Page 38 of Too Late

I go to my closet to get dressed. I debate pulling out the Armani. You know—special day and shit. Instead I grab a dark blue button-up shirt I know Sloan likes and pair it with slacks. It really doesn’t matter what I pick out of the closet, it’s all fucking spectacular. I’ve always dressed for the level of respect I want to receive.

And no, my fucking father didn’t teach me that one. He’d have probably made it a lot longer in the outside world had he not dressed like the fucking bum that he was.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs and glance in the kitchen, I see Jon standing at the sink with his back to me, holding a bag of ice to the side of his head.

“What happened to you?”

He turns around, and the whole right side of his face is black and blue. “Christ, man. Who the hell did you fuck over?”

Jon drops the bag of ice in the sink. “No one important.”

I walk into the kitchen. His face is even worse up close. And if he thinks he’s not about to tell me who fucked him up, he’s wrong. If he lost us another job, the left side of his face will look a whole lot worse than his right. I grab my keys off the counter and ask him again. “Who the fuck did that to you, Jon?”

He pops his jaw and looks away from me. “Some asshole caught me with his girl last night. Took me off guard. It looks worse than it was.”

Fucking idiot. I laugh. “No, I’m sure it looks just as bad as it was.” I walk to the pantry and check the alcohol stock. It’s empty, as usual. I slam the pantry door. “We’re celebrating tonight. Need you to stock up today. I have to run an errand.”

Jon nods. “Special occasion?”

“Yep. Got engaged. Make it classy. None of the cheap shit.” I head toward the front door and I hear Jon laugh. When I turn around, the fucker is still smiling. “Something funny?” I ask, walking back into the kitchen.

He shakes his head. “Is there anythingnotfunny about you getting married, Asa?”

I laugh. And then I fuck up the left side of his face.

Fucking excess.

TWENTY-FIVE

CARTER

Imake it to my car in the parking lot. Somehow. I grip the steering wheel and lean my head back.

I have no idea where the line is drawn now, it’s so blurred. I’m trying to do the job I’m here to do, but at the same time Sloan is making me question whether this is really the life I want at all. I have no idea if I was Carter just now or if that was all Luke. Luke is becoming Carter.

I’m pulling too much of myself into this job, but I have no idea how to not be myself when I’m with her. All the things I want to say to her. The things I wish I could do to her. The truth I wish I could tell her.

If I told her the truth about who I am and what I’m here to do, though, I’d be risking everything. My life. Ryan’s life. Possiblyherlife. The less she knows, the better.

I press my forehead against the steering wheel and try to foresee the inevitable shitstorm that’s coming our way.

I want to be with her. I want to be with her as Luke. But that can’t happen until we have enough on Asa to put him away for good. And we won’t be able to put him away for good until he slips up. He’s careful right now. He’s smarter than I initially thought.

But the more time it takes to get where we need to be in this investigation, the more danger Sloan is in. And knowing what I know now about Asa, leaving him is the worst thing she could do. There’s no way he’d let her leave peacefully. He’d hurt her. And I wouldn’t put it past him to hurt her brother, too.

She’s stuck until he’s gone, and that could be months.

I lean back in my seat again and pick up my phone. As if I’m being punked, I have two texts from Asa.

ASA: Where are you?

ASA: Meet me for lunch at noon. Peralta’s. I’m fucking hungry.

I stare at the texts for several seconds. This is out of character for him. He doesn’t text on his regular phone when it has to do with a job, so … he literally just wantslunch?

ME: Be there in ten.

Twelve minutes later I’m weaving my way through the restaurant to where Asa is seated. He’s staring down at his phone when I take my seat.

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