All Over You (All Falls Down #3)

by Ayden K. Morgen

  I fight back a wave of nausea, trying to block the image from my mind.

  "Do you know what happens to the human body after a jump from the Bay Bridge?" Detective Ventura asks me, his tone almost conversational. He doesn't wait for me to respond before continuing. "Hitting the water is like crashing into cement. Your internal organs are ripped loose. Your ribcage shatters, piercing your heart and lungs. Your spine snaps in multiple places. If you're lucky, you die quickly. If you're not, you drown, not only in the water, but in your own blood. It's a gruesome way to go. One of the worst. That's what you let that kid experience."

  "I didn't do this," I say for the millionth time, cracking my eyes open to look at him. I can't take anymore. I just can't. "I know you don't believe me, and nothing I say in this room or in any other is going to change your mind. I understand that, sir. You have a job to do, and I'm guessing you're pretty good at it or you wouldn't be here now. But I'm not the person you're looking for. I didn't know this kid, and I certainly never stole money from him or told him to kill himself. I never even met him!"

  Detective Ventura stares at me for a long, silent moment, and then he reaches into his folder again. He slides another picture across to me. "Are you sure about that, Miss Kendall?"

  I glance down at the picture and then blink and look closer. It's a photo of me on stage at Antonio's bar the last time I played there months ago. Erin sits to the left of the stage with Antonio. At the table beside them sits Rory Clark and a couple I recognize from photos in his dorm room, his roommate Tyler and his girlfriend, Jessica.

  "You want to tell me the truth now?" Ventura asks.

  I shake my head, my gaze locked on that photo. "I don't remember him," I mumble, shell-shocked. I've seen picture after picture of him in the last couple of weeks, and nothing about him is familiar. But he was there at that show, sitting right up front.

  Detective Ventura sighs, clearly out of patience.

  "I'm telling you the truth," I say, though I'm certain he doesn't believe me. Why should he? Rory was photographed at my show months ago, and that's all the proof this detective needs of my guilt. Nothing I say now is going to change his mind.

  He eyes me for long moments, not speaking. "Did you know Detective Lewis is one of the best investigators we have? The way his mind works…" He shakes his head like he's impressed. "He's brilliant when it comes to reading people, and everyone knows it. If we can't get someone to talk, we bring him in. Given enough time, he can get anyone to talk to him."

  I open my mouth and then close it again, uneasy at the sudden shift in conversation.

  "From what I hear, Rory Clark was brilliant, too. The kid was going places." He drums his fingers against the tabletop, eyeing me. "What is it about you that turns intelligent men like that into fools, Miss Kendall?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "No?" He cocks his head to the side and studies me for a moment. "You're an enchantress, Miss Kendall. You lure them in, take what you want, and then you ruin them. First, the Clark kid, and now Lewis."

  "W-what are you talking about?" I ask, my unease growing the longer he talks about Cam and my relationship with him.

  "You really don't know, do you?" Ventura asks, disbelief in his tone.

  "Know what?"

  "Right after I brought you in here, Detective Lewis relinquished his badge and his service weapon, Miss Kendall."

  "What? Why?"

  "He's being suspended because of his relationship with you. Unless he's really lucky, he'll be fired. Because there's something about you that had him thinking with his dick instead of his head." He reaches into his folder and pulls out several more photographs. They're all of me and Cam. The first one is of me and him embracing on campus. He's got his hand on my ass while he kisses me. Our faces are hidden from the camera, but it's clearly us. The second is of the two of us entering his hotel together, his arm around my waist. There's another shot of us at dinner, cuddled up in the booth, both of us smiling. The last is the worst. It's a security photo from his hotel. We're in the elevator, my hand in his pants while he has his head thrown back against the wall, a look of intense pleasure on his face.

  "H-how―?"

  "How did we get these?" he asks and waits for me to nod before answering. "We've had a guy following you since you ran off to Los Angeles, keeping tabs on you in case you did something stupid and tried to flee the country. It took him all of ten minutes to get these photos. Let's just say the brass wasn't thrilled to find one of our detectives has been fucking you right under their noses."

