Finding Home with You

by Claire Raye

  How could I have gotten all of them involved in this mess?

  The guilt tugs at my insides, pulling me into an abyss of darkness and near hysteria.

  “It was none of us,” Finn defends, his eyes flicking to Ryan and then to the team of officers scattered all around. “It was a sniper, someone who wasn’t part of the set up.”

  Before anyone has a chance to respond my tears cease, I react immediately, my heart racing, the blood pulsing loud in my ears. “It was my father,” I practically shout, my words ringing out loud over the sound of sirens and roaring voices.

  “Your father’s in prison, Erin,” Finn says with Ryan nodding in agreement. “It couldn’t have been him.” It’s like they’re trying to assure me that my father couldn’t be involved, as if they’re protecting me from the fear I have of him. But right now, what they don’t realize is that I’m thankful for him.

  He saved my life.

  “He set it up. He had someone kill Anthony.”

  “You think so?” Finn asks and before I realize it Ryan’s gone.

  “Stay with her!” Ryan shouts over his shoulder at Finn, and I watch him race off nearly colliding with his captain.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Ryan

  “RYAN!”

  I hear my name called by at least three different people, but I ignore it, running for a car as my brain tries to play catch up and process exactly what the fuck just happened.

  I’m halfway down the pier when I feel a hand on my arm, fingers digging in as though they’re not trying to stop me but rather rip my arm off.

  “Let me go,” I half shout, turning as I attempt to throw the person off me.

  “STOP!” Finn shouts, tightening his grip.

  I yank on my arm again, but Finn doesn’t budge, his other hand curling into a fist by his side.

  “Let me go,” I scream at him, pulling again on my arm.

  “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he says, stepping closer and getting right up in my face.

  “I need to see Fitzgerald,” I say, leaning closer, daring him to challenge me on this.

  “What you need to do,” Finn bites out, his jaw clenched, “is get the fuck back there and make sure your girlfriend is okay.” A vein now throbbing at his temple. “She just witnessed a murder, Ryan. Copped a stray bullet fragment in the hand. You need to get your ass back there and make sure she’s okay. Fuck!”

  Time seems to slow down, even as my body refuses to comply. Inside, my heart feels like it’s pounding inside my chest at a million miles an hour. My body is covered in sweat, every second that Anthony had Erin in his grip playing on auto-repeat inside my brain.

  God, that fucking shot. Right between the eyes. Cold, deadly and expert. It came out of nowhere too, none of us expecting it or remotely prepared for it. And watching him collapse in a bloody heap on top of Erin, unsure whether she’d also been in the firing line, was more than I could take.

  At least I thought it was. Then I’d pulled him off her. Seen the blood covering her face and arms. The bits of grey matter in her hair. It took everything in me not to throw up.

  “Ryan,” Finn says, his voice quieter now as he ever so slightly loosens his grip on my arm. “Erin needs you right now,” he says, stepping to the side so I can see her as they load her into the ambulance. “She’s scared and traumatized and needs something familiar, someone who loves hers,” he continues. “Fitzgerald can wait.”

  I shake my head, trying to clear the images of the last ten minutes from my brain. Finn shoves me a little and it’s enough that I finally get with the program.

  “You’re right,” I say, the words catching in my throat. “I should be with her.”

  He nods. “Go, we got this,” he says, gesturing to the body that’s still lying at the end of the pier. “Call me and let me know how she is,” he adds.

  I turn to look at him, see the worry and concern on his face. Although Erin and I have something serious here, something that means more to me than anything else in the world, I know Finn has feelings for her too. Feelings that might be different to mine, but don’t mean that he doesn’t care for her, possibly even love her a little.

  “Okay,” I choke out. “But let me know what you find here.”

  “Just go, Ryan,” he says, pushing me in the direction of the ambulance.

  I jog down the pier, thumping on the now closed doors of the ambulance just as they start the engine. The back door opens and the paramedic takes one look at me before gesturing for me to get in.

