. Her chest. Her soul. At the front door.
The latter had started as soon as she’d gotten out of the shower. Charleen had made the mistake of accessing the front camera and using the attached microphone to tell the person on the other end to go away.
Harwood had been attempting to get her to answer it ever since. Using everything from the past to the current Internal Affairs case. Interrupting her search of the camera feed she had of her entire property.
She’d given up. Opted for pacing the living room near the front of the house. Out of sight of the windows.
Whoever had placed the ring and message in her bathroom had gotten inside without tripping the numerous sensors she had, which meant he or she wasn’t going to show up on any camera feed.
“Interesting that Jane Doe disappears, your vic vanishes from a morgue, and you have that nice little gift in your bathroom.” Beth sat on the arm of the couch in the adjacent living room. “All of this in twenty-four hours.”
The body couldn’t be missing.
Bodies didn’t disappear. They didn’t. Not from a hospital. Not from a morgue. Not without any person or camera seeing a thing. A blip of something.
And the words in her bathroom? In Jane Doe’s room?
Revival.
They meant something. A message. A hint.
A dead end.
“And that’s not even including all the other incidents along the way. With Josiah. Fay. Amanda and Dexter.”
Beyond scrubbing the hints of vomit off her carpet, Charleen had touched nothing in the bathroom. Had used a glove to close the door. Paced in front of it while blocking out Harwood’s voice. Debated what to do while not making the situation worse.
She couldn’t leave. Couldn’t risk letting something happen to the possible—but probably nonexistent—evidence in her bathroom. Couldn’t jump in her car, parked in the front drive, without dealing with Harwood. Couldn’t stay here and do nothing.
“Charleen, come on.” Harwood’s voice came through the door. Jangled her nerves. “What you saw last week—it wasn’t what you think. Open the door. We need to talk.”
She’d expected those words from Dexter, not Harwood. Another obvious mistake on her part. She should’ve known ignoring him—walking away—wouldn’t work.
Should’ve faced him head-on a long time ago.
“At this point, dealing with Mr. Bad Date isn’t worth it.” Beth slipped onto the seat of the couch, legs crossed. “Although, he’s likely drawing the neighbors’ attention.”
“I’m well aware of what’s going on outside.” She’d noted the elderly man who went to the supermarket without fail this time of day. The mother loading her infant into a car with care. The way the winter wind blew brown leaves around the street.
Minus Harwood, there wasn’t anything or anyone out of place, but the feeling in Charleen’s gut and the fingers scaling her back wouldn’t let her rest.
“Gee, it couldn’t be the Hulk out there, could it? His tenacity in a situation that should be pretty cut and dried?” Beth motioned toward the front door. Where Harwood was likely contemplating his next move.
Charleen flipped the jewelry card between her fingers, Dexter’s handwriting reaching out with every turn. There was always a clear route in these situations. Always a course of action that made sense. So why didn’t it this time?
Call me…
She’d already dialed his number, only she hadn’t completed the call. The phone sat on her coffee table amidst the piles of notebooks she kept. They detailed her time travel events in a manner that would come across as a fictional story to anyone reading them. They were littered across the surface in disarray, some open to random pages.
They didn’t hold any answers. They didn’t hold any truths about the missing chunks of time in her mind. Nothing but the same old warning about unnecessary travel.
Calling Dexter wasn’t going to accomplish anything.
What was he going to do? In this moment.
Nothing. Except maybe get hurt. Ruin his career. Protector was hardwired in his DNA. And there was no way he wouldn’t open the front door and send Harwood on his way. No way Harwood wouldn’t mention something about it. It wasn’t professional.
Dexter had a wife. So whatever Charleen did or didn’t do, whatever trouble she had coming her way wasn’t his problem. He’d be smart to remember it.
Or maybe forget, regardless of anything they’d been through in the last twenty-four hours.
“At least give him the courtesy of the call he asked for.” Annoyance tinged Beth’s tone.
Everything inside of Charleen wanted to do that. Call him and have him come running. A person to lean on. But there was no reason for him to. No reason he’d leave her a note either. She froze. “What did you say to him?”
