Heated
Page 42
I smiled. “That’s what my dad always says. And my dad is a very smart man.” I drew in a breath and ran my thumb under my eye, catching an escaping tear. “Sorry.” I managed a teasing smile. “I guess your motto is the opposite? ‘Screw justice’?”
As I’d hoped, he laughed. “There you go, assuming things about me.”
“Is that what I’m doing? Maybe I want to know how you started down the dark path. Come on, Mr. Sharp. I’ve revealed all. Why don’t you tell me why you became a criminal.”
“Such a loaded question, Detective. What makes you think I am?”
“Because I’m not an idiot,” I said.
“Cute, but I’m serious.” He leaned forward. “I admit I like to live dangerously. I love the thrill of acquiring something through my wits. Isn’t that the defining core of every successful businessman? But what crimes have I committed? What evidence do you have?”
“Never mind. Just drop it.”
“No,” he said. “I want to know.”
I sighed. I wanted to know, too. But I couldn’t deny that I feared his answer. Even so, I pressed on. “Evidence, no. But there’s a lot of talk about you and your friends. A lot of speculation.”
“Sticks and stones,” he said.
“Dammit, it’s a conversation. I’m not wearing a wire. I’m not even a Chicago cop. And I’m sure as hell not playing a game. Christ, Tyler, I’m—”
I’m falling for you.
I blinked, shocked by the intensity of the thought. And I didn’t look at him. Instead, I looked everywhere but.
“I’m—I like you,” I finally said. “I like us. But I don’t even know you.”
“What if I told you I was squeaky clean?” His voice was so very gentle, and in that moment I feared that he’d heard past the words to the truth in my voice. “What if I said that everything you fear is in the past?”
I turned now to look at him, and those stormy blue eyes were clear and warm. “That would be nice,” I admitted, realizing as I said it how much I wished it were true.
I tried for a smile. “Will you tell me about your past, then? How you met Evan and Cole? The misadventures of your youth? You told me once your childhood should have been idyllic. What went wrong?”
He raked his fingers through his hair, then stood up and glanced around the moonlit park. Then he reached a hand down for me. I took it and let him help me to my feet, then fell in step beside him. I assumed we were done, that he was keeping his childhood secrets locked away, and I told myself that was good.
I didn’t have a future with Tyler. Despite his protests—or maybe because of them—I knew damn well he was dirty. But for these last few days of my medical leave, I could ignore that. Pretend it wasn’t true. Tell myself I was taking a vacation from myself and sliding into adventure.
I didn’t need to know his secrets, didn’t need to see his heart.
After all, I’d already given him too much of mine.
We’d been walking in silence for at least fifteen minutes when he said, softly and simply, “My parents live in Florida now. We don’t really talk. We’ve never really talked.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Well.” We’d reached a hill atop which there was a statue of a man on a horse. The moon shone down around us, illuminating the area. It was late, probably after three and right then it felt like we were the only two people on earth.
I sat on the side of the hill, then laid back in the cool, damp grass. Above me, Tyler smiled down, and I held out a hand. “Join me.”
He did, stretching out beside me and taking my hand, and when he spoke, it was as much to the stars as to me. “I grew up in Rogers Park,” he said. “Up north where Lake Shore Drive turns into Sheridan Road. Near the lake. On the Red Line. Solid middle class. Decent house. Decent neighbors. My dad managed a gas station. My mom stayed at home.”
“Sounds nice.”
He made a sound that might have been a snort.
“She drank. He gambled. Not just at cards or in weekend jaunts to Vegas, but in everything. Any get rich quick scheme you could think of. And he was damn stupid at it. Never once got on top of it, not that I could see. And I saw a lot.”
“He talked to you about it?”
“Hell no. Neither one of them talked to me at all. The three of us lived in that house, and it was like we were three strangers. When I was very young, I’d make up stories as to why. I thought maybe I had an older brother who’d been kidnapped, and they were so lost in their grief they couldn’t see me. Or that they weren’t my parents at all. My parents were actually spies, and they’d send for me as soon as they were safe. Then I quit making up the stories and just figured it was me.”
