Brook had pretty much led the opposite life.
“So?” Allison stared at her. Apparently Brook missed part of the conversation. “So, what?”
“So, do you think it’s a good idea to share the date with Mom and Dad? That way they can be a part of the day.”
“Whatever you want. It’s your wedding.” Book fought the urge to roll her eyes.
Her sister was seriously kissing their ass in death.
“Are you still mad at them? Can’t you just get over it? So Dad wasn’t the easiest man to live with, so what? He’s gone.”
“Not easy to live with? He called me a disappointment every day. Never let me forget what a failure I was and would be.” Brook hated that word. Disappointment. It summed up so much of her life. She always managed to disappoint someone— her boss, her boyfriends, her father. One would think it was easy being a constant disappointment, but it wasn’t. No matter how hard she’d tried, she just couldn’t get out of that void their disappointment left her in. She just sank deeper and deeper, finding herself more and more alone.
“But you’re not. Look at you. You’re a successful lawyer.
He’d be so proud of you. Let it go.”
“Easy for you to say he was proud of you. I never heard those words. Never felt what it was like. Anyway, I thought you didn’t like to talk about them.” Brook massaged her temples. Between this conversation and the big fat liar on the other side of the door, her head was pounding. Her eyes threatening to water.
For years Allison had avoided the topic of their parents. She’d grieved. She’d cried. Every time they were mentioned, she’d choke up.
Not Brook.
Brook grieved and cried, but for different reasons. She cried because she would never get the relationship Allison had with their parents. Brook would never have her father open his arms to her and tell her how wonderful she was. Her mother would never defend her against people who hurt her.
She lost parents she didn’t like, who didn’t like her. She didn’t cry over the parents she lost. She cried over the potential parents that she’d never know. Would they have been proud when she graduated high school? College? Law School? Would she then no longer be a disappointment to them? At what point would she have been the golden child?
“Adam has me opening up about them.” Allison picked up the wedding papers and slowly folded them into little squares. She slid the papers back into her purse before standing up and starting for the door. She turned around, her face red, eyes haunted. “You think I don’t know what he did to you? I knew. And I admired you for it. You think he didn’t pull that controlling mind abuse on me? He did. I caved. I did everything they told me, and I grew to accept it. But I always wanted to be like you. Just once tell him to go to hell. But I’ll never get that chance. Just like you’ll never get the chance to hear how they’re proud of you.
“But they’re gone. All we can do is be the best us. Hell, I’m proud of us, of you. Despite all the bullshit, we turned out pretty damn awesome. The CEO and the lawyer.” Allison dropped a kiss on Brook’s head. “I love you. I’ll text you tomorrow so you don’t forget our dress shopping.”
“Okay.” Brook watched her sister walk out the door. Maybe Allison was right. She needed to let it go. It was just so hard, when she’d held onto it for so long. Held onto the hurt and the sadness.
And now Allison was facing it. Talking about them. Accepting them for who they were. Brook never did mind talking about them, their life, their death; she just chose not to.
The truth might come out. The role she played in their death. And she did mind talking about that.
Chapter Eighteen
Joe sifted through the files on his desk. No matter how long he stared, the documents weren’t getting through the haze smothering his brain.
His gaze and thoughts kept wandering to the woman sitting across the room. She’d opened the blinds so he could see her talking on the phone, chewing her nails when she thought no one was looking, pacing, and then sitting and typing away. No matter what she did, she looked good. Pissed, too. Every once in a while she’d catch him looking and her drop-dead glare would cut right through him.
Dammit. He slammed the papers onto the desk. There was no point. On every page, all he saw was Brook’s face. The hurt in her eyes. The betrayal as she turned away. Not that he really blamed her.
Maybe he shouldn’t have called Adam, but dammit, if his family—his mother— was in danger, he’d want to know. He’d want to help. He’d deserve to know.
He’d needed to call Adam. It was the right thing to do. The right thing? Hah. He was starting to think “the right thing” was code for “screwed.” And not in a good way.