“Nothing he wouldn’t have figured out on his own. You’re vulnerable in the aftermath of travel. Remember last time?”
According to Beth, she’d barely made it home. Had collapsed half on her couch, half on the floor. Hadn’t surfaced from the hibernation-like sleep until Amanda had come knocking on her door. “This is dangerous. We don’t know—”
“Sometimes you aren’t going to, Vi.” Beth stood. “You just go on faith. Use your brain. Trust your gut.”
Those things were the shakiest they’d ever been. A liability she couldn’t afford. Not with everything going on. Not with the missing chunks in her mind.
She needed to gather them. Find Elliot. Figure out the rest from there. Fix whatever had been broken. Ensure that no other lives were lost.
“Who better to help you?” The other woman reached toward Charleen’s phone. Her fingers flicked over—and actually touched the call send button, the buzz of connection clear through the speakers.
Everything inside Charleen stilled. This phenomenon had happened only a handful of times. It didn’t make it less startling—like static-charged air.
Beth’s gaze traveled to hers. “You’re welcome, Vi.”
Charleen picked up the phone. Ended the connection. Tried to silence the thoughts racing through her head. Like the time she’d fallen into the swamp at one of the foster homes she’d lived at. Swimming lessons hadn’t been a priority—not with the amount of moving she did—and the swamp had been deeper than it looked. One minute her head had been above water, the next she couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face.
Beth had been with her through it all. First coaching her through kicking her legs, then pulling her from the muddy water and to the shore when those efforts hadn’t worked.
“I’d do it again. All of it. The swamp. The abortion clinic. Last summer.”
Charleen moved toward the kitchen. Couldn’t think about those moments. Had to focus on this one. Right here. Right now.
Whatever she was or wasn’t doing with it.
Beth followed. Leaned on the door jamb, her arms across her chest. “That’s the question God asked the moment my heart stopped on that table in the prison. Would you do it again?”
Charleen couldn’t do this. Not like this. She resisted the urge to plug her ears.
“I had to answer Him.”
Charleen had been inquiring about the process since she could talk. “You’re doing this now? Right now?”
“That’s the funny thing about dying. Everything is clear. Very clear. Lies are stripped bare and all that remains is truth. It’s powerful. Humbling. Time ceases in the face of God.” Beth straightened. “In the midst of my own judgement, I saw you struggling on that table in that clinic as if I were standing right next to you. I saw the anguish on Simone’s face—the fact that she’d have to deal with that choice forever—as you took a breath. A breath you weren’t ever supposed to take. I saw Eileen rush you to the paramedics. I watched her visit you in the NICU day after day.”
Charleen had never heard the details so plain. Eileen had always glossed over the event. The wrongs. The rights. The fight for survival. Her role in it all.
“Redemption comes at a cost, Vi. We all have our choices to make. I’d do it again and so would you.” Then she moved off into the next room.
What? Charleen followed Beth. She’d picked up a notebook. Thumbed through it.
“You don’t get to walk away after that.” Charleen resisted the urge to grab the papers from her hand. Refocus Beth’s attention. “This wasn’t a conversation we could’ve had years ago? Heck, even yesterday?”
Beth didn’t look up. Just kept moving through the pages. “You weren’t ready.”
Ready? “For what?”
“Redemption.”
Irritation charged through her system. She was tired of the riddles. The hills and valleys. “What have I done that needs redemption? Please explain it to me.”
Beth glanced up then, her hazel gaze piercing Charleen. “We all need redemption.”
“Don’t patronize me.” Charleen snatched the book from her. The incident from second grade was scrawled across the pages. The recollection of losing everything she’d ever known in order to save a life.
I’d do it again and so would you.
She ripped it from the binding, the motion freeing.
One of Beth’s eyebrows hiked north. “Don’t do that.”
Charleen didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Finished the book and grabbed another from the coffee table—tore out the entry of the time she’d stopped a little boy from drinking Drano and thrown a pan at her foster parent. Another new placement. The pages filtered to the floor on top of the others. “What have I done?”
