Protect & Serve(27)

“Sandra, please… Please don’t go.”

I looked at him over my shoulder. “I can’t be here with you. I could never be with someone like you. And I won’t waste my time on an man who puts my life in danger on a fucking whim. I should have never…”

I looked away as one of the doors down the hall opened. Despite his casual attire, I recognized the officer behind it and strode up to him so anyone else listening wouldn’t be able to hear.

“The witness has been compromised. I’m heading back to the station for reassignment. He’ll need to be moved as soon as possible.” Before the officer could argue, I began to walk away from him. “Oh,” I threw over my shoulder, “and he’s got a personal credit card still on him. You might want to confiscate that before he puts anyone else’s life in danger.”

I didn’t even look at Nathan as I took the stairs two at a time to the shitty Honda waiting for me in the parking lot. I didn’t bother to see if he was still standing there where I’d left him as I backed out of the space and shifted into drive. I didn’t glance in my rearview mirror to see if he still looked as broken as he had when I first walked out.

Those were things I didn’t want to see, because I was sure that if I did, I wouldn’t be able to do what needed to be done.

Nathaniel Hale was bad news. I’d let my guard down for a man who didn’t give two shits about anyone but himself. I’d let his sweet nothings and handsome face cloud my judgment again and again. I’d let him convince me that I could be better with him around. I’d lost sight of myself, and for a cop, that was just as dangerous as letting a perp get the drop on you.

Hell, maybe it was even more dangerous.

I had to protect myself, and serving Nathan wasn’t going to let me do that. It was time to put some distance between us. I let him have his way with me once, and I couldn’t believe I’d almost made the same mistake twice…





8





It had been days since I’d last seen Nathan Hale in person, and yet I couldn’t stop seeing him in my dreams.

My guilt-inspired nightmares no longer just involved my dead mother and sister. Now I saw Nathan with them too, the back of his head missing, brain exposed from a gunshot wound I might have prevented if I’d just stuck around.

“Are you happy?” he would ask me every time I closed my eyes for more than a few minutes. “Did you save yourself, detective?”

I’m the only one I actually can save, I thought as I slipped into the driver’s seat of my police cruiser. I normally drove a less obvious vehicle, but today, I was acting as part of the escort crew moving Nathan to his final destination before the trial began. It was a hotel downtown right near the courthouse with much nicer accommodations than the Peachtree Overlook had to offer, and probably better than the next safe house they’d moved him to after I’d left. At least he’d get one night in a comfortable bed out of this.

“Hey, Marco,” I called out through my open door, referring to the officer coming around the side of the building. My eyes almost immediately fell to his hand as he tried to stuff a white envelope into his pocket. I knew exactly what that was. Every cop did. There was a team of reporters just around the corner, and they would pay cash for the right kind of information for their next big story. A few bills in a plain white and everybody ate just a little better at night.

He stopped dead in his tracks and looked at me with the faintest flicker of fear. I frowned. “Marco—you’ve been talking to the press? We’re about to move a witness. What the hell did you tell them? If you put this move in jeopardy, I swear…”

The flicker died out. “Relax. I… uh…” he said, then held his finger to his lips. “I just spilled a little sugar for the nine o’clock news, that’s all. It was nothing serious though. Nothing about the witness... I swear.”

I nodded and watched as he walked back into the station through the revolving door. I knew a lot of cops were hard-up for cash these days, and I tried not to judge, though I thought talking to the press usually did more harm than good. There was a part of me that wondered what little police secret he’d just sold, but I supposed I could just wait a few days to see it on the front page. Journalists no longer cared about integrity—they were paid to sell headlines. I was sure we’d hear all about it in the next department meeting, and I couldn’t say what annoyed me more: the fact that Marco had sold us out, or knowing that I’d have to hear the Captain bitch about it.

But why did I care? Even if Marco told the press about Nathaniel Hale, maybe he deserved it. Nathan’s reputation was no longer any of my business. I wouldn’t out him for the secret he’d told me, as I could only imagine how that would detract from the prosecution’s case, but I also wouldn’t worry about whether or not he walked out of that courtroom looking like a saint. Everybody wanted the scoop on who was testifying against Mr. Wallace, and if that meant Marco could afford a few new pairs of shoes for his daughter, I wasn’t going to get in the way.