“Have you heard from Brittany?” Mitchell asked blandly, studying the distance between the golf ball and the hole.
Ignoring Bryson’s dirty look, Trey pretended he didn’t hear Mitchell.
“I talked to her two days ago,” Bryson volunteered, watching the wide arc of Mitchell’s swing. The club kicked up bits of dirt and grass and the ball swerved mid-air before diving to the ground and rolling to a stop far, far away from the intended destination.
Mitchell cursed. “She’s been gone three weeks,” he pointed out, trudging toward the ball and glaring at it.
Trey didn’t need anyone to remind him how long Brittany had been absent from his life. The past twenty-one days had been absolute agony. She’d left the clothes he’d bought her and Trey kept them tucked in the drawer he’d allotted her. On numerous occasions, he’d been tempted to call her and ask her to come back. Or at the very least, to apologize and tell her how much he missed her.
But the bitter truth was, her attack shook his very foundation. When she’d needed him most, he’d failed her. Or maybe he’d failed her from the start. She’d neglected to tell him about Evan and Joyous and she’d refused to name her attacker. Whatever trust and friendship he thought they had couldn’t have been so meaningful if she kept so much from him.
Still, he ached for Brittany and threw himself into work to keep his mind away from thoughts of her. Her taste. Her scent. The feel of her soft, petite body beneath his.
As much as he reminded himself he didn’t want a woman in his life who’d have to face the worry of being a police officer’s wife, the certainty of his fifteen-year-old decision crumbled.
“Where the fuck is your mind, Wilson?”
Trey scowled at Mitchell’s annoyed tone.
Bryson glowered at Trey and stomped behind Mitchell. They’d never discussed the exact reason why Brittany had left but Brittany had gone from sleeping in Trey’s bed to asking for a plane ticket home. Without speaking openly, Bryson knew Trey had broken it off with her and they’d barely spoken two words to each other since she’d left.
“How is Brittany?” Trey asked with a casualness he was far from feeling.
“None of your fucking business,” Bryson growled, stepping up to the green and positioning his body to swing the club.
“I’m concerned about her,” Trey gritted. “I haven’t talked to her since she left.”
“Fuck off,” Bryson sneered. He hit the ball then rounded on Trey, not watching to see his hole-in-one. “I told you to stay the hell away from her. But did you listen? You wanna know how she is? She’s surviving much better without you than she ever was with you.”
“Unlike Karl, right, Bryson?” Trey shot back, hardening his features, his fist curling around the club.
“Karl?” Mitchell echoed in surprise. “How did he get in the conversation?”
Shooting daggers at the back of Bryson as they moved along, Trey told Mitchell about Bryson inviting Karl over to take Brittany out.
“I wanted Karl to look after her so she wouldn’t be hurt,” Bryson snapped.
“You’re a stupid son-of-a-bitch,” Trey snarled. “Karl is the absolute last person you should want Brittany with. His self-righteous importance clouds his thinking. He insults her one minute and smiles at her the next. When I spoke to Stephanie, I wanted her to say something about Karl. My gut tells me that asshole attacked her.”
Mitchell choked, his eyes widening then narrowing, anger suffusing his face. “Stephanie? You called Brittany’s former coach? I told you to stay away from this case. I should fucking suspend you.”
“Suspend me. I don’t give a fuck. Did you believe I’d sit around and wait for answers? Each time something traumatic has happened to Brittany, Karl’s plans have changed. Stephanie didn’t say anything about him, and Brittany insisted he had nothing to do with her rape. I can’t get the evidence I need to blow him the fuck away once I slice off his dick piece-by-piece, chop off his fingertips and hack out his tongue.”
Mitchell frowned then cleared his throat, recovering his equanimity after Trey’s torture recipe. “I gave you a goddamn order,” he muttered. “And yes, I believed you valued your career enough to follow my command.”
Not where Brittany was concerned. Never. Nothing was more important than she was. Which was why Trey couldn’t go to her. His father…no, he wouldn’t revisit that again. In time, he’d get over Brittany and look upon their very short affair with detachment. He’d fallen in love with her. He could damn well fall out of love with her.
