by Lauren Layne
It hadn’t even really occurred to him that he’d been two feet away from Mike when the bullets ripped through him.
Luc had never stopped to think that when the asshole had opened his front door and taken aim at a cop, he’d done so at random.
It could have just as easily been Luc who died that day.
And it could have been Mike who was beating himself up over his partner’s death.
Bev nodded as she saw that he understood. “I don’t blame you for feeling what you feel, Luc. I know you feel guilty, just as I know in my heart that Mike would have the same struggles, the same survivor’s guilt if things had ended differently. And I would have told him what I’m telling you now: don’t let a terrible twist of fate destroy your life. It’s done, Luc. It’s done. And the best any of us can do is put our best foot toward tomorrow.”
Luc started to take a sip of coffee before realizing that he didn’t even want it.
“Bev, there’s something I need to tell you about that day. Something I should have talked to you about a long time ago.”
She nodded once, telling him to continue.
Luc took a deep breath. “So you know that Mike and I were first on the scene the day Shayna Johnson didn’t come home from school. We were in the area when the call came through, so we took the statement from the parents, talked to the neighbors…the whole bit. Later, of course, the case became much bigger, but by then, Mike and I were both invested…obsessed, even, with the case.”
Bev cupped her coffee mug with both hands. “I remember. It was all he could talk about at dinner. He wanted so badly to find that little girl.”
Me too.
Luc was quiet, remembering, before he forced himself to continue. “That day when we got the call that a witness a few streets over kept hearing a little kid cry for help from a second-story window…”
He forced himself to meet Beverly’s eyes. “I knew, Bev. I knew the kid was Shayna, knew that Jonas Black was our guy. We’d interviewed that bastard twice. I knew something wasn’t right. Wrote it in all my reports, but didn’t have a lick of evidence beyond my hunch…”
He swallowed. Continued.
“I wanted to park up the street, go in the back, but the orders were to stay put. We had to play it by the book. The woman that had called in the tip was something of a crank. Lots of false reports, shit like that, so we were supposed to sit and wait for the damned search warrant, wait for the green light to go in.”
Luc took a sip of coffee. It was cold now, and Bev just looked at him with her steady, quiet gaze as he continued.
“Finally it came over the radio that the judge wouldn’t authorize the warrant. Best we could do was knock and see if anything was amiss. It was bullshit. Total bullshit. Mike said he’d back me up if I wanted to trust my gut. Said he trusted my gut. But I didn’t want to get him in trouble.”
Luc put his elbows on the table, head in his hands. “Black saw our car, Bev. He saw us, panicked, and strangled that little girl. Then he opened the front door, firing his gun before Mike or I could even think to draw ours.”
He fell silent again, before ending his story in a husky voice. “You know the rest. He fired three shots. One went wild, two hit Mike. Then the bastard dropped the gun and ran.”
Beverly spoke for the first time. “And you ran after him. Caught him.”
“Yeah,” Luc said, his voice rough. “While Mike lay there dying.”
“Don’t,” she said, shaking her head. “Mike died instantly. You know that.”
Luc did know that. At least, he knew that’s what they’d told him. The first bullet that hit Mike had literally exploded his heart.
“Luc,” she said, her hand once again reaching across the table. “I’m glad you’re telling me this for your sake. But you didn’t need to. There’s nothing you did that requires my forgiveness.”
“I could have done something differently, Bev. I could have made a different choice, and Mike and that little girl would still be alive.”
She studied him for a long while, and finally she nodded. “Okay then. If that’s the case, I forgive you.”
I forgive you.
He let it sink in. Tried to speak, but his throat felt abnormally large and dry.
Wordlessly he pushed awkwardly to his feet and, moving to her side of the table, pulled her into a rough hug, which she returned.
“Thank you,” he said against her hair. “Thank you.”
She rubbed his back. “Does this mean you won’t avoid us anymore?”
He laughed guiltily. “Yeah. This means you’re going to be stuck seeing a lot more of me.”
She pulled back, her eyes watery as her hands found his face. “I’m glad. Mike would have wanted you to know Joey. Plus, it’ll be good to have a cop around if this new guy turns out to be an ass.”
“You call me anytime,” he said in all seriousness, even though she’d been joking.
She smiled. “I’ve missed you, Luca.”
“I’ve missed you too. I don’t know what I’m more ashamed of, that I waited this long to come by, or that I barge in on your Saturday without a word of warning.”
She waved this away as they headed to the door. “Don’t even. I’ll call Joey down so you can say bye.”
Luc shook his head. “Nah. The dude hardly knows me; I’ll have a better time winning him over if I let him sneak in a few more minutes of video game time.”
“Oh, sure, make me the bad guy when I call him down to help me fold laundry.”
“Give him five more minutes, Mom. Let him enjoy the good stuff for a little bit longer.”
Her eyes went sad, just for a second, and he knew she understood his silent meaning: life is short.
She opened the door and he kissed her cheek before stepping onto the porch. “Thanks again, Bev. For everything.”
