A freight train rumbled through my chest. “Did you find the men who killed my brother?”
“No. But we will. I promise. And I’ve got everyone looking for Erik Meyer, too. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” Two heavy steps and he was in front of me, squatting to meet me at eye level. “This is officially off the record. Understand?”
I nodded.
“I need to know if Tito’s been acting out of character.”
“Why?”
“Considering the amount of money he’s paying the men to keep an eye on you, and the way he blew up the night Erik attacked you—”
“Wait. What do you mean he blew up? What happened?”
“Fuck.” His head dropped low, his hand lading on my thigh. “Fuck.” Roger stood and paced the room, arms crossed, scratching his jaw. “I just assumed you knew. God, I’m sorry.”
“Knew what?”
Roger stared at the floor, gnawing his bottom lip, contemplating his next move, no doubt.
“Fuck it. You deserve to know,” he said, stopping again in front of me. “That night, Moretti had Tango and me meet him and Tucker here at the diner the second they got back to town. Wanted us to fill him in about what happened and explain how Erik was able to get anywhere near you. Guy goes ballistic. Starts tearing the place apart. Throwing shit. Breaking dishes. Took three of us to drag him out. Almost an hour to talk him down. He was rambling on about murdering Erik, going after your father.”
Roger’s story made no sense. Tito had been so sweet and caring that night. “He was just upset. He wouldn’t…he’s not…” I couldn’t finish my thought. I remembered his words after I’d confessed what I knew about my father.
I’m going to kill Jeremy Carver and burn that church to the ground.
I blinked up at Roger.
“Tuuli. I like you, and the last thing I want to do is interfere. It’s just…damn. He was lost in his own head. Scared the shit out of me, if I’m honest. Bothered me so much, I decided to research the guy.”
“And?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing on him. Like he never existed before he came to Whisper Springs. Just be careful. Okay? You have my number. Call if you need anything.”
Mind reeling, I stared at the handsome cop. His worried eyes, his unsure stance, the heavy weight on his shoulders. It unsettled him to share the information. He was loyal to Tango, making him loyal to Tito and Tucker. He risked that relationship because he was worried about me. Me.
“Thank you, Roger. I’ll be careful. And I promise I’ll call if I need you for anything.”
He let out a long breath. Nodded. Held my gaze.
“And I won’t say anything to Tito about our conversation.”
“Appreciate that.” He gave me a crooked smile and turned to leave.
I took a moment to absorb the weight of our conversation, recalling the way Tito had checked-out when he was hitting the heavy bag on our first date. Like a different soul had occupied his body. Yes, he was scary, and big, and dangerous, but I’d never feared for my safety. He’d never been anything but gentle with me. I shook off the nerves and busied myself with work.
With every hour that passed, every thought and memory unraveling from my complex tapestry, every roll, rise, and dip of my emotions, my future slowly lay itself at my feet. My path had always been dark, shrouded by the gnarled, tangled pieces of my life. That was no longer the case. I could see now, with newfound clarity, what lay ahead for me. I was done living under the thumb of Jeremy Carver. Tired of hiding in the shadows. So over being afraid.
Tito’s words came back to haunt me. I’m going to kill Jeremy Carver and burn that church to the ground. What a terrifying statement. I needed to know him better. I deserved to know the whole Tito Moretti. Every ugly detail.
An hour before my shift ended, I texted Tito and canceled our date, told him I needed to be alone. Then, I called one of the people I feared most in the world, one person who could give me the tools I needed to shed the pathetic skin I’d been living in. Much to my surprise, she agreed to help.
When my shift ended, I stepped outside, physically tired, emotionally numb, but clear-headed and one hundred percent committed to taking control of my life.
Until I heard, “Bunny.”
Oh, my. That voice.
Tito leaned against the hood of his car, legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded over his massive chest. He wore jeans and boots, and a brown V-neck sweater that enhanced his lean physique. The scowl he wore, although meant to be threatening, only complemented his outfit.