  “Ryan,” Erin cries, her unbroken arm reaching for me. “Oh my god,” she says, pulling me toward her as soon as our hands touch.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say as I bury my face against her chest. “So sorry.”

  I feel Erin’s fingers in my hair as I stare down at her broken arm, now missing it’s cast but with a huge bandage wrapped around her palm and thumb where the bullet fragment hit her. Just seeing it makes me want to throw up all over again, as a million other possibilities for how this could have all gone down flash before my eyes.

  God, I promised I’d protect her.

  “Ryan,” comes a male voice, “we need to check her over.”

  A hand on my shoulder gently eases me back and glance over at the paramedic who’s offering a small smile. I nod, moving around so I’m sitting behind Erin now, the fingers of her good hand, still laced with mine.

  “She’s pregnant,” I blurt out as though suddenly remembering there was another person involved in all this.

  “I know,” the paramedic says, nodding. “We’ll check everything’s okay, don’t worry.”

  The trip to the hospital is a blur, as is Erin getting checked over by the doctors, her injury getting sutured and her arm getting recast in a removable plastic cast this time, so they can check her bullet wound in two week’s time. Eventually though, everyone leaves and it’s just the two of us sitting in a tiny cubicle.

  “You okay?” Erin asks as she starts to get dressed, her clothes relatively clean after her coat took most of the fallout. I shake my head, amazed that they’re even letting her go home after everything. “Ryan,” she says. “Come here.”

  I look up at her, see her standing before me, her arms out as though welcoming me. I swallow hard, wishing I could just man the fuck up and be here for her, be strong like she is.

  “Baby,” she whispers.

  And that’s all it takes as I step toward her and pull her into my arms. We stand together, arms wrapped tightly around each other as I bury my face in her neck.

  “It’s okay,” she whispers, her hand running up and down my back. “I’m okay, the baby’s okay,” she continues. I nod, still unable to say anything. “But you are scaring me,” she says, her mouth against my ear. “Where’s my big strong detective?”

  I pull back, scrubbing a hand down my face before looking at her. “I’m sorry,” I say again, the apology for so many things.

  “You don’t have to apologize,” she says, taking my hands in hers. “It’s okay, Ryan.”

  I shake my head. “No,” I say. “It’s not. Look at what happened, Erin,” I blurt out, letting go of her hand as I brush my fingers down her cheek. “You could have been killed,” I whisper.

  “But I wasn’t,” she says, stepping closer. “I’m okay, Ryan, really.”

  “Jesus, Erin,” I say, pulling her close as I lean down and press a kiss to her lips. “I thought I’d lost you,” I murmur, my mouth against hers. “I can’t lose you, baby, ever.”

  Erin kisses me back, her mouth hard against mine, before she pulls back and cups my face in her hands, wincing a little as the newest pain registers. “And I can’t lose you either, Ryan. But we are both here now and Anthony’s gone,” she says. “He’s gone.”

  I nod, knowing how true her words are. “Do you really think this was your father?” I ask, still confused as to whether it could be. Whether that hit he organized over the phone wasn’
t for me after all, but for Anthony.

  “I do,” she says nodding. “But just to be sure, you and I are going to go and see him.”

  “Erin,” I say, not wanting her any more involved with this.

  “No,” she says firmly. “We are, Ryan,” she says. “And I’m not arguing with you about this.”

  Three hours later and we are pulling into the prison parking lot. I called on the way down to arrange our visit and even though a part of me was hoping it would be denied, we’ve both been granted permission.

  Before I even have time to question Erin on whether she really should be doing this given everything that’s happened today, we’ve both been searched, signed in and are now waiting in the same room I saw Fitzgerald in only days earlier.

  “I hope this is the last time I ever have to be here,” Erin says as the door opens and her father and his lawyer walk in.

  Neither of them says anything as they both look us over before walking across the room and taking the two chairs opposite us. Once again, Fitzgerald is uncuffed and allowed to sit with his hands free, the guard avoiding my eyes as he leaves the room.