“Listen to me, Sergeant Wilson, and listen well. I’m going to say this one more fucking time. Stay. Away. From. Brittany’s. Case.”
“Is it a case?” Bryson asked.
Mitchell looked off into the distance and sighed. “I don’t know if I should say anything. I might have to shoot Trey to keep him from doing something stupid.”
Trey swept both of them with a cold glance. ‘Tell me.”
“I want your promise this goes in one ear and out the other. You’re going to fucking trust my investigation.” Mitchell swung his intense green-brown gaze to Bryson. “Same goes for you, Donovan. Don’t think I don’t fucking know you also have been trying to get information.”
“She’s my sister. What do you expect?”
“I expect you to let me handle it.” He glanced between them. “Now your promise, gentlemen.”
“Fine,” Bryson agreed with reluctance.
Trey nodded.
“I better not fucking regret this.” The game forgotten, Mitchell held the club as if it were a walking stick. “When Stephanie took Brittany to the hospital, Brittany was pretty bad off. Her nails were broken. Her neck was bruised. And she—“ Readjusting his stance, he clenched his jaw. “She required stitching in her private area. It had been about thirty-five hours and she’d washed away external DNA. Pubic hair. Skin cells. Saliva. Brittany was…she insisted she had consensual sex.” He rocked back on his heels and slanted a glance at Bryson before sighing and focusing on Trey. “Stephanie suspected otherwise and talked Brittany into receiving a Jane Doe Rape Kit.”
Trey’s ears echoed with Mitchell’s last words and, as always at the words, his gut twisted. Who the hell did Mitch have in his back pocket and what the fuck drove the man? Trey had been to prepared to forge all types of documents, including photo ID and hiring someone to use, to obtain Brittany’s records. Understandable. She was his Brittany, after all. She was Mitch’s nothing. So why and how?
It hit him. At least the how. Stephanie must’ve given Mitchell the code she’d told Trey about. Perhaps, he’d never know the why. “Living in a small town might have had its perks but also its drawbacks. From the sound of it any idiot could see it wasn’t just a botched deflowering,” he rasped, swinging his club, wishing Karl’s head was within reach. “She was raped on a Monday, correct?”
Mitchell shrugged. “I have to look at the file. I can’t recall the day.”
Trey threw Mitchell an accusing look. “You know and so do I. Stephanie already told me it happened on a Monday night.”
“How is that relevant?” Mitchell asked.
“Karl,” Bryson said in a pained voice. “He bought us tickets to a Monday-night game then backed out. The day someone tried to break in, when we were at the gym, Karl had been there. He left right after discovering Brittany was alone at the apartment, claiming he had another appointment.”
“Assholes return to the scene of their crimes all the time,” Trey pointed out. “How did he get past the tape that day? After he knocked you senseless, he must’ve run and hid in the building.”
“Very credible theory,” Mitchell agreed. “But Karl’s alibi checked out for the night of Brittany’s rape. He really was with his girlfriend.”
Disappointment punched Trey’s gut and he felt as if he were in a free fall. He would’ve bet his entire career Karl was responsible. “So what? She was his girlfriend. She would cover for him.”
“Then,” Mitchell said reasonably. “Why now?”
“Mitchell—”
“Leave it alone,” Bryson warned. “You’ve hurt Brittany. Don’t pretend you’re so concerned about her now.”
“What?”
“Enough!” Mitchell inserted. “Bryson, has it ever occurred to you Trey is suffering? One look at his miserable mug and I want to grab a fucking box of Kleenex just in case he bursts into tears. Worse, his wound is self-fucking-inflicted. It’s only a matter of time before he gives in and goes to her.”
“Brittany and I are better off apart.”
“For once in a long while, I’m in agreement with you,” Bryson said dryly.
“I thought you would be.” Trey positioned himself for his shot. “As a matter of fact, I’m hooking up with Sylvia later today.”
Ignoring Mitchell and Bryson’s expressions—one disappointed and the other satisfied—Trey told himself it was past time he got his life back to where it was before Brittany interrupted his halcyon days of bachelorhood.
If he could convince his heart, then he’d be the same Trey he once was.