Remi nodded.
“What happened when they pulled you up?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Well, you won’t be surprised to know I did something stupid,” she confessed.
He wished he could sit with her and hold her. But he was afraid to touch her with this much rage flooding his system. “Just tell me what happened, baby.”
So he could finish having this aneurysm, turn in his badge, and go beat a man to death.
“They pulled Camille up first on a sled—she was still unconscious—and then they helped pull me up. When I got to the top, I was understandably distraught.”
Brick remained silent and waited for her to collect her thoughts.
“I kind of lunged at Warren and called him something like a tiny-pricked sociopath with no balls.”
“Jesus, Remi.”
“Oh, he played it cool. Pretended to be the devastated husband. Played the part. But I saw it in his eyes. That dead-eyed stare. There’s nothing inside him. Nothing human, at least.”
“What happened then?”
“It took an EMT and a cop to pull me off him. He told the officers I’d obviously been drinking. Then he asked me how fast I’d been going as if I had been the one driving.”
Brick swore under his breath.
“I told them I wasn’t driving. But I think it got drowned out in the midst of me trying to tell them what he’d done. That he hurt her. That he’d forced us off the road. That he’d stood there to make sure there were no survivors.”
“They didn’t take you seriously?” he demanded.
“I was half-frozen and most of the way hysterical. Plus I couldn’t catch my breath. So I probably looked a little unhinged. But he went all buddy-guy with the cops. ‘Obviously my wife’s friend is distraught. She’s been drinking. She has a substance abuse problem blah blah blah.”
“Fuck,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.
“A trooper drove me home.”
“You mean to the hospital,” Brick prompted.
She shook her head. “No. He drove me home. Since I didn’t seem to be hurt.”
“You broke your fucking arm.” His facade of calm was showing Grand Canyon-sized cracks.
“Well, I didn’t know that at the time. I was more worried about Camille and terrified that he was going to off her in the ambulance or at the hospital. I tried to tell the cop—Trooper Martinez—the whole story again, but I sounded hysterical even to myself. I did get him to give me a breathalyzer though, which I passed.”
“So a cop drives you home, and then what?”
“Raj, my agent, showed up at my condo with a bottle of champagne, wanting to celebrate.”
His hands clenched to fists on the word “celebrate.”
“Easy, big guy. Not like that,” Remi assured him, then frowned. “At least I don’t think so. He sure does call a lot though.”
He shook his head, deciding to file away the agent issue for later. “He shows up at your place, and then what happened?” he prompted.
“I was trying to change my clothes so I could go to the hospital. I didn’t want to leave Warren alone with her. I was hyperventilating a little.” He pinned her with a stare. She rolled her eyes. “Fine. A lot. He overreacted, called an ambulance, and they took me to the emergency department.”
“That’s where they discovered your arm was broken.”
“Yes. It’s also where I was escorted out by security after causing a scene in the trauma bay where they were stabilizing Camille. Raj stopped me from kneeing Warren in the balls. I haven’t forgiven him for that yet.”
She was getting worked up—he could tell by the hitch in her voice.
“Someone called for security, and Warren pretended to help Raj restrain me. He leaned in real close and he told me if I caused him any trouble at all, he’d take it out on Camille. He said her life depended on me.”
That fucking piece of shit was going to wish he’d never been born. Brick was going to make sure of it. He was going to destroy the man.
There were more questions. But they could wait, he decided. Enough of the pieces had fit together to give him a clearer picture to decide what happened next. He already knew Remington wasn’t going to like it.
“We were talking about you when it happened,” she said, her smile a little dreamy as she rested her chin on her knees. “Camille and I. Now, here we are. It’s ironic, isn’t it?”
It wasn’t ironic or coincidental. He and Remi had been drawn together since the day they met. She belonged to him.
That’s why she’d walked into his arms her first day back. Why she’d chosen the house across the street. Why she’d shared her bed and her secrets with him.
Jesus. She wouldn’t have told him, he realized.
“Would you have told me this if we hadn’t slept together?” he demanded, stopping in front of her and putting his hands on the arms of her chair.
She looked way up at him, amused. “No.”
Just the possibility of that what-if had his blood pressure spiking.
“Are you okay?” she asked again. “You’re breathing kind of heavy.”
He closed his eyes. “I’m fine,” he lied.
“You really don’t sound fine. How about I get you that water? Or maybe some cookies?”
He plucked her out of the chair and carried her over to the couch, where he sat with her in his lap and tried not to crush her against his chest.
“Do you believe me?” she asked, her fingers toying with the hair at the back of his neck.
“Of course I believe you.”
She relaxed against him, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was a ticking time bomb about to go off.
“What was your plan?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. If he knew one thing about Remi, she would never allow the man to walk the earth consequence-free.
“My plan is to go back to Chicago and confront—”
“No.” The word came out ice-cold, casting a chill over the room.
“No?” she repeated.
“That’s never going to happen,” he said firmly, consciously loosening his grip on her. “You aren’t going near this man,” he told her. “Not ever again.”
“But—”
“No.”
“Brick,” she sighed.
He gave her a squeeze. “Remington. You shared your secret with me. Now we’ll work on a solution that doesn’t put you in harm’s way.”
“We?” she asked, looking at him with hope in her eyes.
“We,” he sighed.
“You’re not going to tell my mom are you?”
It was such a 16-year-old Remi thing to say that he lowered his forehead to hers. “I’m not making that promise.”
She started to squirm in his lap. Intending to challenge him. To argue. It had the unintended consequence of making him go stone-hard.
She moved to stand, but he stopped her, pulling her over his thighs so she straddled him. He slammed her down against his erection and held her hips still.
“Stop it,” he enunciated.