  “To what do we owe this pleasure?” the lawyer asks as he slides his brief case on to the table.

  “Did you do it?” Erin asks, ignoring him.

  Fitzgerald glances at me before turning to look at his daughter. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice sounding strange, as though he might actually give a shit.

  Erin nods once, but doesn’t answer his question, instead repeating her own. “Was it you?”

  Fitzgerald turns to his lawyer now. “Give us a minute,” he says.

  “Sir, I don’t think that would be a wise move,” the lawyer says.

  “Get the fuck out, Archie,” Fitzgerald yells, his face red.

  With his words, I realize in addition to being his lawyer, Archie is also his fixer. The man who must have passed on the details of the hit Fitzgerald set up when he phoned Hamish two days ago.

  The lawyer pauses, looks as though he wants to say something else but then thinks better of it, before grabbing his suitcase and angrily walking from the room.

  Fitzgerald turns back to us, this time focusing on me as he says, “I’ll take the plea.” He pauses, allowing his words to sink in, before he continues, “But in exchange for what I’m about to tell you, I don’t want any additional charges. I don’t want to be connected to this in any way.”

  “That’s not my call,” I say, leaning forward in my chair. “Not my decision.”

  Fitzgerald smiles as if to say that’s bullshit. “Then best you find a way to make it your call,” he says. “Because if you really want her to be safe…”

  He trails off, the implied threat meaning there’s no need for him to finish his sentence. I stare back at him, my jaw tight as I try to find the words I need to say. Fitzgerald sighs and turns back to Erin.

  “He needed to be taken out,” he says calmly, almost as though I’m not even in the room, let alone that we’re talking about murdering someone. “After the car incident,” he adds, briefly glancing at me before turning his attention back to Erin. “Well, I couldn’t let him get away with that.”

  “Because it never should have happened?” Erin asks, her voice bitter. “Or because it happened to me.”

  Fitzgerald raises an eyebrow, confirming the answer. “He was getting arrogant and sloppy,” he continues. “That’s not how I run things.”

  “So I guess you fucked up,” Erin says. “Taking him on in the first place.”

  I watch as her father stares back at her, his face emotionless. A part of me wonders if he doesn’t believe her words, whether everything would be different, including his involvement in his own daughter’s life, if he had only picked her over Anthony all those years ago.

  He turns to me now. “She’ll be safe,” he says. “They won’t come after her anymore.”

  “And me?” I ask, my words sarcastic.

  Fitzgerald offers me an ironic smile. “Well, if you can make that plea happen…”

  Again he trails off and it’s taking everything I have in me not to lean over and punch the smug fucker right in the face. But I also know I need to do my job right now. That I need to stop being Erin’s boyfriend for a second and be a detective again.

  “I’ll make it happen,” I tell him, hoping to god I can convince the DA on this. “But you’ll have no more contact with her,” I add. “Ever.”

  “I’m her father,” he says, still smiling. “If Erin wants to see me, who am I to stop her.”

  “I won’t be seeing you,” she says, the words cold.

  Fitzgerald turns to her now, a flicker of something that just might be regret, flashing across his face. “I never meant for this to happen, Erin,” he says, his voice strangely quiet. “You are my daughter and I never…”

  “You made your decision,” she says, cutting him off. “And now you’ll take the plea so I won’t be forced to reveal your dirty little secrets in court.” She stares across at him, a hard look on her face that tell me she means business. “And you and your fucking minions will leave Ryan and I alone,” she adds. “Forever.”

  “Erin,” he says, reaching a hand across the table.

  But Erin stands, pulling her hands away as she turns to me and says, “Let’s go.”

  On the ride back to Rockport, I call Finn and fill him in on things before calling Joe to do the same thing. Everyone is still up in Rockport, cleaning up the mess from today, but Joe promises he’ll call the DA first thing in the morning to see what he can sort.