  "We didn't…I mean, he didn't do anything wrong," I mumble, tears welling in my eyes. "H-he told me…"

  He lied to me, I think as I stare blindly at the pictures in front of me. The whole time, he knew he could be suspended or fired for being with me, and he let me believe everything would be fine, that we weren't doing anything wrong.

  But we were, and I knew it. Despite knowing being with him was wrong, I slept with him anyway. Because I wanted him enough to convince myself that everything would work out just fine and he wouldn't be hurt. And now, just like I feared, I'm dragging him down with me. He could be fired because of me.

  I gasp when I realize that's what he was hiding from me last night and again this morning. He knew what was going to happen to him today, and he didn't say a word to me.

  Why didn't he tell me?

  Because he loves you, a little voice whispers in the back of my mind. He sacrificed his career to make sure you had a chance.

  "I need something," I blurt to Detective Ventura, swiping at the tears threatening to spill over.

  "Why would I do anything for you, Miss Kendall?"

  I hesitate for a moment, and then take a deep breath. "Because I'll tell you everything you want to know about my relationship with Rory Clark."

  "What do you want in exchange for your confession?" he asks, and I know I have him. I can see it in his eyes.

  "I want you to convince the D.A. to withdraw her offer to release me to Detective Lewis," I say before I lose the nerve altogether. "I'll stay in jail until the trial if necessary, but make sure she refuses to release me to him." I swallow as pain rolls through me at the thought. I was right…I'm in love with a cop and I don't get to keep him.

  I'm sorry, Cam. I'm so sorry.

  "You're saying you want to stay in jail?" Ventura asks.

  "Yes."

  "Why?" He looks like I've just managed to shock the hell out of him.

  "I used Detective Lewis," I lie, fighting to keep my voice steady. "I tricked him into sleeping with me. I knew if I could convince him that I was being set up, I would have a chance of beating this. He didn't do anything wrong. I'm the one who initiated our relationship. I seduced him, and he believed me because I made sure he would, but I realize now that I was wrong. He shouldn't lose his job because of me. Keep that from happening, and I'll tell you everything you want to know."

  "You're serious," he says after a brief pause.

  I meet his gaze and nod, ignoring the pain threatening to tear me in two.

  chapter eighteen

  dkla

  "Miss Kendall."

  I glance up from the book in my lap and blink at Detective Ventura. He's standing at the door to my cell, his arms crossed over his chest. He looks the exact same way he did yesterday and the day before and the day before that. For some reason, he's checked in on me almost every day since he brought me here two weeks ago. I don't know why. Aside from him, I've refused to see anyone except for Erin, Bryan, and my lawyer. Cam tries to visit me every day, but I say no every single time they tell me that he's here.

  Keeping him at a distance is killing me. The pain is unreal, and it's not getting any easier. Every day, being without him hurts a little more. I cry myself to sleep every night, and then I dream about him. Those dreams are my own personal purgatory. In them, we're together and everything is perfect between us. And then I wake up, cold and alone in a jail cell, and I remember that I let him
go. Willingly.

  That reminder breaks me every night, but I know if I see him, for even a moment, I'll cave. I'll tell him that I made up the entire story I told Ventura, and let him rescue me. And I can't do that. Not when his entire future rides on me keeping my mouth shut and sticking to the story I told. The one that gives him a shot, but seals my fate.

  I confessed to a crime I didn't commit.

  I've resigned myself to being stuck in this cell until I go to trial. Even though I told Ventura everything he wanted to hear, I couldn't bring myself to plead guilty. I couldn't take that final step. I don't think the D.A. is happy with me because of it, but honestly? Being here isn't as bad as I expected. Everyone thinks I'm the closest thing to a murderer there is, so they leave me alone. That works out well for me. I rarely have to interact with anyone except the guards, who don't give me any trouble. I think they feel sorry for me, though I don't know why.