“Oh gosh, my pleasure. Not every day one gets to see America’s Hero in the flesh.”
Luc groaned. “You’ve seen the YouTube videos?”
She laughed. “Of course! Joey and I watched them half a dozen times when they came on the local news. And I bet your family’s over the moon that you’re about to become a national sensation.”
Luc frowned. “How did you know about that?”
Bev looked puzzled. “Well, the reporter told me, obviously.”
Luc went cold. “Reporter?”
“Sure, the one from CBC? She was here a couple days ago, saying they were doing a small segment on Mike as part of the special.”
The entire world around Luc seemed to go silent. He didn’t hear the cars on the street, the couple fighting next door, or the kids yelling nearby. He only watched Beverly’s mouth move as he tried to comprehend what she was saying.
“This reporter, what was her name?”
“Um, Anna? Ava? I can get her card…”
Luc closed his eyes. “No. I know her.”
Beverly looked thoroughly confused. “Was I not supposed to talk to her? I thought you knew, assumed that’s what prompted you to come by today…”
Luc took a step backward, pasting a smile on his face. “Don’t worry about it, you didn’t do anything wrong. I should have figured she’d find her way here. That’s what reporters do, right? Dig into your past?”
“Okay, but, Luc…”
He gave her a wave before turning and walking toward the street like a zombie.
Ava knew about Mike.
Which meant she knew about Shayna.
Two days ago, Ava had gone to Mike’s widow’s house.
And last night she hadn’t breathed a word about it.
Luc stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and closed his eyes.
His father was right. Ava Sims was going to sell him out for the sake of her own career.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ava held up a finger to stop Carly, who was coming at her with yet another makeup brush. Her eyes scanned the studio for the hundredth time.
“Has anyone seen Officer Moretti?” she y
elled over the clatter.
A handful of people looked up from their clipboards and shrugged.
“Where the hell is he?” she muttered as the makeup artist motioned for her to close her eyes so she could apply a contouring eye shadow.
Today was it.
The face-to-face interview and the finale of America’s Hero. The execs had tossed around the idea of filming it on location at Luc’s apartment, but Ava pushed to have it on set in the studio.
She hadn’t wanted to invade his home. At least, not more than she already had.
Ava opened one eye so she could see her cell phone and sent Luc a text. Another one:
Where are you?
Her thumb scrolled up so she could see their entire text conversation. Her latest message meant that it had been one, two…eight texts from her since the last one from Luc.
Three days ago.
She tapped the corner of her phone against her knee and tried not to freak out.
Then Brent Davis came storming up to her with murder on his face, and not freaking out wasn’t really an option.
“Avie, where’s your interview subject? We’re supposed to start in fifteen minutes, he hasn’t been through makeup, hasn’t got his mic on…”
“Relax, Davis,” she said with calm she didn’t feel. “It’s not like this is live.”
The show would be taped today but wouldn’t be aired for a couple of months. By which time, Officer Moretti would have nothing to do with her.
The script she’d been practicing all morning assured that.
A script that ensured there was a very real possibility that he might walk off camera when she blindsided him with questions about November 12, two years ago.
Her bosses wouldn’t be happy at the unexpected drama on a feel-good piece, but that’s not what Ava was worried about. They might get pissed…might even cut the story, go with something lighter, but that’s okay…because this story was big enough that someone else would pick it up. One of the other networks. Or the Times, Wall Street Journal.
There was a story here. A career-making one. She was positive of it.
She should be thrilled.
But thrilled was hardly the emotion lodged in Ava’s heart. It felt a lot more like dread.
Because there would be drama, yes. There would also be hurt.
Luc’s hurt.
She pushed the thought away as she pep-talked herself. “This is what you’ve been working toward, Ava.”
“What’s that, babe?” Carly asked.
“Nothing,” she muttered.
“Well he’d better be here,” Davis said, hands on hips.
“I’m sure he’s just running late,” she said.
“And he knows to come in uniform?”
“Yes.”
“And he—”
“Davis. I’ve handled it.”
He made a grumbling noise before heading back to the set to yell at the lighting guys.
“Handled it, have you?”
Ava shifted the eye not currently being mascaraed to the right, where Mihail stood, arms crossed, for once free of his usual gummy worms.
“Talking to me again?” she asked.
He shrugged moodily. “Davis brought me in to man one of the cameras.”
“And you agreed?” Ava asked, surprised. Mihail hated studio camera work. He always claimed that a monkey could hold a camera still. He preferred to be on the move, camera on his shoulder.
Mihail shrugged again. “Figured someone should be here to buy Moretti a drink after his girlfriend screws him over.”
Ava’s temper flashed. As did her guilt.
She shifted her gaze to the makeup artist with a sympathetic smile. “Can I have a minute?”
“Actually, I think I’m done,” Carly said, standing back to admire her handiwork. “Let me powder you and I’ll be gone.”
Thirty seconds later, it was just Mihail and Ava.
“First of all,” she said, keeping her voice cool, “I’m not Luc’s girlfriend.”
