Page 57 of Shadows of Justice

“Occupied!” I yell, not taking my eyes off of him. I’m afraid that if I do I’ll realize that I’m hallucinating and he’ll disappear.

Drunken female snickering comes from the other side of the door, but he shuts it without issue and locks the deadbolt. He cups both my cheeks, smoothing my hair, taking in my makeup, the fake nose ring—all of me. His eyes zero in on the wound on my cheek, but before he can freak out, I shake my head.

“I did it,” I say. “I didn’t want to stand out as too polished.”

His lips pinch together, obviously pissed at me, but he nods and continues his frenzied assessment for injuries. Once satisfied, he brings our foreheads together, closing his eyes.

“I can’t believe you did this, Viv,” he whispers, bringing tears to my eyes. “If anything happens to you, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“No,” I bark, raising my head. “You’re not allowed to harbor guilt about any of this. This was my choice. Mine.”

“One that I dangled right in front of you!” he says sharply. “I just never thought you’d do something this . . . this—”

“What?”

“Stupid!”

My eyes narrow, my breath picking up again. That burning defiance rears its ugly head from deep inside me—that ridiculous need to prove to everyone that I’m stronger than they think I am like a fiery creature in my soul.

“I can do this,” I grit out. “I found the oxide. I have your creepy crucifix camera.” I point at my cleavage.

“This isn’t worth risking your life over,” he says loudly, a scowl on his face.

“All of those people will die, and who knows how many others if I don’t do this. Why is my life worth more than theirs? Not to mention, my career will be over if I can’t make something big happen. I just need to do this. I need to prove to them—”

“Prove to them?” Leo stops me. “Or prove to yourself? No one needs you to be a hero in order to be loved, Viv. At least, no one worth your time. If that’s what your dad has led you to believe, then he doesn’t fucking deserve to breathe the same air as you!” He reaches up to frame my face again, the truthfulness in his gaze making my heart ache. “What’s it going to take for him to love you, you almost dying? It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it. You are so much better than what you think he sees—than what you see! You are everything. If he can’t see that, he doesn’t deserve you. Don’t destroy your life so that he’ll see you!” His breathing is labored, his eyes glistening with sincerity. “I see you.”

A tear slips down my cheek. Leo leans in and kisses it away, brushing more kisses along my jaw and under my ear, making me shiver. His arms intertwine around me again and I melt into his hold, not able to block out how I feel any more. His words, my feelings—it all feels like salvation.

Like . . . oxygen.

Both our eyes widen at loud banging on the door.

“There’s something else, Viv,” Leo says hurriedly, his expression darkening again. “Remember when I told you that the owner of this club had a fake identity? I needed to stay busy when you were ignoring me,” he shoots me a look, “so I killed time by tracking the fucker down.”

“Who is it?”

“He did a really thorough job of concealing himself, but he fucked up a few years ago, and I caught it,” Leo says, seeming to ready himself. “The owner—Charles Lipsky—has always signed paychecks, deposited cash in the club’s bank account, filed the business taxes, and signed for deliveries without issue. But last year, his signature was flagged for identity fraud during a bank deposit and the bank asked him to re-sign, resulting in a form being on file to clear the issue.” My foot taps as he explains, our lack of time making me impatient.

“His original signature wasn’t of Charles Lipsky. It was of his real name,” Leo says.

“Which was?” I ask. Leo looks pained, making my blood pressure spike.

“Phillip Jennings.”

My empty stomach drops to the floor. I blink a few times, my brain trying to force the information back out of my ears so that I can pretend I didn’t hear it.

“Jennings?” I ask, my volume climbing. “As in, Captain Ryan Jennings? Decorated officer and server of the people since fucking dial-up was still a thing?” Leo pushes out a breath and looks at me apologetically.

“I’m sorry, Viv. I didn’t want to believe it either. I know he’s been good to you, but your instincts about him trying to knock you off track about this club were right,” he says. “I looked deeper, and he’s got an offshore account that would make Donald Trump smile, and Phillip Jennings’s fake bank accounts have been making wire transfers to it regularly for the better part of ten years.”

My thoughts are spinning. How can the man I’ve come to trust more than my own crooked father be dirty? I’ve been to the man’s holiday barbecues, dog-sat his golden retriever Bilbo while he took his wife to the Bahamas for their thirtieth wedding anniversary. He’s as squeaky clean as they come.

“He drives an old Ford Focus!” is all my jumbled brain can manage to think of as an argument, and Leo shrugs.

“He wouldn’t be the first family man to hide in plain sight. He does a good job of it.”

More commotion on the other side of the door makes me grimace. We’re playing with fire staying in here.

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