Sarah’s parting words were taunting him as Dante pulled a beer from the refrigerator, removed the cap, and sat down at the kitchen table. He and Patrick had had each other’s backs for the last five years. When they were working on a hot case, they sometimes spent twelve to fifteen hours a day in each other’s company. There wasn’t much that Dante hadn’t known about Patrick. They’d spent a lot of time giving each other shit, but he knew exactly how his partner would have reacted to Dante’s behavior.
“You would have kicked my ass, buddy,” Dante said quietly to himself before he took a swig of his beer and set it on the table. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he was careful not to irritate the healing laceration on his cheek. The way he was acting right now wasn’t for Patrick, it was for himself. His partner would have wanted Dante to watch out for his family, make sure Ben and Karen were okay. He’d made sure they’d never have financial problems, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to call Karen or Ben since they’d visited him in the hospital. Just seeing them reminded him of Patrick, and the fact that he was alive when Patrick was gone. Karen and Ben had a lot of family in California, but it didn’t matter. His wife and son had been the most important people in Patrick’s life, and he would have counted on Dante to make sure that they were doing all right emotionally as well as physically.
Karen and Ben don’t blame me. They cared enough to come to the hospital. I’m being a total asshole. I cut myself off from them because I felt guilty. Me. Me. Me. This has all been about me and not them.
Dante stood, grimacing as he reached for the pain pills, which were still on the table.
“Pity party time is over, Sinclair,” Dante said in a disgusted whisper, using an expression that Patrick had used on him whenever Dante needed a kick in the ass.
He’d been acting like a jackass from the minute he woke up from surgery and realized Patrick was dead. He’d been distant with his siblings, even though every one of them had come running when he’d been injured, Evan flying in from across the damn world. And he hadn’t even bothered to check in on Karen and Ben since he’d been in the hospital.
And he’d hurt Sarah Baxter, a woman who had only been there to help him, doing her own damn job.
All because I’m mourning my own loss. Sarah was right. What he was doing wasn’t going to help his partner now.
Dante knew he needed to pull his head out of his ass. That’s what Patrick would have wanted. He’d been numb after hearing about his best friend’s death, burying his emotional agony deep inside himself, wanting to feel the physical pain because it was better than the guilt of knowing that he was still alive while Patrick was dead. Maybe he’d actually been numb because he was in denial. Strangely, as he finally stared grief directly in the face, the physical pain of his injuries came roaring to life without him even trying.
He grabbed the beer from the table, limped across the kitchen, and poured it down the sink. No more of that shit until I’m healed. Reaching into the cupboard, he grabbed a glass and filled it with water.
Christ! Even lifting his arm hurt. Every one of his injuries felt like it was on fire, the pain in his chest and ribs the worst.
If you’re really sorry, you’ll take the damn pills.
A small, genuine smile formed on Dante’s lips. Sarah Baxter was probably one of the bluntest and most peculiar women he’d ever met, but he actually liked that about her. Honestly, she was a mystery, and the cop in him stood up and took notice—along with another part of his anatomy that he couldn’t seem to control when he looked at her.
Dammit! He was sorry he hurt her. He was a cop, and his first instincts were always to protect. The police officer in him hated himself for failing to protect Sarah. In fact, he’d caused her injury, which made him even more pissed off at himself. He wouldn’t deny that he wanted to fuck her, and those urges had roared through his body the moment he’d seen her. That was really saying something, considering he wasn’t exactly in any kind of physical shape to even think about wanting to get laid. Yet he was thinking about it, about her. And there was something about Sarah Baxter that fascinated him on more than a physical level. Her mind seemed to process everything to find the logical answer, yet she still seemed to radiate innocence and compassion. It was an odd and intriguing combination.
Tossing his head back, he took the “damn pills” and swallowed them with the water in his hand, draining the glass before putting it in the sink.
Dante left the kitchen with a mission. He made several phone calls, the first and longest one to Karen and Ben.
CHAPTER 4