Page 15 of Love What's Left
That attitude is just one reason why I don’t want them anywhere near my wife.
I paste on an amiable, sincere expression. “There’s no danger here. I’m not armed, and neither is she. You know what she went through. She confused the present with the past.”
“She give you that mark on your face?” she asks.
Dammit.I haven’t even looked in a mirror. “You’re well aware of the confrontation with Markov. I was injured more than a week ago. My father is on his way. He’d like to be present for any questions. He’s our legal counsel.”
A fresh bruise looks nothing like one that’s a week old. From the knowing looks they give me, neither of them believe me about the injury. “We don’t need permission to enter. We can do it the easy way or the hard way.”
Shit.I step backward to allow them access. “Don’t stomp in here and scare her. She won’t hurt anyone.”
“She’s stabilized,” Josh says behind me. He moves into view, stethoscope still looped around his neck. “I administered a short-acting benzo. She’s aware, calm, and resting.”
Aware. Calm.I need to see her like that. I step backward to go to her, but slow as Price’s gaze flickers over Josh with recognition.
“I didn’t know you took house calls,” she says.
“Normally, I don’t.” Josh lifts his chin. “When you speak to Mrs. McRae, keep things quiet and nonthreatening. Your department’s mishandling of this case is all over the headlines. Don’t compound your mistakes by re-traumatizing a woman you already victimized.”
Price swallows hard. Riley glances away, but neither denies the accusation.
Until this moment, I never realized how similar Josh and the woman I married are. On the surface, they’re nothing alike, but they have the same instinct to step into the fire for someone else. Josh burned in mine for years, until I razed our friendship to ash.
Riley andPrice move farther inside and immediately clock the aftermath of Sydney’s panic. I picked up what I could in the short amount of time I had between Kurt’s call and their knock on the door, but the place looks like a hurricane hit it.
Price assesses it all with sharp eyes—the broken glass from the shattered vase, the spilled water, books strewn, the sofa knocked off-kilter, the dent in the drywall from the table lamp Sydney knocked into it.
“She thought she was back in that basement, but nobody was hurt. Her bodyguard was on duty. This wasn’t a fight.”Mostly true.
“Let’s go,” Riley says.
We reach the bedroom to find Sydney wrapped in the red throw blanket my sister crocheted for her last Christmas. She’s curled up in the chair near the cold fireplace, a sheen of sweat gleaming on her forehead and her calm gaze glassy. I look toward Josh, but his attention focuses on her, not me.
I clear my throat. “Sydney, these are officers Riley and Price. They’re here to make sure you’re safe.”
Sydney straightens, her slightly unfocused gaze growing sharper.
Price approaches and crouches beside Sydney’s chair. “Hi there. Did you call 911 for help?”
Sydney leans forward eagerly. “Yes.”
“Do you feel like you’re in danger here with your husband?”
Sydney’s gaze flicks to me, then back to the officer. “Myhusband.”
Price nods. “Yes. Your husband. Do you feel safe with him?”
A resigned expression falls over Sydney’s face, and she leans back in the chair. “I just . . . wanted to go h-home,” she says, her words hoarse and stilted.
“This is the home on your driver’s license. Do you have another one?” Price asks, her tone professional, but not harsh.
Sydney glances around the room, then shoots me a look I can only interpret as “You win for now.”She shakes her head.
“I bought her a house for our wedding. She told me she wanted to get out of New York. I was planning to take her there,” I say.
Price raises her hand. “Don’t speak for her, Mr. McRae.”
I shift and cross my arms.