Beth said nothing.
“The answers aren’t in these things.” They weren’t anywhere. Charleen threw the empty journal. It hit the wall behind where Beth stood and fell to the floor. Charleen picked up another. Repeated the motion, each flick of her wrist faster than the last. “You don’t have the answers. I can’t remember them, so these are worthless. How’s that for redemption?”
She picked up another one. Noted another life worthy of saving. Another fight. Another foster placement. The adults in her scope of reality confused as to how to help her.
If those were the moments requiring redemption, Charleen didn’t want it. Didn’t want anything to do with the sentiment.
She tore the pages from it. That’s all her life was. Moments that nobody understood. Suspicion cast from it. She didn’t need them. Didn’t need any of the memories. Didn’t need the reminder that she wasn’t normal. That she shouldn’t travel.
She couldn’t even remember how to.
“Charleen.” Dexter’s voice floated to her ear as if he’d said it numerous times. His arms folded around her—his body behind her and holding her loosely enough that she could escape if needed.
Everything inside her stilled. The floor was littered with sheets of paper. A scrap of it had flown onto the couch. There was a metal binding sitting precariously on the bookshelf beyond the sitting area. Letters in complete disarray. Her life sprawled out in nakedness.
Something punched through her chest. What had she done?
The notebook she had in her hand fell to the floor near the debris. Near the mess she’d created. She took in a breath. Got a lungful of his aftershave.
It had her wishing she had the guts to turn around and face him. Place her lips on top of his. Feel something besides…
Nope. This wasn’t a good idea. Just because he had a minuscule understanding of what life looked like from this vantage point didn’t mean he needed to get dragged into the fray.
It wasn’t fair. Nothing about that had changed. She needed to move away from him. Get a grip. “I’ve got a task force meeting in a little while.” One she wasn’t going to be allowed to attend no matter what Amanda said or did.
He remained silent.
“Someone—whoever is behind all this, Jo or whoever—was in my house. Left some interesting graffiti and another ring. Beth dialed your number for me while waxing philosophical about redemption and the face of God. All in all, a really swell morning. How about you?”
“Just as interesting as yours.” He turned her so she faced him. Faced those beautiful violet eyes, the bit of stubble on his chin, and the concern emanating from him.
It did strange things to her heart.
It’s okay to care about people.
Every heartbeat and the close proximity she had to Dexter—the feel of his hands still on her shoulders—reminded her exactly how much she cared. How easy it would be to care a little more.
“Does she usually interact with inanimate objects or discuss God?” He licked his lips. “And did you call anyone about the graffiti?”
“Really, Dexter?” She shook off his touch. “I’m a cop—or I used to be a cop. If I call anyone, they’ll be crawling around my house. Asking questions I can’t answer.”
“Is there another option?”
“If you want me locked up in a mental institution.” Maybe he did. Maybe all of this was leading to that moment when cops arrived on her doorstep. Took her away and plugged her full of medication.
He tucked one hand in his front pocket. “Let’s back up a bit.”
“I’m not stupid. After yesterday…” She shook her head, bit back the sting in her throat. Being a cop was all she’d ever done. Something she’d decided one day during a job fair. Had been standing with Eileen, watching all her classmates mosey from table to table as if they knew where they were going in life.
Charleen didn’t. She didn’t know where she was going in five minutes. She knew what she was doing—saving lives, protecting the innocent. Didn’t know where that would lead. Eileen had pointed out Major Fritz’s table. Charleen had never looked back, her ability to travel in time easily meshing with police work.
Until last summer.
I would do it again and so would you.
She would. Of course she would. Everything right down to those two bullets she’d fired last summer. What did that say about her? “There’s a phantom following me. Messing with me. Making sure all the things I…making sure I’m a danger to everyone around me. How am I supposed to not be a liability at work and in my personal life? Those kids at Knight House deserve better. I’d remove me from everything important, too, if I knew even a fraction of what I know. If I knew there was a man killing everyone around me. Or attempting to.”
“Charleen.”