“Perretti?” Shay called from her desk.
“What?” he sniped back. He was busy. His mind was busy. Couldn’t she see he was focused on paperwork? At least that’s what he wanted her to see.
“Whoa, someone’s cranky. Have you seen the Epstein file?” She came over and sat in the chair next to his desk.
Apparently he wasn’t cranky enough. “Adam has it.” “Crap. He left. Okay.”
“Where did he go?”
“To his mom’s to tell her the good news.”
“News?” His eyes found Brook again. Her hand was waving as she talked on the phone.
“About the engagement?” Shay waved her hand in front of his face. “Jeez. What’s wrong with you today? Your head’s so far up your ass, you could lick your tonsils.”
“My tonsils were taken out twenty years ago.” Great comeback. Not. His head was up his ass.
Brook started pacing again. Every now and then she’d stand up and walk the length of the room. Was it exercise? Nervous energy? What prompted her to roam around? He wanted to ask her, but that might never happen now.
“So, exactly how long have you been sleeping with her?” Shay’s eyes stayed on Joe. “I thought it was a new thing, but this feels longer.”
Joe had no idea how she figured it out. She was a detective, but dammit, they’d been careful and Brook wasn’t even talking to him right now. Their actions weren’t exactly screaming lovebirds right now. Crap, that’s probably what gave it away.
“Does it matter?” He twirled his pen, raising it to his lips until the thought of ink poisoning curdled his stomach. Shay had planted that seed a short time back, and now his favorite nervous habit didn’t seem as relaxing. Damn Shay.
“Why didn’t you tell her you were on the Stark case?”
“It’s in the past. Why would I bring it up? Anyway, it wasn’t my finest moment. Timmons was in the middle of a divorce and beat the crap out of Stark. I didn’t stop him fast enough. She called us on it.” He remembered that day like it was yesterday. The hatred and anger in his partner’s eyes.
“That wasn’t your fault.”
Joe snorted. “Well, I’m glad you think it wasn’t.” “Internal Affairs agreed with me, right?”
“They were too busy crucifying Timmons.” Joe never thought it would get so far out of hand. When Timmons asked him to lie, he couldn’t. It wasn’t right. But he never thought Timmons would get suspended and demoted. He figured his partner would get a slap on the hand, a write-up, maybe some anger management classes.
Not that he would change what he did. He wasn’t a liar. That was one thing that was ingrained in his DNA. He must have gotten that from his mom. He sure as hell didn’t get the anti-lying gene from his truth-challenged father.
“You’re a good man, Perretti. Stubborn, but good.” A good man. That definitely wasn’t in his DNA.
A country song came from Shay’s pocket, and she slid her cell phone out, answering without looking at the screen. “Washington…Yes…I am…I’ll be down there in a few minutes.” She ended the call. “Crap.” She jumped up from the chair. “I have to go pick up Gran. She’s in the hospital.”
“Is she okay?”
“I think so. It’s her blood pressure again. I would ask Adam to take Brook home, but...Would you
mind?”
“I think the question is, will she mind?”
Shay’s eyes pleaded with him. “I can’t really ask her, she’s on a conference call.” “Yeah, I’ll get her home.”
“Thanks, partner. I owe you one.”
“I’ll add it to your bill.”
A few hours later, Joe was looking at a semi-clean desk. He’d stopped watching Brook and was making headway on the writing and filing that needed to be done.
When he looked up, Brook was stretching at her computer, her slender arms pulled taut above her head. Her back arched, thrusting perfectly rounded breasts forward. There were so many things he’d like to do to those breasts. Too bad his pass had been revoked. What a shame.
She twisted her neck from side to side and ran a tongue over her lips. Pink tongue gliding over soft, pouty lips.
Definitely a shame.
He looked at the clock. Almost five. He should probably break the bad news to Brook. She was going to be stuck in a car with him for thirty minutes. The horror.
