“Where is he now?”
“Getting some sleep. But I’m meeting up with him later and we’ll carry on.”
“And what about you? Don’t you need to sleep?”
He didn’t look tired. Tense and on edge maybe, but not tired.
He glanced from the road and a small smile curved his lips. “No. I don’t need much sleep. I picked up some food. I thought I’d take you home and we could eat. Try and forget for an hour.”
He was back in his badass gear. Maybe it was more likely to impress the sort of people he was talking to. Black leather pants and a black T-shirt that hugged his figure and showed the edges of the intricate tattoo twined around his upper arm. She wanted to reach out and trace the lines with her fingertip.
“Is Piers Lamont helping?” she asked.
“No, he’s taken Roz away.”
“Why? Do you think she’s in danger as well?”
“We think Tara was taken by mistake. We know there’s someone hunting for Roz, but it’s possible they don’t know much about her and Tara was taken instead.”
“Why would someone want Roz?”
“It’s complicated. I told you she has certain…powers. Well, there are some people who don’t like that and want to get rid of her.”
“Rid, as in kill?”
“Yeah. I hope they realize that they have the wrong woman.”
Guilt jabbed at her again. She wanted to comfort him, tell him that Tara was alive, and in safe hands—sort of—but how could she do that without betraying what she knew. She felt like a complete two-faced bitch. They were searching in all the wrong places.
But if she told them what she knew, it would be the end of her career. Besides, betraying the government went against everything she had ever believed in—they were supposed to be the good guys.
They were silent for the rest of the drive. Faith rested her head against the back of her seat and stared out at the passing streets.
Ash followed her into the house carrying the food and wine he’d collected from the backseat of the car. Chinese. Her favorite, but she didn’t think she could manage to eat anything. Her stomach was churning.
A letter lay on the carpet inside the door. She picked it up. It was from the hospital—she’d almost forgotten about her other little problem. How had her life got so complicated that she had overlooked the fact that she was very likely dying and there was absolutely nothing anyone could do about it?
The letter only told her the results were ready and could she come in as soon as possible.
“Bad news?” Ash murmured from beside her.
“No, not really.” She crumpled the paper and tossed it on the table. She’d phone in the morning, see if they could fit her in. No point in worrying about it now—she was getting good at that.
In the kitchen, she turned on the oven and put the food in to warm while Ash poured them red wine.
“Okay, let’s forget everything for a while. Time out,” he said and handed her a drink.
Forgetting everything sounded like an excellent idea to her. Though she doubted that it would be that easy. For either of them. Ash paced the room, almost crackling with energy. She let him get on with it while she got plates and things from the cupboards and set them out on the small dining table.
The meal was delicious, but they picked at the food. Ash gave up, put down his fork, and sat back.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m not good company tonight.”
She put her own fork down and pushed her plate away. “It’s not surprising. You’re worried about Christian and Tara.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “So tell me about you.”
“There’s not a lot to tell.”
“Tell me why you joined the police force.”
She picked up her glass and sipped for a minute. She’d never told anyone about why she had joined the police. Not really. But maybe some part of her thought that if she told him this, she would make up in some small way for all the things she was holding back.
“When I was twelve, my mother was murdered. They never caught the killer. I thought they didn’t search hard enough, and I wanted to do better, make sure that the bad guys got caught—the people like the ones who murdered my mother, murdered Julie Foster.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was a long time ago.”
“There are some things that change the whole course of our lives.”
“You sound as though you know what you’re talking about. What happened to you—what changed your life?”
“Finding my wife.”
“Finding her, or losing her?”
He sat back, a slight frown on his face as he considered the question. “A few months ago, I would have said losing her—for a while everything went dark. I could see nothing but my own grief. But I’ve come to see that she left me a better person than she found me.”
“What was she like?”
“She was good. Pure of heart, and that’s not easy in this world. She was beautiful. She looked a lot like—”
His phone rang. He frowned but pulled it out of his pocket and listened for a moment.