She couldn’t begin to explain how angry she was at her father. Her father and the owner of that Nissan.
The District Attorney himself, Matt Elliott. The man to blame for the fact that she had no job and was considered a disgrace within the Sacramento Police Department. A man she’d trusted, and not just because he was a friend of her father’s. Not just because he was the District Attorney, or a veteran, or a good guy. But because she’d been in court with him, she’d testified for him, she’d seen how much he cared about law, order, justice, victims. She admired that. Hell, she’d half fallen in love with him. That was probably her biggest regret. She cared about him, trusted him, and got screwed.
Thank God she hadn’t slept with him. She’d never even told him how she felt. That one time when they almost ... well, they hadn’t. She didn’t really even know what she’d felt last year. But now there was no mistaking the sickening churn of betrayal.
“This has been a long day for you,” he said. “But Matt needs to talk to you, and you need to tell him about your theory.”
“I told Jim, and I told you. I don’t need to repeat it again.”
Her dad didn’t say anything, and that was somehow worse. He did that when he knew she was tired and crabby and he thought he was right. When he wanted her to believe he understood, when really it was just him giving her time to come to what he felt was the right decision.
Talking to Matt Elliott was not the right decision. Not anymore.
Yet, he was here, and she was here. Walking home wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities—her loft was exactly two point two miles from her dad’s house—but she was too tired and sore to even contemplate it. And why did she feel like crying? She was such a baby. She was going to be thirty-five at the end of the year. She had nothing. No career, no boyfriend, few friends. Gabriel and Selena. And her family.
“Fine,” she said quietly. “But dad—you don’t understand. You think you do, because you’ve made hard decisions and you run your courtroom with an iron gavel. You think because you’ve stood on your principles, even when it was difficult, that you understand what I’m feeling.” She looked at him in the dim garage light. “I did what was right last summer. I knew, even then, that I was going lose everything, but I did it anyway. What I didn’t know was how hard it would be to take the heat. I’m not as strong as you.”
Her voice cracked, and she moved to get out of the car, but her dad grabbed her wrist.
“Alexandra, look at me.”
Reluctantly, she looked at her father. He wasn’t a large man, but he was still imposing, with neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair and the same green eyes she had. He was handsome, even at sixty-two. He could have married again—her mother had been dead for twenty years. But he’d once told her that he’d loved her mother two lifetimes in the nineteen years they’d been married, and he didn’t need or want another companion.
“You’re the strongest person I know, Alexandra. I’ve always been proud of you.”
Oh, God, now she was going to cry. No. She blinked back the tears and nodded, because if she talked, she would start blubbering.
“Tell Matt I need to change.”
He nodded and got out of the car.
She waited a minute, took a deep breath, and got her emotions together. She picked up the vase of flowers and got out of the car, going directly to her old bedroom where she put it down on the dresser. There was a card enclosed.
She pulled it out.
Alexandra ~
No words are sufficient to show my thanks and appreciation for what you did for me today. You saved my life, and I am in your debt. Your heroism humbles me. If you ever need anything, please call.
~ Travis Hart
***
It was the rich aroma of meat, tomatoes, garlic and oregano that propelled Alex back downstairs. Though she didn’t live at her dad’s house anymore, she and her brothers always kept a few things in their old rooms. She wished, however, that she had something better to wear than faded sweatpants and her old police academy T-shirt.
She took a deep breath and walked into the large, family-style kitchen. “It smells great, grandma,” she said and gave her petite eighty-year-old grandma Jane a hug. “I’m starving.”
Matt Elliott, stood at the counter drinking sparkling water. She tried to ignore him.
“Sit down,” her grandmother said. “I’ll dish you both up.”
“You don’t need to feed me, Mrs. Morgan,” Matt said.
“Sit down,” she repeated. “You’re in my kitchen, it’s dinnertime, you’ll eat.”
Alex would have smiled if she wasn’t so twisted up inside. She grabbed a beer and sat down across from Matt in the breakfast nook. The table had two benches on either side and could comfortably seat four, six if they crowded in. “Where’s Dad?” she asked her grandmother.
“Upstairs.” Nothing more. Great. Her dad had abandoned her with the D.A. “You’d better not be drinking while taking medication.”