  Just as we’re pulling into Erin’s drive, the captain calls.

  “I need to take this,” I say, holding up my phone.

  “It’s okay,” Erin says smiling. “I’ll see you inside.”

  She leans over to kiss me quickly before getting out of the car and walking up to her front door. It still amazes me how calm she is about everything, how unaffected she seems to be. I know it has to be shock though, that her brain isn’t yet letting her process all the things she saw and heard today. It will come though and when it does, I’ll be there for her.

  “Sir,” I say, answering the call as I remain sitting in the car.

  “How’s Erin?” is the first thing he asks.

  I smile. “Good,” I say. “Amazing actually, although I’m not entirely sure it’s really hit her yet.”

  “It will,” he says. “She’s going to need you over the next couple of days and you both should really get some counseling over all of this.”

  “Yeah,” I say, scrubbing a hand across my jaw. “Listen, we saw Fitzgerald.”

  “What?”

  “He’s taking the plea,” I say. “He’ll cop to everything provided we don’t ask questions about today.”

  “He doesn’t get to make those kind of demands,” the captain says, his voice firm.

  “I know,” I concede. “But he promises no more shit if we make it happen,” I say. “It’s the only way Erin will be safe.”

  “Hmmmm.”

  “I know it’s not the ideal situation,” I say. “And I know I should’ve run this by you first.”

  “Yes, you should have.”

  “But I can’t take risks like that, like today,” I add. “She’s pregnant, Sir,” I finally admit, knowing that this is a major part of why I needed this shit to end.

  “Oh Jesus, Ryan, why didn’t you say?”

  “I don’t know,” I reply, shaking my head even though he can’t see me. “I just know it needed to end.”

  The captain lets out a long exhale. “Alright, let me talk to the DA, see what we can do. I gather you’re taking a couple of days?”

  Now it’s me letting out a long breath. “Actually, Sir,” I start, my heart pounding in my chest as I think about what I’m about to say, the direction my life is now going to take as a result of this decision. But even though being a detective is all I’ve ever wanted to be, something I worked my ass off
for years to achieve, this is not a decision I’m ever going to regret.

  Everything’s changed now and weirdly enough it’s got nothing to do with what happened today and everything to do with what’s happened in the six months leading up to this moment.

  I know what’s important to me now.

  “I think it’s probably going to be a lot longer than a few days.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Erin

  As I walk into my house something about it triggers this overwhelming sense of exhaustion. My body suddenly feels heavy, like carrying myself to my bedroom is far more effort than I can give.

  I collapse on the couch, my eyelids drooping slowly just as I hear the front door slam close, and Ryan falls down on the couch next to me.

  He’s lying against the side of my body, his hand absentmindedly stroking my leg and I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking because my thoughts are a scattered mess as I try to process what just happened.

  “Are you okay?” Ryan asks quietly, because the silence between us is far too unusual. There’s a strangeness that floats between us, like neither one of us wants to admit we’re relieved that Anthony’s dead. That what we both saw didn’t fuck us up completely.

  “I think so,” I respond a heartbeat later with Ryan letting out what sounds like a sigh of relief. “You?”

  “I will be.” And as his words leave his mouth, he takes my hand, pulling me up from the couch and toward the bathroom.

  Ryan stops me before we enter the bathroom and begins to remove my clothes, tossing everything into a pile on the floor and then adding his own clothes. He covers my cast with the plastic sleeve they gave me at the hospital, and then he disappears for a moment, placing our clothes into the washing machine. But as he does, I call out, “Please throw them away,” my words nearly catching in my throat, because the picture that forms in my brain nearly makes me throw up all over again.

  I know there will never come a time in my life where I will forget what I was wearing the day Anthony was killed. I will never be able to put on that sweater or those jeans, my socks, anything and not remember the blood splatter, the brain matter that covered them. Even though most of my clothes were spared because of my coat, they will always remain tainted by what happened.