“How long before I’m unable to fix that? Until I have to watch someone die and they can’t be revived or saved or whatever has been happening?” Her throat closed. She hadn’t meant to say that much. Hadn’t meant to lay it all out there.
Bare.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. Clamped her eyes shut. She wasn’t going to lose this battle. She might lose her job, but she wasn’t going to let anyone take what Juliana had been working for away. Wouldn’t watch fear wash over Ricky’s face when he met the other half of his DNA and didn’t know quite what to expect. What to hope for. Wasn’t going to let Jo get to her.
You can’t save Eileen. No one can.
“Hey.” He pulled her to his solid chest. His voice was calm. It washed over her in a way that was far too comfortable and swirled in the air around her much like the scent he wore.
Her arms circled his frame of their own volition. For once the thought of pulling away wasn’t the first thing on her mind. It wasn’t even close.
No, right now all that was in the space between her ears was the steady thud of Dexter’s heart. The ripple of his muscles beneath her fingers. The intense need to get closer.
And just believe.
“We’re going to have to decipher all of that.” He smoothed a hand up and down her back. “Slowly. Maybe not right here.”
She didn’t know if she could. “You don’t have enough time for that.”
Laughter vibrated through him, the sound a tangible lifeline she wanted to grab hold of and never let go. “I suppose that’s really all about perspective.”
Yeah. Perspective. Crazy versus normal. His sanity pitted against hers.
She pulled back. “How did you get in here?”
He held up a key. The one Ricky used most every day.
Charleen broke away from him. He had a wife who probably wouldn’t appreciate the close proximity they shared. Wouldn’t appreciate any of this. “Beth told you where I was.”
His violet gaze was locked on Charleen. “The intermittent running commentary from your friend isn’t great.”
“You try being me.” Beth moved into Charleen’s line of vision, her hands behind her back. “We’ll see how the conversation flows, handsome.”
Dexter’s eyes flicked between them before Beth moved into the kitchen and out of sight. “It’s like static on a radio with a favorite song coming in and out. However, it has its benefits. Do you want to talk about this—whatever this is?” He gestured toward the floor, littered with paper.
Charleen swiped the key from his fingers and tucked it in her pocket. She had to get it together. Couldn’t fall apart. Definitely couldn’t talk about anything Beth had said.
“Finn told me you’d headed this way.”
“Yeah.” The hope on Mave Knight’s face surfaced. Charleen had all but crushed it. But really, what did the woman expect? She was no more Finn’s type than she was Dexter’s. “Thanks for that. Your mom thinks I’m going to dinner with Finn later.”
“I told you to stay still.” Dexter shook his head, a small grin forming on his face. As if they weren’t in the middle of complete catastrophe.
It did all sorts of crazy things to her chest. It shouldn’t have. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down. Even a little.
Dexter shifted. “Never warned you about Finn. Probably should’ve.”
“When would you have done that? Somewhere between getting shot and yesterday?”
“Speaking of Finn, he said there was an incident last week in the front yard. That true?”
“If by incident you mean some pissed off and protective family member of the woman your brother has the hots for, then yes. There was an incident, but I’m sure it appeared much different than it actually was.”
The sight of anger on Mia’s brother’s face surfaced in Charleen’s mind. Harwood had a SIG tucked in the waistband of his pants, his eyes flicking between Finn and his sister. And then focusing on Charleen.
“Finn said you froze.”
That was an understatement. She’d seen Harwood’s gun going off. Hitting Finn. Killing him. “Not every situation requires action.”
“What did you see?”
She shook her head. Attempted to move around him.
He stopped her progress with a hand to the inside of her elbow. “Trust doesn’t come easy for you, does it? Basic information is not an issue. Complicated information isn’t an issue as long as you’re delivering it. On your terms. It’s when someone starts probing—even in a benign manner—you close up.”
Charleen straightened. “Why are you even here? You don’t have to do this. You’re a psychologist. This is your career. Shouldn’t you be stamping my file with irreversible ink? Not fit for duty.”
