Page 115 of Wicked Sin

“I can’t.” She presses her lips together, then leans in close. “But Taylor’s brother-in-law could,” she whispers. “If someone told him about this.”

When Taylor emergesfrom the back rooms of the D.A.’s office, she looks…different. Tired, yes, but that’s to be expected. There’s something else there, something that looks a bit like anger. The quietest anger imaginable, just a bare flicker.

But I see it.

She shoots me a look like,don’t hug me, I might break, so I fall in step with her and we head back to my car.

As soon as we’re alone in the vehicle, she explodes. “The legal system is totally fucked. Totally, completely fucked. Can I say that? No offense to you, Mr. Cop.”

“None taken.”

“This isn’t about Newcomb. That part went just fine. Luckily, I’m not really needed to convict him, because if it hinged on my testimony, we’d be lucky to nail his ass.”

“Did Nora say that to you?” I will go back up there and tear her a new one.

“No.” Taylor swallows hard, fighting back tears. “No, she was fine. Extra nice, maybe, considering that she knows we’re sleeping together. But the questioning turned to Gerome Lively, and that’s where it went off the rails.”

My mind flashes to Sarah. To Ferdinand and what Nora might know, and how she might know whatever that is.

But I don’t need to guess. Taylor’s unloading isn’t done.

She stares out the front of the window. “I told her that he raped me when I was thirteen.”

Fuck. No.

I mean, she’d basically told me in Washington. And I should have seen this coming. I know that survivors minimize their experiences to keep the disclosure safe. Measured.

“I’m sorry,” I say. The words sound hollow and not nearly enough. “That’s awful.”

We’re sitting in a parked car on a busy street in downtown Los Angeles. In theory, life is swirling around us. All I see is Taylor, holding her head high even as she cracks open on the inside.

She’s so fucking brave. Especially if she’s already told Nora this, and been warned there won’t be anything that can be done about it.

It’s not the first time I’ve seen a witness dig deep into their fear and find astonishing strength. It’s not even the first time I’ve seen someone I love do it. My mother sending me off to boot camp when she’d lost her husband on the same base. My sisters at varying times being rock-star moms.

But this is the first time a woman I am in love with has had to bare her soul, share her most secret pain, and have no fucking idea if it will pay off.

“I thought maybe it might be connected,” she whispered. “Or even if it isn’t connected, it still seems like the right time to say something. But it’s too late. She said it would be up to the US Attorneys in Miami, the same office that gave him a deal last time. They won’t want anything to do with me.” She looks at me, pain radiating from her eyes. “I kept that to myself all these years. Because I thought it was keeping me safe. I thought all the secrets I kept close to the chest were like armor. Instead they were just weighing me down, slowly drowning me.”

“You were right to share.”

“But nobody will believe me.”

“I believe you. I told you that before. That hasn’t changed. Did Nora believe you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. That’s two of us. Have some faith. Not in the legal system, necessarily, but in humanity.”

“That’s a big ask, Detective.”

I give her a crooked, weak smile. “I’m full of those, Princess.” I squeeze her hand. “Can I take you back to my place and make you dinner?”

She looks off into the distance. “Dinner sounds nice. But could we do it at my place? I think I want to go home. I couldn’t last night, but I need to sooner or later. Do you want to come over? Stay a while, then tuck me into bed?”

And then leave her alone for the night?

But I can’t push myself onto her. And she’s right. She needs to get back to her life.

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