Page 66 of A Life Betrayed

“How can you say that?” she snapped, forgetting herself. “He was clearly involved, and those shipments were just the tip of the iceberg. If I had more time—”

“Well, you’re out of time, Inspector,” Gill said, gesturing at the pile of photos. “It’s done. I’ll go ahead and officially suspend the investigation. I need you to roll back any active alerts and outstanding surveillance measures you have going. We can’t be seen to be tracking the man—or anyone else for that matter—without legitimate cause. You know as well as I do that our methods have been subject to a considerable amount of pushback in recent years.”

“I shouldn’t have agreed to it,” she muttered.

“Look, I appreciate the dedication, but we’ve got to be realistic here,” the deputy commissioner said matter-of-factly. “You had a call to make, and it’s clear—not just to me, but I imagine, very shortly, to a hell of a lot of big players in the government—that this business with Wainwright was the more pressing of the two. I know it’s hard for you to admit when you’re beat, Frances, but it’s time to pull back.”

Not hard—fucking impossible.She’d always pushed through to an outcome that, if not a complete success, was damn near close to it. That was what rattled her about all of this—not just that she hadn’t succeeded but that she’d so clearly been made to look like a failure.

“I’d like you to start tying things up in Montreal. Let the local office take the lead,” Gill said, sweeping the photos into a folder on his desk. “I’ve got a few cases coming up that I could use your help with.”

She’d traipsed off with such bold intentions, thinking she could accomplish what others had tried and failed, only to return months later empty-handed. But the look on the deputy commissioner’s face was enough to make her hold her tongue. The man would not be swayed.

“Yes, sir,” Frances said, quashing her humiliation.

Frances left the office immediately after their meeting. She couldn’t bear to stand around shooting the shit with her old colleagues. She’d be back here before long anyway.

Her mind ground against the disappointment as she drove aimlessly through town, refusing to head back to her empty house. Frances pulled up outside a popular dive bar she and Ethan used to frequent. It was barely five, and the place looked dead. She headed straight for the bar and ordered a vodka tonic, which she knocked back, and then promptly ordered another.

Frances was on her third drink when a well-dressed man slipped into the seat beside her, not bothering to ask whether it was taken. He turned to her, brimming with confidence, and gave her a brilliant smile, his whitened teeth glistening in the dim room. He must have been at least forty, but his laid-back demeanor made him seem younger. She returned the smile—he seemed friendly enough. She wondered how long it had been since she’d engaged in easy conversation that hadn’t been riddled with threats and lies.

Too long, she decided, crossing her legs and giving the man her full attention.

“Drinking alone?” he asked smoothly.

“Not anymore.”

The man’s beer arrived, and he raised it jovially. “I’ll drink to that.”

They clinked glasses, and he moved in closer. In the back of her mind, she had a sneaking suspicion that he was the kind of guy with a sixth sense for sniffing out lonely women. “I’m Kyle.”

“Frances,” she replied before picking up her glass and downing the remainder of her drink.

The next few hours passed in a blur. She remembered getting up to go to the bathroom at some point, and when she got back, Kyle had leaned over and given her a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss, which she returned. The next thing she knew, they were heading out the door together, his arm looped around her waist as she discovered her legs were laughably unsteady. Kyle mentioned that his apartment was nearby, and Frances turned to give him a wide smile.

“I’d love to see it.”

They walked down the street to a two-story block of condos, and Kyle led her into the elevator, his hand moving down from her waist to cup her ass. He fumbled with his keys when they reached the door to his apartment and grabbed her as soon as he managed to shut the door behind them, pushing his tongue into her open mouth. She liked the feel of his hands on her, rough and clumsy as he removed her coat. It felt good to be touched, and even through her drunken haze, she liked that he wanted her.

They collapsed on the sofa, and Kyle popped the buttons of her blouse while yanking it open impatiently to fondle her breasts. He stood and wrenched off her pants then thumbed open his jeans and pulled his cock out from the open zipper. He knelt on the sofa, spreading her legs and moving between them.

“Condom,” Frances said lazily, pressing her palm against his chest to hold him off.

Kyle gave a low laugh. “I think we’re good,” he said, pushing her underwear to one side and thrusting into her, unsheathed.

Frances was struck by a vivid memory—how Ethan would run his fingers down the inside of her thigh as his other hand reached into the nightstand drawer to grab that little square offoil, not wanting to break their rhythm, while at the same time honoring the mechanics of the exchange.

A shot of sobriety flooded her system, and she drew her leg back and kicked Kyle hard in the face, knocking him backward onto the carpet. She got to her feet, looking down at him sprawled on the floor, clutching his nose and gasping. “I’m a cop, you asshole,” she growled. “Don’t you ever fucking try that with anyone else.”

Frances yanked on her pants and grabbed her coat then moved to the front door, let herself out, and slammed it behind her. She ignored the look the other woman gave her in the elevator as she stood, buttoning up her blouse. Once back outside, Frances retraced her steps to the bar and reached into her pocket for her phone, thankful it hadn’t fallen out during their ill-fated encounter. She punched in the number of a taxi service.

“Frances?”

She looked up to see Ethan and a group of his friends about to step into the bar. Her heart dropped.How small is this fucking town?

He motioned for his friends to go on ahead and stepped over. “It’s been a while,” he said with an easy smile.

He’d grown out his beard, and his hair was shorter, buzzed along the sides, but she saw the familiar streaks of gray at the roots. She’d been with him when he’d found the first one, barely containing her laughter at his horrified expression. The gray hair had grown on him, though—just another thing he’d taken on board with that evenhanded steadiness of his. A steadiness she’d taken for granted. He was still the one she compared all the others to, and none of them ever measured up.

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