“Is that what you’re hoping for?” He shifted, his arms crossing over his chest. The motion caused his charcoal gray button-up shirt to tighten at his neck. It was done all the way to the top. While it form-fitted to his body in all the right places, the straight-laced, starched look—with his sleeves buttoned up tight—made him appear as if awaiting a commander’s call.
Could he even take an unrestrained breath?
As if her fingers had a mind of their own, she reached up and undid the top button. Revealed the edges of raised, pink scarring just above his trachea.
He sucked in a breath.
She couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “Seems I’m not the only one with trust issues.”
“Preparing myself for that head-butt.” He attempted to redo the closure. “Or handcuffs.”
“I already have your attention.” She grabbed his wrist. Halted his attempt to redo it. His skin was warm beneath her palm. An electric whiz shot through her. Maybe she’d give him the opposite of a head-butt. “Leave it. You look—”
“Scarred.”
Something sharp hit her chest. He wasn’t the only one with scars that defined. She had one down the middle of her chest, courtesy of Patent Ductus Arteriosus when she’d been too little to know what was happening.
Another down her wrist that she had no recollection of.
“I was going to say more comfortable.” Then she undid his cuff, rolled it upward and slid it to the middle of his forearm, purposely letting her fingers trail over the jagged areas of skin his tango with an explosion had created. The one Juliana felt responsible for. He’d probably have an excuse for why Juliana didn’t have anything to do with it. Why it was something he’d chosen to do. “More relaxed. More you.”
“Right.” He drew out the word. Then removed himself from her grasp and repeated her handiwork with the other sleeve. “Satisfied?”
A smile fought for precedence.
“How does an absorption work? Can you go anywhere—to any time—you want? Can Beth move objects around the room at will? Do the two of you fight like this all the time?”
She clasped her opposite elbow. “Is this part of our official talk?”
“No.” The word came out on a scoff. “No one would ever believe it.”
“And you do?”
He nodded, not an ounce of hesitation.
Shock blasted through her system. Shock and a little awe. “Why?”
“I took your word when you said there was an explosive device in that house yesterday. There wasn’t another option. I knew it in my gut even though you’d just ditched me at the airport and threatened to use your handcuffs.”
The words penetrated something in her chest. She couldn’t let it settle. Her life was one moment like this to another that would be different. “Clear me or don’t. I’m still working this. I have to.”
He didn’t even flinch. “Okay.”
“That’s it?” She passed by the front door, toward the lower-level bathroom. The threshold was empty, Harwood’s shadow not present.
Dexter followed, his footsteps light on the wood floor. “Are you out for revenge?”
“No.”
“Do you view every person around you as suspect?”
Charleen stopped outside the still-closed bathroom door. Faced Dexter. “Depends on circumstance.”
“If someone came in here and threatened one of us, your least favorite person even—”
“So…you.” She squelched a smile. Wasn’t sure where the words or lightheartedness came from. “If they threatened you? What would I do?”
A strangled laugh came from him. The smile on his face highlighted his eyes. “Sure.”
Dr. Hicks would’ve reposed the question until she met an answer he thought appropriate. “Depends on the situation.”
Dexter tucked his hands in his pants pockets. “Life or death.”
She shook her head. “That’s too broad.”
“You wouldn’t shoot first and ask questions later?”
What did she have to lose here? “You get a pretty clear picture within minutes. If they’re a threat and all measures have been taken to gain compliance, I’ll take them down. Any means necessary. Especially if there are innocent people around.”
He nodded. “All of those things have been very clear. Last summer. Yesterday. With Hugh and Simone. Sometimes observing someone in the real world yields more than questions.”
“Except last night never happened. Not the way you remember it.” She moved toward him. He needed to grasp the gravity of what happened in these situations. “As in Hugh and Simone never showed up. And I never got a call at all. You came to Knight House and that was the end of it.”
“Simple enough.”
It wasn’t. “We wouldn’t be having this conversation if things were any different. We shouldn’t even be having it now, because its unethical and you could lose your career over it. Official or unofficial. You were in that room with me last summer. It’s only a matter of time before people realize that and call your actions into question.”
