Page 69 of Closer Than You Know

Bent sat at the bar, his back to them. As she watched, the bartender placed a bottle of beer on the counter next to his hat. Bent’s gazeremained on the mirror behind the bar ... the one that likely allowed him to see them quite clearly.

Irritation was her first reaction. More of the frustration she’d been dealing with since they’d sat down came next. But then all of that went away as something like satisfaction filled her. Was Bent jealous? No, that was impossible. Men like Bent never felt that green-eyed monster. Never had to.

Don’t be juvenile, Vee.

Vera forced her attention back to Eric. “That’s him.”

Eric’s gaze rested on hers once more. “He didn’t escape unscathed. I could see it in his eyes when he looked at you and every time I said your name before you arrived at the meeting. You left your mark.”

Vera laughed. Then she finished off her margarita. Maybe she would have that second one after all. “Eric.” She rested her attention on the man she had adored ... the man she had wanted so desperately to fall in love with but somehow it just wouldn’t happen. “Your imagination is running away with you. There are some fairy tales that just don’t have happily ever afters, and my history with Bent is one of them.”

Eric pointed to Vera’s drink and nodded to the waitress.

God, the man read her like a damned book.

“But you admit that it was a fairy tale–like affair.”

She shook her head, pushed her empty glass aside. “I suppose to a seventeen-year-old it was, yes.”

“Have you told him everything?”

Vera wished that second drink would hurry up and get here. She made a noncommittal face. “There are some things you don’t talk about with just anyone.” This was why she wished he had consulted her before telling Bent new information about Solomon.

“Except someone who lived them with you,” he countered.

That was the thing. She and Eric had lived through something ... an event that changed both their lives. Not to say that their relationship was based solely on that singular, shocking time, but it was the littlethings leftover afterward—the almost-intangible ghostly tethers—that had tied them together for months, maybe years.

“I haven’t told him. No.”

The sad smile that appeared on Eric’s lips made her chest ache. “We got through it. That’s what matters.”

Vera’s throat felt dry. “I should have killed him when I had the opportunity.” She had never said those words out loud, no matter that she had thought them hundreds of times. The bastard was nothing but a drain on the taxpayers of Tennessee, just sitting in prison all these years. Now he was even more so, considering his medical treatments were likely exorbitant.

He deserved none of it.

The waitress arrived with her margarita, and Vera’s relief was palpable.

“No.” Eric shook his head. “You did the right thing. He was disabled. You called for backup. That was the right choice.”

Palmer Solomon had lured Vera into a trap using Gloria Anderson. Eric had been assigned to keep an eye on Vera, which landed him in the same hellacious situation. It was a mistake she would not make again. Oh no. After that she had made it her life’s goal to immerse herself in all the training available. She never passed up an opportunity to learn how to better her self-defense skills.

But back then she had been eager. Eager and ambitious. Totally focused on solving the biggest case of the time. She’d ended up captured by a serial killer. Landing Eric in that trap too. Nearly three days of sheer hell ... but it was Eric who bore the scars of her mistake.

The Messenger had intended to leave a message for law enforcement—carved in the skin of one of their own. Vera pleaded for the bastard to use her instead. She fully realized it was her fault Eric was there. Her pleas only made the Messenger more determined ... fueled his disgusting desires. On the last day, he decided to make Vera finish the carving. The second biggest mistake of his twisted life. She used his trademark filleting knife to slice a hole right through his gut.

But she hadn’t killed him. Her aim narrowly missed any vital organs, damn it.

He survived ... they both did.

And then, in the end, he officially confessed to everything.

Vera and Eric were heroes. They’d become friends and, in time, more—to some degree because of what they had shared.

“I’m sorry.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized she intended to say them.

He frowned. “Sorry for what?”

Eric Jones was one of the kindest, smartest, damned coolest men she had ever known.

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