“Got it, so you’re just using him for his body and to further his career. Classy.”
That stung. “Mihail!”
He didn’t bother to look contrite. “When you guys are cuddled up in bed, did you tell him that you went to see his dead partner’s wife?”
She looked away.
“No? How about when you barged in on that little girl’s family, bringing up the worst point of their lives.”
“I didn’t barge in,” she said quietly.
That much, at least, was true. Both Beverly Jensen and the Johnsons had been more than willing to talk to her.
Mrs. Jensen, because she was eager to share her support of Luc. The woman bore no ill feelings that Luc had survived while her husband had died.
Shayna Johnson’s parents had been more guarded.
They’d agreed to talk to her, only in hopes that it would shed more light on the need to act swiftly in kidnapping cases.
Terrence and Jasmine Johnson held sorrow, but no bitterness.
Darius Johnson, on the other hand…
Well, Shayna’s older brother hadn’t been nearly so forgiving of the NYPD’s treatment of his sister’s kidnapping and death.
Nor the media cover-up that followed.
And it was Darius Johnson’s statements that would have Ava’s bosses practically bouncing out of their seats with excitement.
It didn’t get much juicier than law enforcement covering up the death of two people. One of them a young girl.
And Luc wouldn’t see it coming.
Because she hadn’t told him.
Mihail’s finger jabbed toward her face. “Right there. Guilt.”
She slapped his hand away. “Luc’s not going to take it personally.”
He told me to follow my gut.
Of course, he didn’t know just where her gut would lead her.
“So he told you all about it himself, did he? Maybe over dinner, drinks, he told you about watching his partner die and finding a dead little girl?”
Ava’s heart twisted.
No. He hadn’t told her. And she hated how much it bothered her that he hadn’t.
But there was something else bothering her too…something darker that she couldn’t shake.
It was that Darius Johnson’s account of what happened that day, and the following days, proved Ava had been right all along.
That there really was no such thing as a true hero.
Luc Moretti’s record wasn’t all saving babies and taking care of the homeless.
There was death there too.
Possibly even mistakes, if Darius’s versions were correct.
And yet none of that was bothering her as much as the fact that she hadn’t heard from Luc in three days.
She’d told herself he was busy, and that they weren’t in a relationship, and that she shouldn’t expect they’d hang out every day, but…
She missed him.
Officer Moretti might not be who she’d thought—secretly hoped—he was.
But Luc?
Luc was important to her.
And she was about to throw him under the bus.
“Finally!” Davis shouted from the other side of the studio as he strode toward the door. “What the hell took you so long?”
Ava’s shoulders straightened.
Luc.
Her eyes sought and found him immediately. As instructed, he was wearing his uniform, and her heart caught in her throat, even though she’d seen him in uniform dozens of times over the past two months.
Today, she let herself see Officer Moretti with fresh eyes. Saw the way his arms filled out the crisp blue of his shirt, the way his pants fit his lean figure perfectly.
But it was more than the dead-sexiness of an alpha man in uniform.
It was the pride with which he wore it.
And that’s when it hit her. It didn’t matter that Luc Moretti wasn’t a perfect cop, because there was no such thing as a perfect cop. No such thing a
s a perfect anything, really.
But she didn’t care about that.
Because Luc was a good man.
A great man.
A man who put on that uniform every day, not for the prestige, not for the television, not even for his own career advancement, but because he was purely good.
He was Ava’s opposite in every way.
Ava, whose only goal in life thus far was to get ahead in her career, helping no one.
Why the hell was she letting her life be dictated by people she didn’t like, rather than people she did?
“Something’s wrong,” she said quietly.
“Ya think?” Mihail grumbled darkly.
“No, with Luc. He hasn’t looked at me.”
He’d been in the studio for several minutes now, but not once had his eyes moved around the room to search for her.
This wasn’t the man who’d held her just a few nights ago and made passionate love to her on her couch.
It wasn’t the man who’d befriended her heinous cat, or ate sushi four days in a row just because she loved it.
Ava had never really let herself acknowledge it before, but there had always been this humming presence between her and Luc.
Whenever they were in the same room, even on the same street, there was a connection.
They felt each other. She knew where he was at all times, and he always seemed to have an eye on her, even when he wasn’t actually looking at her.
That connection was gone.
She couldn’t feel him anymore. And she was afraid she knew why.
He knew.
Somehow he’d found out that she’d gone behind his back, researching his past.
And he knew she was going to use it to her advantage. To launch her career in investigative journalism even as she gave up her chance at anchorwoman.
“He’s going to walk,” she said, her eyes never leaving Luc’s stony profile. “He’s going to refuse to do the interview.”
“Then why’s he letting someone put on his mic?” Mihail asked.
Ava frowned. Mihail was right. Luc was standing there, letting the sound guys hook him up. He even let the makeup girl near him, although not without a glare.
He was going to go through with it. He knew what was coming; she knew he knew—she could sense it. But he was going to do it anyway.