Page 118 of Love What's Left
Rob steps backward, then collapses onto a stool. “I’m sorry, Syd. I believed everything she fed me about you. All of it.”
Dave puts two fingers to his earpiece. “Send them in.”
“Who?” Amelia shrieks.
Sydney grabs the other woman’s hair once more. This time, she uses it to drag Amelia toward the door, her anger lending her more strength than either of us would have expected her to be capable of. “The police were waiting downstairs. We just forwarded them the footage of your confession from the security cameras,” Sydney spits.
No doubt, the FBI will take over soon, but for now, Dad and I thought requesting backup from two NYPD officers desperate to redeem themselves was a good idea. Ben made sure that video feed got to them on a delay. If Amelia or Rob had said something incriminating to Sydney or me, they’d never have seen it.
I’d been concerned Amelia may pose a physical threat, but she doesn’t go on the offensive. Instead, she balks, stiffening her legs and twisting, screaming when Sydney yanks her harder.
“Tell them it wasn’t my fault. Tell them I’ll be good. I can’t go to prison. You have to help me. I’ll do anything,” Amelia begs.
“You’re going to rot there,” Sydney says.
When NYPD Officers Riley and Price enter, Sydney releases Amelia.
Dad follows directly behind and briefly squeezes Sydney’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
A screech, then wailing sobs reach us as Officer Price reads Amelia her rights.
“Better than she is,” Sydney says.
Without another word, my wife spins on her heel and marches straight for the door.
Dave and I catch up, but she never lowers her chin or acknowledges our presence. Officer Riley stands in the doorway and calls down the hall to us. “Blackmail, McRae? You forget to tell us something?”
Sydney, Dave, and I all stop and turn to face him.
I lift an eyebrow. “Amelia misunderstood. She overheard us flirting.”
“Since when is blackmail flirting?”
Sydney and I speak at the exact same time. “We’re into role-play.”
Riley stares for a beat. Processes. Then shrugs. “Not the kinkiest shit I’ve heard.”
Sydney, Dave, and I leave the building. For ten minutes, we keep it together, nodding politely to people we pass and keeping our mouths shut until we’ve exited the building and stalked through the parking garage.
When I open the back door to our SUV for Sydney, I prop my forearm on the car frame above her and box her in, my other palm curling around the back ofher neck. “You promised me you’d be careful. That was not ‘maintaining a reasonable distance.’”
“It was reasonable because I needed to get close to her,” she says.
“That’s not how it works, wife.”
She blinks. Watches my mouth. Then appears to shake herself out of a trance and grips my jaw. “Stop doing sexy caveman shit when we’re fighting. It’s distracting.”
“I’m not fighting. I’m reminding myself that you’re here and safe.”
Her mouth lands on mine, her kiss hard and sweet. When she draws back at last, I circle her waist and give her a boost into the vehicle.
Color crests her cheekbones in a beautiful flush as she moves into her seat. “Amelia wasn’t expecting to see me, and she had to go through a metal detector when she arrived in the building. I knew she wasn’t armed or suspicious of me. There was nothing she could use as a weapon in arm’s reach for her, and you and Dave could handle anything else.”
I enter the SUV, close the door, and give Dave a nod to indicate we’re ready. With imminent professionalism, he raises the tinted divider between the front and back seat, then starts the slow drive home through the regular grind of city traffic.
Sydney’s logical justification for her actions doesn’t soothe me. “You didn’t have to hug the woman twice,” I say disgruntled.
She grimaces. “I needed to smell her.”
