Page 173 of Dark Romeo

“What did he get you to do for him in return, huh? Did he ask you to throw the case on Vinnie?”

“No,” I said in horror.

“Did you tamper with evidence?”

“How could you even ask me that?” My gut curled with indignation.

“I don’t know. Maybe because my own fucking daughter just told me she was in love with a fucking criminal.”

My hands, reaching so hard for that dream where my two worlds coexisted, faltered then dropped uselessly by my sides, drained of hope. My father would never accept Roman Tyrell, not in a million years. There could never be a world where the two men I loved most walked on either side of me. In turning to one, I rejected the other. In loving one, I hurt the other. I could not have them both; they would not let me.

My father leaned in, thrusting his finger in my face. “You tell me right now, who shot Espinoza?”

I stared over his weighted brows, his lips pressed thin, the glare in his eyes daring me not to answer.

It came out barely a whisper. “I didn’t see.”

His finger dropped. Disappointment rolled off him, weighing down the corners of his mouth. “Hand over your badge.”

“Dad—”

“Badge. And your gun.”

I unclipped the shield and holster from their positions on my belt. I had worked so hard to get them. I had fought sexism and accusations of nepotism. Now I was throwing it all away.

My father snatched them from me. “Now, get out of my sight.”

Somehow, it still felt like the right thing to do.

* * *

I shouldn’t be here. Even as I tried to walk as silently as possible, my heels still made soft clacking noises against the sterile laminate floor. I kept my head down, avoiding eye contact, walking assuredly as if I was supposed to be here.

I entered the morgue, silent and empty of living beings. Espinoza was lying partly under a white sheet on one of the tables. My step faltered when I spotted him. The only way I was able to keep walking was to focus on my shaky breath.

In.

Out.

In.

I clutched at the metal table as I stood near his head. His usually tanned skin was so pale. So damn pale that I could see the veins on his eyelids. Even his smart-ass mouth was starkly white against the stubble on his strong jaw.

“Oh, Espo,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.” Wetness rolled down my cheek.

“What are you doing here?” A voice came from behind me.

I spun, wiping my face. Lacey was standing at the doorway to the morgue, dressed in scrubs. She looked tired, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. Like mine were.

“I just wanted to see him. To see… To say goodbye.”

After a pause, Lacey nodded and walked up to my side. We stood there, two people mourning over a friend, over a good man, who we both cared about.

I’d been hoping that coming here would give me some kind of closure. I was hoping to ask for forgiveness, strange as it was. I knew Espo couldn’t hear me anymore. I knew he was gone. I had to find some kind of way to make peace with what I’d decided to do.

“Did you do the autopsy?” I asked quietly. I hoped not. I hoped they didn’t make her do it.

She shook her head. “Dr. Carmichael.”

---