“Tyler, no,” I said, my heart breaking for the little boy he used to be.
“No,” he agreed. “I realized soon enough it wasn’t me. It was them. My parents were—are—two broken people. And they didn’t give a shit if they broke me, too.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“They paid the bills, kept the roof over our heads. But there was never dinner—I lived on cold cereal and scrambled eggs. And there was never conversation.”
“Jesus,” I said, though I’m not sure I spoke aloud.
“I started doing stupid shit to get their attention, but they never noticed. So I ramped it up. Stole a car when I was thirteen. Started breaking into people’s houses when I was fourteen—used to steal leftovers, so that was a plus, and about the only way I got a decent meal. Stole a car when I was fifteen. Smashed it. Got arrested. My dad bailed me out, and I didn’t even get grounded. Just told me to get my shit together and not be a stupid fuck.” He glanced at me, his expression dry. “That’s an exact quote, by the way.”
“What did you do?”
“Needless to say, I didn’t follow dear old Dad’s advice. I did not get my shit together. On the contrary, I think it’s safe to say I spiraled down. I started dealing drugs—stupid, but the money was good, and money bought me freedom and food.”
“You didn’t stay in drugs,” I said, my voice tight. God, don’t let him be dealing drugs; I’d seen the effects, and that was something I knew I couldn’t deal with on any level.
“No.” The word was fast and harsh. “I knew from the moment I got involved that it was all wrong. But this group of kids at my school—I clung to them because I wanted a family. Needed, even. And I went along.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “Anyway, I had a girlfriend. Amanda. High school sweetheart, you know. Smart, pretty, sweet as she could be, and totally clean. When she learned what I was doing, she said I had to get out. That if I didn’t, she was going to call the cops.”
“Did she?”
He cocked his head. “I told her not to. That she needed to trust me. I had a way out, but I needed to go through with a deal we had set up. We’d scored a over a pound of coke at a bargain price, and we’d arranged a sale to some kids from the South Side—stupid—and if we didn’t go through, my buddies and I knew damn well they’d hurt us. Or worse.”
As I’d hoped, he laughed. “There you go, assuming things about me.”
“Is that what I’m doing? Maybe I want to know how you started down the dark path. Come on, Mr. Sharp. I’ve revealed all. Why don’t you tell me why you became a criminal.”
“Such a loaded question, Detective. What makes you think I am?”
“Because I’m not an idiot,” I said.
“Cute, but I’m serious.” He leaned forward. “I admit I like to live dangerously. I love the thrill of acquiring something through my wits. Isn’t that the defining core of every successful businessman? But what crimes have I committed? What evidence do you have?”
“Never mind. Just drop it.”
“No,” he said. “I want to know.”
I sighed. I wanted to know, too. But I couldn’t deny that I feared his answer. Even so, I pressed on. “Evidence, no. But there’s a lot of talk about you and your friends. A lot of speculation.”
“Sticks and stones,” he said.
“Dammit, it’s a conversation. I’m not wearing a wire. I’m not even a Chicago cop. And I’m sure as hell not playing a game. Christ, Tyler, I’m—”
I’m falling for you.
I blinked, shocked by the intensity of the thought. And I didn’t look at him. Instead, I looked everywhere but.
“I’m—I like you,” I finally said. “I like us. But I don’t even know you.”
“What if I told you I was squeaky clean?” His voice was so very gentle, and in that moment I feared that he’d heard past the words to the truth in my voice. “What if I said that everything you fear is in the past?”
I turned now to look at him, and those stormy blue eyes were clear and warm. “That would be nice,” I admitted, realizing as I said it how much I wished it were true.
I tried for a smile. “Will you tell me about your past, then? How you met Evan and Cole? The misadventures of your youth? You told me once your childhood should have been idyllic. What went wrong?”
He raked his fingers through his hair, then stood up and glanced around the moonlit park. Then he reached a hand down for me. I took it and let him help me to my feet, then fell in step beside him. I assumed we were done, that he was keeping his childhood secrets locked away, and I told myself that was good.