His gaze searched her face, not an ounce of fear in the depths. “Does the process ever mess with you?”
Frustration bubbled through her veins. He wasn’t hearing her. “Dexter, listen, please—”
He put his hand out, palm toward the floor. “Answer the question. Does it mess with you? Does traveling in time—absorbing, slingshotting, the forward momentum—does it mess you up?”
“I pretty much toss my cookies every time it happens.” Except when he was around. “You should absolutely walk away from this. Nobody would hold it against you.”
“I realize that’s what you’re hoping for. It’s what is easiest. Fact of the matter, walking away isn’t what I do.”
He had to. He couldn’t stay on this path. “I can’t take you back to four years ago or wherever you think she might be. I don’t know how.”
“And if you did?” Not a hint of the disappointment she expected rested on his face. There was something else—something distinct but elusive.
At least to her.
Shouldn’t he be upset? Demand that she figure it out? “It would be too risky. One small ripple could affect everything. And it’s not just you, Dexter. I wouldn’t do it for myself. I haven’t. Not on purpose. Not that I can recall.”
Silence slid around them. He nodded as if her words didn’t surprise him. “Let’s go back to the guy last week. What you obviously saw regarding Finn. It’s in the past so—”
“It was Harwood. I caught him off guard.”
“Same thing as yesterday? Same thing as a little bit ago on your front porch?”
She glanced in the direction of the front door. “How did you—”
“Static. In and out. Remember?”
“We went on a date. Right before I went undercover four years ago. A Pilot’s game. I got up. His wife—one I was unaware of—sat down. Yesterday, he wanted to clarify things.”
“Which means?”
“He wants me to see his point of view. As if the date we had ended on a positive note. That it makes a difference that he’s divorced. Last week he was protecting his sister from a man he’s deemed a player. And then he saw me—defending Finn—and it went downhill from there. I imagine he wasn’t sure of the situation. Maybe assessing what he’d walked into.
“He said something about Eileen’s death and I—I don’t know, I shut down. It was like I was back in that room. Thirty seconds short of saving her all over again. I’m not exactly sure what I said to him after that. I wanted him gone.”
I heard about Eileen. That’s rough.
Charleen’s gaze snapped from the floor to the box of gloves she’d thrown outside the bathroom door. The booties she’d set next to it in preparation of preserving the scene. She donned a pair of each, her hands a quaking mess of nerves. She couldn’t afford to go back to that dark place of recrimination. Not this second.
Dexter pulled something from his pocket. Held it out. A brown leather wallet stared at her. Dr. Hicks’ wallet.
“From last night?”
“Minus the business card, yeah.”
She took it. “Where did you get it?”
Dexter pulled the ring from his opposite pocket. Rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. “Turns out two guys went into that jewelry shop looking for this, separately. I think one is possibly Jo, which means this is far more significant than we realize. It’s part of an interlocking set.”
The diamonds created little notches she hadn’t noticed when it had been in her possession the first time. She’d been too aware of the truth of its existence. Aware that whatever Dexter remembered about his faceless wife might be real.
Which meant the woman was in trouble. Scared. On the wrong side of the law. Maybe dead.
The notches were similar to the one in her bathroom. She opened the door. The red words were still slashed across everything, the scene exactly as she’d left it.
Dexter’s gaze hit the lettering on the walls, the mirror, and her toiletries.
This would be it. He’d see the ring, remember something that would help him find her. His exodus from her life expedient. No backward glance needed.
He pointed toward the box. “Hand me a pair?”
Charleen pulled a set of each from their respective boxes. Handed both over.
He put on both, the gloves on the small side. Then he stepped into the bathroom and went straight for the piece of jewelry.
He slid the second ring over the first, the two easily fitting together. The solitaire complemented the band in a manner befitting a princess. The sunlight from the window glinted across its surface.
Charleen broke the silence. “That would set a guy back a bit. That’s no cop’s salary type of ring. That’s silver spoon. I’ve got granddaddy’s money.”
