Page 138 of Long Way Down

But in her world of being hated and heckled for telling the truth, of living with a terrible fear that became a terrible burden, when her mother hated her for destroying the man who’d raped her cousin – in a world of shifting alliances, and cold indifference, and jumping through a hundred hoops to catch a villain – only to have never suspected who he actually might be – there was something blissfully simple about outlawry, in this moment.

This waswith us, or against us.

But this was also a place where sins were worn as patches on leather vests, and nothing you’d done before mattered, so long as you protected the kingdom.

The absurdity of findingrelief, after all this time, in a room full of criminals, had struck her as hilarious, and she’d laughed until she cried.

And then, because her endocrine system had been thoroughly wrung out tonight, she wanted to cry for real, a little, and maybe drink a little more vodka.

Maverick stood and headed back toward the bedrooms, saying he was “beat.” He told Shepherd – the one with “Sgt. At Arms” sewn over his breast pocket – to clean up the mess of her dropped plate.

“I can get it,” she said, though the idea of scrubbing the carpet gave her hives.

“Nah,” Maverick assured, and as he passed, he squeezed her shoulder, briefly. “Let him do something useful for once.”

Shepherd muttered to himself, but he cleaned the mess, and then left.

“Where are you going?” Pongo asked him.

“None of your business, Spot.”

Toly returned with her bag, and handed it over, expression caught somewhere between vacant and actively disinterested. “You should wear your gun at all times,” he said. “Leaving it in your bag is a good way to get it stolen.”

“Noted,” she said on a yawn, and didn’t bother to check inside to see if he’d taken anything. For all their sins, she didn’t see the Dogs as thieves. Didn’t really see them as sinners.

There was something reassuring about knowing they had the potential for violence: like a big dog with a spiked collar, no surprises, no ulterior motive, just a nasty bite if you stepped out of line.

Alone just the two of them, again, she slumped down sideways on the couch, and only then remembered her drink, still on the coffee table from earlier, all the ice melted. She started to reach for it, and Pongo leaned forward and retrieved it for her.

She sat up so she could take a few long, tepid but fortifying slugs, and when she slumped again, it was against him. His warm, strong shoulder. There were so very many things to tell him, to ask him. Her life had been restructured in the last ten minutes, and there was going to be a learning curve.

But her brain was mashed potatoes, so what she said was, “Do you lift weights?”

“Four times a week, babe,” he said, without hesitation. He tensed his arm, biceps swelling against her shoulder. “Welcome to the damn gun show, huh?”

She snorted. “Lucky me.” But she meant it, throat tight with sentiment.

He turned his head so he could press a kiss to the top of hers. “Get some sleep.”

She did.

Twenty-Six

“How’d it go?” Contreras asked the next afternoon when she entered the bullpen, hair flattened from her helmet. Pongo had just dropped her off from One Police Plaza, and she could smell exhaust and autumn air on herself as she ran a hand through her hair and fell into step beside her partner.

She’d shown up for her IAB interview with eyes gritty from lack of sleep, a shuffling zombie of a woman made jittery by the two cups of strong coffee she’d had back at the apartment. But the detectives had been competent, and she’d had nothing to hide.

“It went well,” she said, and stifled a yawn in her fist. He was carrying a cup of coffee, and when she glanced up at his face, he said, “I saw you coming through the window and made it for you.”

“You’re a saint.” She took a bracing sip. “They said the official report will be a few days, but that it sounded like a good shoot. Said I did a good job avoiding unnecessary collateral damage.”

“You did,” he agreed.

“They’re not taking me off the case, so that’s a good thing.”

“It is. Doug’s still in the hospital, but we’ve got Tobias here in holding.” They’d reached their pushed-together desks and halted; Melissa turned to face him and saw that he was trying to get a read on her mindset, gaze tracking back and forth across her face, touching a long moment on the bandage at her temple. “I can get Novak to sit in with me, but I waited to question him on the record until you got here. If you wanna be there.”

She knocked back a long slug of coffee and nodded. “Oh, I wanna be there.”

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