I didn’t have a future with Tyler. Despite his protests—or maybe because of them—I knew damn well he was dirty. But for these last few days of my medical leave, I could ignore that. Pretend it wasn’t true. Tell myself I was taking a vacation from myself and sliding into adventure.
I didn’t need to know his secrets, didn’t need to see his heart.
After all, I’d already given him too much of mine.
We’d been walking in silence for at least fifteen minutes when he said, softly and simply, “My parents live in Florida now. We don’t really talk. We’ve never really talked.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Well.” We’d reached a hill atop which there was a statue of a man on a horse. The moon shone down around us, illuminating the area. It was late, probably after three and right then it felt like we were the only two people on earth.
I sat on the side of the hill, then laid back in the cool, damp grass. Above me, Tyler smiled down, and I held out a hand. “Join me.”
He did, stretching out beside me and taking my hand, and when he spoke, it was as much to the stars as to me. “I grew up in Rogers Park,” he said. “Up north where Lake Shore Drive turns into Sheridan Road. Near the lake. On the Red Line. Solid middle class. Decent house. Decent neighbors. My dad managed a gas station. My mom stayed at home.”
“Sounds nice.”
He made a sound that might have been a snort.
“She drank. He gambled. Not just at cards or in weekend jaunts to Vegas, but in everything. Any get rich quick scheme you could think of. And he was damn stupid at it. Never once got on top of it, not that I could see. And I saw a lot.”
“He talked to you about it?”
“Hell no. Neither one of them talked to me at all. The three of us lived in that house, and it was like we were three strangers. When I was very young, I’d make up stories as to why. I thought maybe I had an older brother who’d been kidnapped, and they were so lost in their grief they couldn’t see me. Or that they weren’t my parents at all. My parents were actually spies, and they’d send for me as soon as they were safe. Then I quit making up the stories and just figured it was me.”
“Tyler, no,” I said, my heart breaking for the little boy he used to be.
“No,” he agreed. “I realized soon enough it wasn’t me. It was them. My parents were—are—two broken people. And they didn’t give a shit if they broke me, too.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“They paid the bills, kept the roof over our heads. But there was never dinner—I lived on cold cereal and scrambled eggs. And there was never conversation.”
“Jesus,” I said, though I’m not sure I spoke aloud.
“I started doing stupid shit to get their attention, but they never noticed. So I ramped it up. Stole a car when I was thirteen. Started breaking into people’s houses when I was fourteen—used to steal leftovers, so that was a plus, and about the only way I got a decent meal. Stole a car when I was fifteen. Smashed it. Got arrested. My dad bailed me out, and I didn’t even get grounded. Just told me to get my shit together and not be a stupid fuck.” He glanced at me, his expression dry. “That’s an exact quote, by the way.”
“What did you do?”
“Needless to say, I didn’t follow dear old Dad’s advice. I did not get my shit together. On the contrary, I think it’s safe to say I spiraled down. I started dealing drugs—stupid, but the money was good, and money bought me freedom and food.”
“You didn’t stay in drugs,” I said, my voice tight. God, don’t let him be dealing drugs; I’d seen the effects, and that was something I knew I couldn’t deal with on any level.
“No.” The word was fast and harsh. “I knew from the moment I got involved that it was all wrong. But this group of kids at my school—I clung to them because I wanted a family. Needed, even. And I went along.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “Anyway, I had a girlfriend. Amanda. High school sweetheart, you know. Smart, pretty, sweet as she could be, and totally clean. When she learned what I was doing, she said I had to get out. That if I didn’t, she was going to call the cops.”
“Did she?”
He cocked his head. “I told her not to. That she needed to trust me. I had a way out, but I needed to go through with a deal we had set up. We’d scored a over a pound of coke at a bargain price, and we’d arranged a sale to some kids from the South Side—stupid—and if we didn’t go through, my buddies and I knew damn well they’d hurt us. Or worse.”
