Page 433 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

Hank stared at the blade.

Jacob figured he’d be dead in a minute, regardless. “It’s not too late. You don’t have to make this worse than it already is,Hank. We’re friends. I’ll speak for you. No one knows what we went through except us. That’s extenuating circumstances.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Tell me. Talk to me.” Maybe they’d have the first real conversation of their decade’s long friendship. Shame washed over him. “I’m sorry I never saw it.”

“Now you know what I am.” Hank lifted his gaze, the knife in front of him. “What I’ve done. All the people I’ve killed? You wouldn’t understand, Jake. You’re not like me.”

Jacob’s head swam from the pain. His entire body flushed, damp with sweat. But he had to try. “That’s what you think? You’re so different?”

Maybe he could get Hank to understand they weren’t that far apart, no matter what Hank had done—especially if it got his friend to hold off on whatever this was long enough for Addie to find them.

“Damen told you to kill Becca and then yourself, right?” Jacob’s mind wanted to hang on to that thought, but he pushed on. “I’m sorry if you believed you had no choice. He wore me down as well. He didn’t let up with the torture. That’s what happened to us, Hank. We weretortured. Whatever that turned you into, it isn’t on you.”

His actions were his responsibility—Jacob believed that. But the truth was Ivan Damen had some of the blame if Hank had been broken to such an extent that he carried out what their captor wanted.

Hank huffed. “As if you know.”

“The same thing happened to me.”

Jacob needed him to understand what he’d never told anyone. Maybe that was the reason he’d held himself back from Hank. He hadn’t wanted to admit the truth to himself, let alone tell anyone else what had come over him.

“I know how it feels because I had to face the same thing. To consider what I was prepared to do just to make it stop. That doesn’t make you less. Or evil. Not like Damen.”

Unless Hank went through with the same thing, using Jacob and Mona—and maybe Addie—as his victims.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Hank crouched.

Jacob’s entire body clenched.

He lifted the knife and touched the blade to Jacob’s cheek, scoring a line down that burned.

Jacob felt blood trail down and drip from his chin. He gritted his teeth. “Hank, don’t do this. You’ve done enough. Don’t make things worse.”

“You think we’re the same,” Hank said. “But you have no idea.”

“You’re a cop.” And yet, it was clear that his impression of his “friend” wasn’t close to the truth. “Just tell me.”

The longer he talked, the more chance Addie had of finding them. The more time she had to mount a rescue.

“Talk to me.” As Jacob spoke, the cut on his cheek opened. The skin stung.

The last thing Jacob wanted to do was go through that ordeal again, all because of a man who was supposed to be his best friend. Hank knew what they’d been through, and now he wanted others to suffer in the same way. But Jacob had already been there. He didn’t need to feel it.

Mona didn’t need to.

“The time for talking is over,” Hank said. “You have no clue. But you’re not completely useless. Someone needs to take the fall.”

“You’re gonna make it look like it was me?”

“All of it.” Hank shot him a dismissive look. “I’ve been trying to stop you for years. I finally managed to, but too late to bring you to justice.”

“You’re the one who put my print on Celia’s body.”

Hank said nothing.

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