Alana Matthews - Internal Affairs

Had Phil been right?

Was he thinking with his libido?

The scene in Lisa’s living room kept replaying through his mind. Seeing her on that sofa with a sleeping child in her arms. Thinking how time had a way of expanding and contracting. How three years seemed like an eternity—and had been when you considered the changes they’d both been through. Yet as he had pulled her into that hug, it felt as if no more than a handful of minutes had passed since he’d last held her.

The feel of her body pressed against his had been so familiar, so comforting—so electric—that he’d had a hard time letting her go.

He thought about the dream he’d had. The one that continued to haunt him. Lisa holding him by the hand, urgently pulling him along a tree-lined trail toward a house near the water.

“Where are we going?” he had asked.

“I want to show you something. Something wonderful. Something glorious.”

She continued to pull him along.

“What?” he said. “What is it?”

She threw her head back, the air around them coming alive with the music of her laughter, a high, sweet trill that had always filled him with joy. “It’s a secret, silly. But you’ll find out soon enough.”

Before they reached that house, however, the house that held the secret, the sound of his alarm had jarred him awake. He had opened his eyes feeling cheated, the remnants of the dream swirling though his head, leaving him with a vague, undefined yearning in the middle of his chest.

In the middle of his heart.

It had been an effort to shake it off and go to work, but he’d done his best, never suspecting that he was about to walk right into that dream. To feel Lisa’s touch again, after accepting long ago that she was gone for good.

Was he some kind of psychic?

Was it fate that had brought them together again?

Rafe didn’t know or much care. It had been a shock, and a delight, and maybe Phil was right. Maybe he was letting his emotions, his desire, override his reason. But he had been trained to protect and serve, and who better to protect than someone he knew? Someone he had loved?

Oliver Sloan was a bad man—worse yet, a bad man with connections—but if Rafe didn’t confront him about Lisa, who would?

Rafe had seen Sloan’s type time and again, and he knew full well that unless someone called him on his behavior, it wouldn’t change. Unless Sloan was told, in no uncertain terms, to leave Lisa alone, he would be back, and the violence would escalate.

It always did.

So when Rafe finished his report and dropped it on Kate’s desk, he didn’t bother to shower, didn’t bother to change out of his uniform. He ran a quick address check, then went straight to the department garage and signed out a new patrol car.

Then he headed across town to talk to Oliver Sloan.

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