  "Miss Kendall, did you hear me?" Detective Ventura asks. He seems worried. It's there in his eyes. They're as hard as ever, but I'm learning to read him. He wears that hardness like a mask, but underneath, I think maybe he's a decent guy.

  "What?" I ask, shaking my head to clear it.

  "You're being released," he says.

  I just stare at him, not sure I heard him correctly.

  He pushes off the wall and crosses to me. "You're going home, Ivy."

  "Home?"

  He nods.

  I'm going home. To my own bed. To my old lady neighbors and my morning run. To my tiny apartment and my real life and private showers and real panties. A bright burst of relief explodes inside, engulfing me. And then panic slams into me, making me gasp for breath.

  "I can't go home," I blurt, dropping my book. "I have to stay here. I have to―"

  I have to stay away from Cam.

  If I'm not in jail, there's nothing keeping him from being fired. I can't force him to stay away from me. He'll come to see me. He'll demand to know why I lied, and I'll tell him everything. I'll let him hold me and kiss me…and I'll destroy his career completely.

  I leap to my feet and begin pacing the length of my cell. "You have to tell the judge that I can't go home," I tell Ventura. "Tell him that I'm dangerous. I need to be here."

  "Ivy." Detective Ventura grabs my arm, spinning me around to face him. "Ivy, stop."

  "I can't," I whisper, and then I crack. I'm so goddamned miserable, it's pathetic. Tears pour down my face, blinding me. "I have to be here. If I'm not…If I'm not…"

  "What happens if you aren't here?" he asks quietly, holding me at arm's length.

  "I'll ruin his life," I mumble through my tears. "Don't you get it? If I'm not here, I can't keep him away from me. He'll lose his job, and it'll be all my fault. Because that's what happens to people I love. They get hurt. They always get hurt, and I can't let that happen to him. I can't." All breath leaves my lungs at the thought of him losing everything he's worked for because of me. I gasp for breath, but my chest is so tight, I can't force air into my lungs.

  "Shit," Detective Ventura barks when a keening whimper breaks from my lips, and then he pushes me toward the bed, forcing me to sit.

  I collapse onto the thin mattress, shaking uncontrollably. My throat feels like it's closing up, forcing out what little air I have left. My heart begins to pound, thumping so hard, I think I'm going to have a heart attack. My head swims, black spots floating in my field of vision. I just want to breathe, and I can't.

  I haven't been able to since I made the deal that freed Cam and broke my heart.

  Ventura kneels beside me, forcing my head between my knees.

  "Breathe, Miss Kendall," he encourages, his voice gruff. "Don't lose it on me now. Come on."

  I take a gasping breath and then another. The tightness in my chest eases. My head stops spinning. I breathe slowly, pulling air into my lungs in a steady rhythm. Eventually, my heart stops trying to beat its way out of chest. My throat relaxes, allowing me to take in one deep breath and then another. The shaking slows, but little tremors still race through me, making me shudder.

  "Better?" Detective Ventura asks when I finally lift my head.

  I nod mutely.

  He rises to his feet again, looking down on me. "You don't belong here," he says after a moment.

  "Yes, I do."

  "I've met a lot of murderers in my time," he says, sitting beside me with his hands between his knees. He doesn't look at me, instead staring at a dark stain on the floor. "You aren't one of them."

  "I'm―" I snap my mouth closed, unable to lie and say out loud that I'm a murderer.

  "You lied to me to save Detective Lewis."

  "I don't know what you're talking about," I mumble. The words sound like bullshit to me, but I don't have the energy left to make them believable. For whatever reason, he's decided I'm not guilty. As much as I don't want Cam to pay for that…I can't help but feel relief that I'm off the hook with this man, at least.

  "You're a terrible liar, Miss Kendall," he says with a rueful shake of his head.

  "How…" I lick my lips and try again. "How did you know?"

  "Because no one capable of the kind of cruelty displayed toward Mr. Clark would sentence herself to prison to save a cop she was just using. You're in love with him."

  I don't think it's a question, but I nod anyway.