Dexter shook his head. “Jo didn’t come across as silver spoon to me. Dr. Hicks on the other hand…” Dexter turned toward her. “I tried to call him. Didn’t get an answer.”
“Dr. Hicks?” The weight of the wallet still in her grasp registered. “He’s the other guy looking for the ring?”
“According to the jewelry store owner, he left the wallet for me. I think we should talk to him. And since I cleared you this morning, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“What?”
Dexter abandoned the ring. He turned a full circle in the bathroom as if she hadn’t said anything. His eyes hit every inch of the space. Calculating. Absorbing. Assessing.
She stepped closer, but didn’t enter the room. Hope ballooned in her chest. “What do you mean you cleared me? We haven’t even had one session.”
“I already told you. I believe you. In you. Your problem isn’t the shots you fired. It’s not a psychotic break or DID.” That violet gaze caught hers. “Someone you loved died and you never got to grieve.”
Charleen straightened. “I took two weeks off.”
“Doing what? Did you attend the funeral?”
No. She’d been unable to. Couldn’t face Eileen’s grave and admit she’d been unable to keep her safe. She’d promised in those final hours. Swore that it was possible.
“Did you shed any tears?”
“Plenty.” In her car. In the dead of night. During those two weeks off that she’d spent at Sophie’s beach house. That’s all she’d ever allow herself. Eileen was not her mother. Wasn’t even someone she’d spent every day with. Given those facts, Charleen’s entitlement on the emotional breakdown was low.
He removed his gloves. “What was your favorite part about Eileen?”
“I—what?”
He moved toward her. “Your favorite thing. Name it.”
“She believed in people. Wholeheartedly.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Which means she likely believed in you. You believe you let her down.”
Something cracked in her chest. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.”
He shook his head. “Her death is not on your hands. You can’t change it—you said so yourself. You can’t take back those shots you fired—you wouldn’t—to save the innocent. You were a hero that day.”
She shook her head. “Far from it.”
“Your biggest issue—from the guy who has only spent hours in your presence? You didn’t keep going. Keep being the person she knew you were. You saved everyone in that room, but not the one person who mattered most. Instead of taking the time to heal, you put that supposed failure on a pedestal.”
He was right. Charleen had given up. Waived the white flag. Dug a grave right next to the older woman’s, the moment etched in time.
“The woman who jumps distances to get to a kid or sits with another even with life ticking down the seconds. That’s the woman Eileen knew was in here.” He pointed toward her heart. “Not the girl who used counseling as a crutch to give up everything important, just because she had to make a hard decision.”
“Dexter…” This would cost him his career. Charleen couldn’t let that happen. He was a rare gem in a world filled with people only interested in climbing the ladder of life and taking care of number one.
“Know what I can’t figure out?”
He leaned a little closer, his eyes centering with hers. His nearness incited the butterflies in her stomach.
“What led Hicks to his conclusions. I’m not seeing anything remotely the same and I haven’t spent near the amount of clinical time with you that he did.”
“No.” She sucked in a breath. “You’ve spent personal time. This—” She pointed between them. “Is personal time.”
I’m never going to leave you, you know that right? This—whatever you’re doing—it will all have to be you.
His hand was on her cheek, his thumb rubbing the skin beneath her eye. His eyes locked with hers, calm, caring, and warm. His hand slid downward to the bulge in her stomach.
Charleen shook her head and the image away. Sucked in a stilted breath.
It wasn’t her. It wasn’t. It was some kind of vision—same as she’d had at the airport where she’d seen Amanda laying in her own blood. It wasn’t real.
His gaze was still locked on her. Expectant.
Get a move on it, Vi.
His words from the crime scene bounced around her head. He’d used it twice. Both times had been right before she’d—they’d—absorbed. Was Beth right? Were the holes in her memory the result of absorbing, slingshotting, or something else? The result of coming from something worse with him?
“I need to know why he’s looking for this ring.” Dexter’s voice swirled around her. The band was on the tip of his index finger. “If he was protecting you or something else. Why he resigned without much notice. Why he basically disappeared.”