Love You More: A Novel

Shane’s police cruiser was parked outside his house. It was five till eleven, meaning he’d be appearing any time for duty.

I took up position, crouched low behind the trunk, where I could blend into the shadow cast by the Crown Vic in the pool of streetlight.

My hands were cold, even with gloves. I blew on my fingers to keep them warm; I couldn’t afford for them to be sluggish. I was going to get only one shot at this. I would either win, or I wouldn’t.

My heart pounded. I felt a little dizzy and it suddenly occurred to me I hadn’t eaten in at least twelve hours. Too late now. Front door opened. Patio light came on. Shane appeared.

His wife, Tina, stood behind him in a fluffy pink bathrobe. Quick kiss to the cheek, sending her man off for duty. I felt a pang. I squashed it.

Shane came down the first step, then the second. Door closed behind him, Tina not waiting for the full departure.

I released the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and started the countdown in my head.

Shane descended all the steps, crossing the driveway, keys jingling in his hand. Arriving at his cruiser, inserting the key in the lock, twisting, popping open the driver-side door.

I sprung out from behind the cruiser and rammed my Glock .40 into the side of his neck.

“One word and you’re dead.”

Shane remained silent.

I took his duty weapon. Then we both climbed into his police cruiser.


I made him sit in the back, away from the radio and the instrument panel. I took the driver’s seat, the sliding security panel open between us. I kept the Glock on this side of the bulletproof barrier, away from Shane’s lunging reach, while pointing squarely on target. Normally, officers aimed for the subject’s chest—the largest mass. Given that Shane was already wearing body armor, I trained on the solid block of his head.

At my command, he passed me his cellphone, his duty belt, then his pager. I piled it all in the passenger’s seat, helping myself to the metal bracelets, which I then passed back and had him place around his own wrists.

Subject secured, I pulled my gaze from him long enough to start the car engine. I could feel his body tense, preparing for some kind of action.

“Don’t be stupid,” I said crisply. “I owe you, remember?” I gestured to my battered face. He sagged again, cuffed hands flopping back down onto his lap.

Car engine roared to life. If Shane’s wife happened to glance out the window, she would see her husband warming up his cruiser while checking in with dispatch, maybe tending to a few messages.

A five-to ten-minute delay wouldn’t be too unusual. Anything more than that, she might grow concerned, might even come out to investigate. Meaning, I didn’t have much time for this conversation.

Still had to get a few digs in.

“Shoulda hit me harder,” I said, turning back around, giving my former fellow officer my full attention. “Did you really think a concussion would be enough to keep me down?”

Shane didn’t say anything. His eyes were on the Glock, not my bruised face.

I felt myself growing angry. Like I wanted to crawl through the narrow opening in the security shield and pistol-whip this man half a dozen times, before beating him senseless with my bare hands.

I had trusted Shane, a fellow officer. Brian had trusted him, a best friend. And he had betrayed us both.

I’d called him Saturday afternoon, after paying off the hit man. My last hope in a rapidly disintegrating world, I’d thought. Of course I’d been told not to contact the police. Of course I’d been told to keep quiet or else. But Shane wasn’t just a fellow officer. He was my friend, he was Brian’s closest friend. He’d help me save Sophie.

Instead, his voice cold, totally devoid of emotion on the other end of the phone: “You don’t take instruction too well, do you, Tessa? When these boys tell you to shut up, you shut up. Now stop trying to get us all killed, and do what they told you to do.”

Turned out, Shane already knew Brian was dead. He’d received some instructions of his own over the matter, and now he spelled it all out for me: Brian was a wife beater. In the heat of the moment, he’d gone too far and I’d discharged my weapon in self-defense. No evidence of physical assault? Don’t worry, Shane would assist with that. I babbled that I’d been granted twenty-four hours to prepare for Sophie’s return. Fine, he’d said curtly. He’d be over first thing in the morning. A minor pummeling, then we’d contact the authorities together, Shane by my side every step of the way. Shane, keeping watch and reporting back.