Four hours later I was still sitting in a hospital room. I hadn’t been hurt in Carter White’s chop shop, but they checked me out anyway. A nurse cleaned the cut Officer Kyle had given me on my temple and put a stitch in it. They examined the bruise on my right wrist, where I’d wrenched it in the handcuffs, ducking away from Carter.

Doctors questioned me, and then cops. More cops. Detroit cops, then plainclothes cops who were obviously higher rank. Then Westlake cops, and then Westlake plainclothes cops. A lawyer came in with his own questions and went away again. Then another doctor, and yet another plainclothes cop. I told them all whatever they wanted.

The worst thing was that they’d taken away my phone. They had to, because my phone had recorded the entire conversation. It had only looked like it was turned off—in fact Dex had installed an app that made your phone look off when in fact it was on. It was probably mostly used by students in class and people in meetings, but today I’d used it to record Carter White threatening to kill me. Actually one of Carter’s suited guys had recorded it, because he’d put my phone in his breast pocket and stood there, unaware that he was a microphone broadcasting the entire conversation to the SWAT team closing in.

So they needed my phone for the recording. Still, that left me with no way to call Tara, no way to call my brothers and tell them I was okay. They wouldn’t let me leave, and no one was allowed into the hospital room that became my makeshift interrogation room.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, thinking about just walking out and letting the cops catch me later when the door opened and Dex walked in.

“Jesus, they let you past the guards,” I said.

“Ha ha,” Dex said. He was wearing his disintegrating jeans and an old Redwings shirt so faded it wasn’t red anymore. “I heard the recording. Jesus. That was pretty fucking close.”

I stood up. It was Dex who had called his old contacts on the force to set up the sting. The cops wanted Carter White, and Carter White wanted me. So when I agreed to meet Carter, the cops came along in a couple of unmarked vans—courtesy of Dex—and gave me eighteen minutes to get in place in the chop shop. Then they got the most prestigious arrest of the year, and Dex did some repair on his tarnished reputation. Everyone was happy, except me, because I’d be hearing the sound of plastic being laid out behind me until the end of my fucking life.

Jesus, I was tired. I couldn’t remember anymore when I’d last slept. Or ate. The only option here was chips from the vending machine, and just the thought of it made me feel nauseated. A lot of things made me feel nauseated.

“We done?” I said to Dex. “I’m leaving.”

Dex looked concerned. “Where are you going?”

I had to put my thoughts together to answer. “To Tara’s. I have to talk to her, tell her I’m okay.”

“You’re going all the way back to Westlake?”

“Where else am I supposed to go?”

“Jace,” Dex said, “you don’t have a car. The last I saw, it was still parked at that warehouse. And you’re in no shape to do the drive.”

“I’ll figure something out. And I’m fine.”

He sighed. “And you don’t have to go back to Westlake to find Tara. She’s downstairs in the lobby with Luke and Emily, waiting for them to release you.”

I stared at him. Here? Tara was here? While I’d spent hours wondering how to get access to a fucking phone? The thought made me angry, then tired again. I had to get the hell out of here.

“Thanks for the SWAT team, Dex,” I said. “They were handy. Nice work. See you later.”

He moved to block me at the door. “Have you been released to go?”

“I don’t care,” I said. “If they want me, they know where I live. They’ll have to come in person, because I no longer have a phone. But I’m telling you, I’m gone.”

He looked at my face for a second and gave in. “Okay, I’ll take care of it. They’re downstairs. Just go.”

* * *

There were too many people at the hospital. In the corridors, in the elevator, too many faces moving too fast. It was hard to scan them all, looking for Tara.

I wandered around the lobby, over to the ER entrance, back to another entrance that was an MRI room. No Luke, no Emily, no Tara. No one paid me any mind, even with the small bandage on my temple—I was just another patient, albeit a dressed one. In the end I stood in the middle of the large open space of the lobby, turning slowly in a circle, looking for that distinctive fall of dark brown hair.

She was in line at a small kiosk that sold coffee. I recognized her hair, her long legs in dark jeans. When I circled beside her and touched her elbow, she turned and gasped.

“Jace,” she said. She left the line, grabbed my arm, dragged me away. Then she flung her arms around me.

She smelled like shampoo and hospital hand soap and Tara. She was wearing a soft gray zip-up sweatshirt I’d never seen before, and I pressed my face into it. She held me so tight she nearly cracked something in my neck, and her hands were in my hair. She was saying something, but she was half sobbing so I couldn’t hear it.

I held her back, my arms around her waist, holding on. Just holding on.

“They took my phone,” I told her. “Sorry.”

She loosened her grip a little and leaned back, looking at me. “What?”

“I couldn’t call you.” There was something else I was supposed to say. “I don’t have Emily’s car either, so I can’t give it back to her. It’s parked in a lot somewhere.”

“It’s okay,” Tara said. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, and her face was a little pale. She must have been worried. How long was she worried?

“I had to turn my phone off,” I said. “To use the app. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to talk to you.”

She put her hands on my face, her palms cradling my jaw. “Baby, how long has it been since you slept?”

“Your place. It’s made me a little stupid, sorry.”

“You’re never stupid,” she said softly. She gently touched my bandage. “This is all my fault.”

“Don’t say that ever again,” I told her.

But she only frowned. “He’s off the force,” she said, brushing her thumb over my cheekbone like she couldn’t quite stop touching me. Like she was memorizing me. I watched her beautiful mouth and realized I’d forgotten to kiss it. “He’s gone. You can file a complaint, you know. Police brutality. It’s all on his dashboard camera.”

“No,” I said. “I’m never having anything to do with cops again.”

She nodded, her gaze softening as she looked at me. “Are you hurt, Jace? Tell me the truth.”

“I’m not hurt,” I said. “It was bad, though. I might need therapy.”

I meant it in my tired brain as a joke, but her expression grew tight. Always so serious about helping people, my Tara. “I can find you someone. Someone good. You need to tell me if you’re having any symptoms—nightmares, insomnia, anxiety attacks. That sort of thing.”

“That sounds like my everyday life,” I said. I was joking again, but she got even more serious if that was possible, so I said, “Never mind. You’re going to know whether I have symptoms because you’re coming home with me and you’re not leaving.”

She blinked at me, and then she smiled, just a little. I lived for that smile. “Okay.”

“We don’t have to have sex unless you want to, but I have to say I’m going to be hoping pretty fucking hard.”

The smile got wider. “I like you, sleep-deprived Jace. You’re sweet.”

“I’m always sweet,” I said, touching her hair. There had been a moment when I thought I’d never touch her hair again. “The main reason I’m pissed they took my phone is because it has the text on it where you say you’re in love with me.”

She blinked hard, and I thought maybe there were tears in her eyes, but that couldn’t be right. “I am in love with you,” she said. “Now kiss me, and we’ll go find Luke and Emily and go home.”