He knocked on the conference room door and Brook looked up. When she realized it was him, she looked back at her computer. “May I help you Detective?” Ice hung from her words.
“Shay had to leave early. Her grandmother is in the hospital.” “Is she all right?” Concern covered the anger.
“Yeah, just blood pressure problems.” He leaned against the open door. “But she won’t be able to drive you home. So I’m here to see what time you’d like to leave.”
“Isn’t Adam here?” Hope sparked in her eyes as she looked through the glass at the precinct. The spark dwindled when she realized, nope, Adam wasn’t out there.
Joe ran a hand through his hair as annoyance crept up his neck. Was it really that bad to ride with him? “They went to his mom’s. If you want me to find someone else…”
“No. It’s fine.”
“Well, whenever you’re ready, then.”
“I need to stop at my office and pick up some things on the way home.”
“Can’t they send them?”
“No. I need originals.” She closed her laptop. “If that’s a problem, I can find someone else.”
Using his words on him. Nice. “No, that’s fine.”
She picked up her purse and computer case, and walked up to Joe. “Ready?”
“Sure.” He twirled his keys on his finger and headed toward the precinct’s front door.
Brook slipped out with a tiny, “Thanks.”
The walk to the car, the drive from the precinct to her office—neither was very long, but felt like hours. Heavy silence coated the air, making it hard to breathe. Joe opened the window and attempted to disperse some of the hostility. It wasn’t working.
Small talk? Maybe small talk could work. “How was work today?”
Nothing. Her eyes stayed glued to the scenery passing outside the window. Must be some scenery.
“Why did you lie to me?” She shielded herself with the briefcase on her lap, folding it closer to her chest. She talks.
“I didn’t lie to you.”
“You didn’t tell me about being a cop on the Stark case.”
“It never came up. Last I checked, I haven’t had any facial reconstruction. I can’t help it, you don’t remember faces.” Yes, he was being an ass, but this was ridiculous. He didn’t lie.
“Dammit, Joe. You beat him.” “I didn’t beat anyone.” “I remember. I know what I saw,” she said.
“Yeah, what you saw. You know what you think you saw. You’re the expert on innocent until proven guilty when it comes to lowlifes, but heaven forbid you stop and find out the truth when it’s a cop. Let’s just condemn everyone in sight.” Anger stirred in his gut.
“Fine. What is the truth?”
“Why do you care?” His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “Don’t be an ass. What happened?”
“Do you really want to know? Fine. Timmons had been kicked out of his house, and his wife was already dating someone new.
Stark said something about Timmons being a stupid asshole. And even though Steve had been called worse—hell, he’d been called worse by his own coworkers—he snapped. Unfortunately, Stark was in punching distance when it happened. I managed to stop him, but Stark was already a mess.”
“Oh.” She leaned back and slid her briefcase to the floor.
“Yeah. Oh.” Joe turned onto Michigan Avenue and headed toward her building. “I didn’t know.”
“What? They didn’t tell you what happened after you lodged your complaint?” “Not really, they said it was handled.” She rested a hand on his knee. “Did you get in trouble?”
“No, but I should have. I should have tried harder to stop him, but I hesitated. I kept thinking, maybe Stark deserved it, maybe this was justice. After all, this little twerp beat the crap out of a woman, killing her baby. It almost seemed like karma.”
“But you did stop him.”
“Eventually, but the damage was done. It’s not like Stark was a career criminal. He came home to his wife living with another man and got pissed…you can see the irony in that. It was black and blue, and I stood by and let it happen.” He followed the underground tunnel to the parking garage near her office. Cars passed him, going the other way, as they all hurried to end their workday. He was the only one heading into the dark abyss.
“Did Internal Affairs find you guilty?”
“No. They were more interested in making an example of Timmons. He went through anger therapy, anger management classes, he was suspended and demoted.” He parked the truckin the closest spot and cut the engine, staring at the jingling set of keys hanging from the ignition. Guilt and sadness wrapped around his throat. The whole situation had been a cluster fuck from the get-go.
