Page 19 of Black Heart

Tristan chuckled. “Like hell, I will. She wanted to leave. I’m not about to go beg her to come back. If she wants to freeze her ass off, that’s her business.”

“That’s cold, lad,” Shayne said, sounding genuinely shocked. Tristan didn’t know why. Shayne knew that he was a cold bastard, after all.

Hell, everyone knew.

Still…

“I invited her in. She’s the one who decided my invitation was lacking,” Tristan said defensively.

“I know, but still…” Shayne said, letting the words trail off.

“Still, what?” Tristan demanded.

“It’s Marty, lad,” Shayne said quietly.

Tristan closed his eyes and groaned. Leave it up to Shayne to get to the heart of the matter. Marty was out there alone, cold and wet, and could be hurt. Even after all these years, the thought of her in trouble was enough to piss him off and get him off his ass.

Tristan paused the game and tossed the controller on the couch. “Don’t fuck with my character or I’ll put child blockers on the internet and put a halt to your free porn,” he warned.

Shayne flipped him off and mumbled a promise to let every ghost that annoyed the shit out of him past him if Tristan came between him and his porn. Knowing that it wasn’t an idle threat, Tristan kept his mouth shut and made his way to the front door. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get Marty here, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to beg her. If he had to throw her over his shoulder and carry her spoiled ass back here, he would.

He grabbed his keys, the small black leather case he kept by the door and slipped it into his back pocket, and headed out the door, not bothering with a shirt since it would just get wet anyway.

A minute later, he was making his way up the short driveway when he spotted Marty sitting on the front step, covered in mud, shivering violently, and looking really fucking pissed.

“Couldn’t get in?” Tristan stupidly asked.

“I could, but it’s so much nicer out here, don’t you think?” Marty said dryly, only to follow that up with a grumble when the wind suddenly changed, soaking her all over again.

He bit back a sigh, wondering why he’d left his warm house for this shit. “Listen, I came to invite you back to my house.”

“No, thank you,” Marty bit out through clenched teeth.

That took him by surprise. “You’d rather stay out here and freeze your ass off than come back to my house?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Tristan demanded.

She pushed her wet hair out of her face as she muttered, “Just go away, Tristan. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

Clenching his jaw shut tightly, Tristan stepped past her as he pulled the black case from his back pocket and kneeled in front of the door. In less than a minute, he had the front door unlocked and opened it for her.

“How did you do that?” Marty asked as he turned around and walked away, telling himself that it was the last fucking time.

CHAPTER7

“So, what exactly are my duties?” Marty asked her father as they made their way through the second security door that led to the back offices, where the evidence locker, files, and backup artillery were also located.

Hank ran a hand over short hair that was more gray than brown these days. It was a nervous sign that Marty was well acquainted with. He always did it when he had to tell her something that wasn’t going to end well for either one of them. Like the time when he had to explain why she had boobs at eleven when none of the other girls did, what a period was, and her absolute favorite, the “sex talk” that had left him hyperventilating.

Definitely up to something, Marty thought, narrowing her eyes on him while she considered him. Even in his late forties, her father was a well-respected and feared man. He was probably in the best shape of his life and he didn’t take shit from anyone. Tristan actually reminded her of him except that Tristan was a lot colder and seemed like he didn’t care about anything or anyone outside of his family.

Hank opened the door leading to the “pit,” where the offices were located. In the corner was her father’s secretary’s desk and in the middle of the large room were several desks for the uniformed officers to share along with a coffee station in front of the small break room, and against the far back wall were several more desks for the secretaries that served the entire station.

Hank waited for her to enter while he held the door open for her as he shifted the box he was carrying to his other arm. Marty had to shift the large box in her arms and the two bags hanging off her arms so that she could fit through the door.

“Hey, Hank,” one of the uniformed officers said as he walked past them.

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