Page 67 of A Step You Shouldn't Take

“I promise.”

The doorbell hadn’t worked since he moved in, so I hammered on the wooden door instead. I knew he was in. His truck was parked outside, and he never walked anywhere when he wasn’t on duty. Heavy footsteps clomped towards us, the door swung open, and there he stood. Wyatt Banks, up close and personal for the first time in six months, rubbing his eyes as if we’d just woken him up.

I punched him in the face, and fuck, that felt awesome.

At least, it did until Kim jumped in between us and Wyatt’s return swing caught her jaw. She crumpled at my feet in slow motion, and I wasn’t sure whether to finish the job on Wyatt or call an ambulance.

But then she began groaning, and I dropped to my knees.

“Kim, are you okay? Sweetheart?”

She looked up at me, eyes unfocused. “You promised not to do anything stupid, you asshole.”

“I didn’t.”

“You hit him.”

“That was the most sensible thing I’ve done all year.”

Of course, Banks didn’t see it that way. “That was assault on a police officer. I could arrest you.”

“Just go and get her some ice.”

“I think you’ve broken my nose.”

“Good. I’ll break your whole fucking face if you don’t go and get her some ice.”

Wyatt must have realised from my tone that I was serious, and he retreated inside. I heard him moving towards the kitchen as I turned my attention back to Kim.

“Where does it hurt? Do you want me to take you to the hospital?”

“No, I want you to start acting like a grown-up.” She gingerly touched her fingers to her jaw. “We’ll never get anywhere if Wyatt Banks is unconscious.”

“He needs to understand I’m not taking his shit anymore.”

“You’ve made your point, okay?”

I helped Kim to her feet as Banks returned, pressing an ice pack to his own face as he held out another. When he got a good look at Kim, his eyes lit up in recognition.

“Hey, I’ve met you before. You’re that party planner.”

“Wedding planner.”

“What are you doing with this prick?”

“I hired him to work on the case that you seemed so unwilling to solve.”

“Look, lady, there was no evidence. Do you know how many women claim to have been drugged every week?”

“Do you know how many of the men who drug them turn out to be murderers?”

Now isn’t the time, Kim.

“Enough,” I mouthed.

“Murderers?” Banks asked.

“Different case. Today, we’re here to discuss Emma.”

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