“None of that sounds unreasonable.”
“One or two of those would be reasonable, but all…? Never mind. That’s where my nickname, Stitches, comes from.”
“Stitches?”
“Snitches get stitches. They thought it was funny. I didn’t.” Joe ran a hand along the back of his neck. He hated talking about this. His failure. “Timmons asked me to lie. I wouldn’t. I don’t lie.
They came down hard on him. Somehow it was my fault.”
“You don’t believe that, do you?”
Was it his fault? Of course it was. He should have known Timmons was having problems that day. He should have seen the signs. He should have been a friend. He wasn’t, and it almost cost his best friend his career. And it did cost Joe his best friend. Was it his fault? Yes. Did it matter whose fault it was? Not really.
“It doesn’t matter what I believe.” He yanked the keys from the ignition and got out of the car. “I lost my best friend, my partner, and my reputation all at once.”
“That must have been hard. I’m so sorry.” She slid out of the car and walked around to his side. He started walking, keeping a few strides ahead of her. He didn’t want her feeling sorry for him. He didn’t need her pity. Or anyone else’s, for that matter.
Chapter Nineteen
Ever since they walked into the law firm, she felt him push her away. He’d been quiet, distant, aloof. One word answers and staring was his MO. After she’d dealt with work, she’d asked him about it. But he gave the standard answer— ”Nothing.” She tried to get him to talk as they drove to pick up the pizza. “Nothing,” again.
Finally, she gave up. She never did get the full story on Stark back then. Or Timmons, for that matter. Given what Joe said, they both seemed to be in each other’s life at the wrong moment. Both in the same anger-driven heartbroken boat. It was sad, really.
Not that sadness excused their behavior. But Joe—he hadn’t been a part of it.
I don’t lie. The hurt in his eyes when he said those words cut deep. She’d called him a liar a couple times today. She’d been way too hard on him, but given the icy stare and indifference, it didn’t matter what she said at this point.
He wouldn’t forgive her.
No mor
e feeling those hands. No more of those lips. No more warmth, happiness, all the feelings he inspired just by being with her.
No. She couldn’t give up. He had to forgive her.
She took a few slices of pizza from the box and placed them on the glass plates. “Beer or soda?” she called out to Joe, who was in the living room sitting on Shay’s bright red couch. Too bad the bright colors of the living room didn’t seem to affect his scowl.
“I’ll take a beer.” Four words in a row. And the word nothing wasn’t in the sentence. Whoa, progress.
Shay had texted that her grandmother would be at the hospital for a few more hours, so Joe needed to stick around a little longer. His disappointment when he found out he had to stay hurt. Brook thought about just calling her almost-brother- in-law, but she didn’t want Joe to leave. Not like this.
She balanced the plates and beer bottles and walked into the living room, setting it all down on the coffee table.
“Thanks.”
Woohoo. He was up to five words, total. If he didn’t watch all this talking, he was going to wear out his voice.
She watched him pick up the plate and eat his food. She thought about sitting on the couch next to him. She really, really wanted to. It took every ounce of logic in her body to keep her feet moving toward a chair on the other side of the room. He didn’t want her there. He didn’t want her anywhere near him.
Not that she blamed him. She should have known better. She knew Joe. Her Joe hadn’t been a part of the Stark brutality. He never would do that.
Her Joe. Where did that come from? He wasn’t her Joe. Or was he?
What she did know was that he wasn’t brutal. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. He was kind, good. He’d tried to stop it. He’d done the right thing and was an outcast for it. Snitches get stitches. Ha, she’d like to give some of those cops downtown a few stitches. They probably didn’t even try to see it from his point of view, didn’t know he carried this shit with him everywhere he went, didn’t give him a chance to explain.
Stark Raving Mad (Chicago's Finest Book 2) Page 14