  "Only a complete idiot would fall for a cop while being investigated," he says, pinning me with another hard look. Though, this time, admiration lurks in his gaze, too. "I've spent enough time with you in the last two weeks to know you are far from stupid, Miss Kendall. From everything I've learned about you, you're a decent person. I'm not going to pretend I know who is setting you up or why, but I'm man enough to admit when I'm wrong. You didn't do this, and contrary to what you may think, I have no interest in seeing an innocent woman sentenced to prison."

  "What about Cam?" I whisper.

  "What about him?"

  "Is he going to be fired?"

  Ventura sighs. "Look, I'd love to be able to tell you to go be with him, but the reality is that you're still on the hook for this. Until the D.A. drops the charges or a jury of your peers finds you not guilty, they could decide to fire him for getting involved with you while assisting with this case. It's up to the two of you to decide whether that's a risk you're willing to take."

  I nod, my heart aching when my answer immediately surfaces. I may be free to leave the jail, but I'm not free to be with Cam. Not now. Maybe not ever. Cops don't get to love whoever they want, not if they want to remain cops. The world just doesn't work that way. They're supposed to be above reproach, untouchable. Being with me makes Cam a target for the media and anyone else with an ax to grind. With me, he'll always be a target.

  "Why are you letting me go?" I ask, desperate to make sense of something in my life.

  "Because Lewis is a stubborn son of a bitch," he says bluntly. "And he isn't the only one who believes you're innocent."

  "He's still helping me," I whisper, my heart pulsing at the realization that he's still fighting for me.

  Ventura nods.

  "Why?"

  Why can't he just let it go and look out for himself, dammit?

  Doesn't he know he's going to get himself fired?

  "I don't know. Perhaps he's found something he wants more than he wants his job," Ventura murmurs and then strides toward the door. He taps the doorframe with a hand. "Someone will be here to escort you out shortly, Miss Kendall. If you have anything you want to take with you, you'd better gather it up."

  I glance around at my tiny cell and shake my head. I don't want to take anything from here home with me. They can burn the few personal items I purchased from the commissary for all I care. I'll never touch them again.

  As soon as I step through the doors of the jail into the sunlight, I tip my head back and greedily inhale a lungful of fresh air. The city smells exactly the same as it did two weeks ago…like smog, salt water, and hundreds of thousands of people living in close proxi
mity to one another. It's terrible, but I love it. Especially after spending the last two weeks with the scent of industrial strength cleaner and unwashed bodies swirling around me. Those smells clung to everything, following me even on my few short forays out into the yard.

  "Ivy!"

  I pop my eyes open to see Erin waving madly from the parking lot, a giddy smile stretched across her face.

  I begin speed-walking in her direction, only to stop when I notice a small group of reporters clustered together on the far side of the fence surrounding the parking lot. I'm not sure if they're here because of me or for some other reason, but I have a feeling they're going to descend on Erin's car the moment we're through the gates.

  The thought isn't appealing in the least.

  "Kitten."

  Cam's smooth voice rolls over me while I stand there, trying to gather the nerve to keep walking. The sound hits me right in the stomach, unraveling some of the knots that settled there two weeks ago. My heart rate speeds, racing when his scent wraps around me.

  And then another surge of panic flares. He can't be here. Not now.

  He steps up behind me and runs a hand down my arm.

  I whimper and squeeze my eyes closed, praying for him to disappear like a hallucination or a mirage, but he doesn't. He steps into me, so close I can feel his big body against my back. His warm breath blows across my neck, wrecking me and what little composure I have left.

  "I've missed you," he whispers in my ear.

  Every cell in my body screams for me to take a tiny step backward into the solid wall of his chest. I want to do exactly that, so badly I sway on my feet, fighting for the control needed to remain in place. But I can't lean into him.

  I clench my hands into fists, gouging my short nails into my palms. I don't want to do this here. I don't want our final goodbye to happen with the jail at our backs and a cluster of reporters looking on from a distance, waiting to splash his name and face across the papers alongside mine.