Vicki Pettersson - The Given

“What?” Marin said, before an exasperated sigh came over the line. “No. Grif, that’s what I’m trying to say. The woman in room 330 isn’t Gina Alessi or Barbara McCoy.” She hesitated, and Grif felt himself go dizzy in the wide silence. “She says that her name is Evelyn Shaw.”

It was late by the time Kit was through being questioned, and it wasn’t until she was led back into the bull pen that she saw a wall clock that read nine P.M.—which made her heart jolt in her chest. However, to her relief, Dennis was leaning against the wall beneath it. His brow cleared when he saw her, though aware that he was still in his professional environment, he merely placed one hand on her shoulder and asked, “You okay?”

For a moment, just one, she allowed herself to lean against him. Then she thought of Grif and reminded herself that there were only seven more hours in which to stop him from dying again. Dennis’s jaw tightened as she pulled away, but he let his hand drop.

“Where’s Marin?” she asked, as he led her to the admitting window where they’d made her check her .22. She knew her aunt had been there. She’d heard her yelling even with the interview room door shut.

“Probably still raising hell,” Dennis said, jerking his head at the stony-faced officer on the other side. “She was here for about an hour, but between you and me she was doing more harm than help. I finally told her I could get further with the department than she could. Her tongue is as sharp as barbed wire.”

“She’s not the most diplomatic when she’s upset,” Kit admitted, causing the officer on the other side of the window to snort as he shoved a clipboard her way.

Kit signed where instructed, and only then did he return the plastic bin containing her gun.

“You’re lucky you got a permit for that,” the officer said, nodding at her .22.

“I don’t break the law,” Kit replied, tucking the gun back into its holster and then her bag. She’d been accused of no crime, so they had to return it. That was the law, too.

“Come on,” Dennis said, cupping Kit’s elbow as he pulled her away from the window.

“Marin agreed to let me handle things on this end while she went to the paper to write up a story about the relationship between Barbara DiMartino and Gina Alessi,” he said as he led the way down the hall. “And the diamonds they’ve both been after for fifty years. Hold up.”

Dennis pulled her back before she could push through the double doors where they’d entered the station. “You don’t want to go that way. Reporters.”

“Friends,” Kit said, reminding him that she was a reporter as well.

Dennis shook his head. “Not this time.”

He was right. If some string reporter pieced together the story about two con-women searching for diamonds—and that Kit was somehow involved—they’d start speculating about her as well. That’s why Marin was using the newspaper to get their side of the story out first and fast. When it came to the news, a good offense was the best defense.

Besides, if anyone was going to tell this story, Kit thought, following Dennis, it was her. But first she needed to get back to Grif. “Thanks for helping to get me out so quickly,” she told Dennis as they pushed against the steel bar of the back door and swung out into the cold night. “I think you set some kind of record there.”

“Well, we got a witness who says Ray DiMartino had you cowered and cornered just after a gunshot was fired. We also caught Larry and Eric Ritter downtown, trying to catch a bus to Sheboygan, Wisconsin.”

“Where?”

“You gave us the drop on them, so that was in your favor as well.” He motioned to his car at the far end of the lot, but stopped her just after she’d cleared the steps. “I vouched for you, too.”

“Of course you did. You’re my friend.”

“Yes. And . . . I remember.”

Tilting her head, Kit found that Dennis’s eyes had gone surprisingly dark, yet they still shined in the filtered glow of the streetlamp. “What?”

“You. I remember you sitting at my deathbed, Kit.” He chuckled wryly when she returned to his side. “It’s been six months, but I still dream of it. I knew I was dying. My body knew it. I could feel my mind cramping up against the idea.”

It was the first time they’d spoken of it. In six months, they hadn’t once recounted the events leading to Grif leaving her . . . and her ultimate decision to be alone if she couldn’t have him. She had wanted to explain the choice to Dennis . . . but how could she explain to anyone about Griffin Shaw? Even the Pure couldn’t understand him. He wasn’t just her partner or lover, or some ideal she’d dreamed up from the rockabilly era she loved so much. And discovering that Grif’s and her father’s deaths were linked only confirmed that there was more than simple love between them. There was fate.

That was what had propelled him from the shadows the night they met. Fate was what had him defying heavenly orders to save her life. And it was fate that had them snapping back to each other like a rubber band, when the tension of being apart grew to be more than either of them could bear.

So Kit now believed that fate would come through once again if only they fought together in these last few hours. If only they both believed.

Yet right now Dennis’s eyes were drinking her in. It was the first time he’d allowed his true feelings to show, and Grif was right. This man cared for her. He’d be so good for her.

“I was so afraid you would die.” She told him now.

He touched the side of his head, where the bullet had grazed him, in what had become an unconscious gesture. “You know when you’re underwater, and sounds are distorted, yet you can still differentiate between noises?”

“Yes.”

“Your voice was like that. I couldn’t hear what you were saying, but I recognized it and knew you were there. I even think I tried to respond . . . at least that’s what I dream about now.” He looked at her, gaze gone liquid from the memory. “Even now I wake with the same thought rolling through my mind. ‘She’s gonna stick to the very end.’ ”

He laughed at that, but there was no humor in his laugh, because he had woken up . . . and she left him still. Kit looked down, shamed. She knew how it felt to be left behind. Yet she also knew it was something she’d do again if given the choice.

“Dennis, I—”

“Shh.” He silenced her with a finger to her lips, and let it linger for a moment before dropping it to cup her chin. “You can’t force the heart in a direction it doesn’t want to go. And it’s okay. I wanted you then, and a part of me always will, but do you know what I really want? More than anything else?”

She shook her head, throat too full to talk.

“I just want to see you dance again, Kit.”

“Dance?” Kit repeated, blinking back tears.

“You don’t anymore,” he said, and his flashing smile was wistful. “And you used to love to dance.”

“Yeah, I did.” And so many of the things she’d loved had fallen away, all lost because she thought Grif had been lost to her as well. One thing was certain: no matter what happened tonight, that was going to have to change. It was no way to live.

“Come on,” Dennis finally said, holding out his hand. There was nothing romantic in the gesture, just Kit’s friend offering to put the past behind them and continue helping her into the future. So Kit took his hand and allowed him to lead her to his waiting car.

“I’ll take you to your aunt,” he said, keys jangling as he broke free and rounded to the driver’s side. “Maybe she—”

The figure that rose behind him looked like it was made from the shadows themselves, and the only thing that saved Dennis from a square hit with the two-by-four was Kit’s widening eyes as her gaze darted over his shoulder. Instinct allowed him to manage a half-block as he turned, but it wasn’t enough. Dennis went down with a heavy thud.