Our age difference hadn’t mattered—she’d been just twenty to my twenty-eight when her parents were murdered. It hadn’t mattered that I’d been the FBI agent who’d hunted down their killer or that she’d been a victim. It hadn’t mattered she’d been vulnerable, and I’d wanted to be her hero.
Every goddamned bit of it had been inappropriate. Yet, I’d still kissed her with everything I had. In my mind, I’d reasoned I deserved it just once because it was all over now that Katz was behind bars and would be getting justice when he died by lethal injection.
In my heart, I’d known it was wrong. No matter how much I wanted her, the one thing that would keep me away was that I hadn’t caught Richard Katz before he could murder her parents, and that was something I couldn’t forgive myself for. Moreover, I’m convinced there was no way Corinne—in the long run—would ever be able to get over that. She was riding a high at the end of his trial. She’d felt vindicated and powerful when he’d got the death penalty.
And so we kissed, and it was amazing, beautiful and very, very temporary.
Because I knew she would eventually come down from that high only to realize I’d let her down. Wincing, I recalled the moment.
When Corinne moaned into my mouth, I finally jolted into action, pulling back from her so fast I almost toppled off my barstool. Her head was tilted, all that dark hair hanging over one shoulder. Her swollen lips begged to be kissed again.
I shook my head. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“I kissed you first,” she pointed out.
“I get that. But we can’t. It’s inappropriate.”
She smiled… reaching a hand out. I moved off my stool to stand, leaning away from her. She frowned, not understanding how I could go from a meaningful kiss to aversion so quickly. “The case is over. Nothing is holding us back now,” she said.
“Yeah, there is,” I replied bitterly. “I failed you. I didn’t catch him fast enough to prevent your parents’ deaths. And no matter how you might feel about it, I can’t ever forget that. Frankly, you shouldn’t either.”
She said nothing. Just stared at me in shock, never in a million years understanding the guilt I carried. By her expression, I could tell it never crossed her mind.
But it would.
I knew it would come, and it would ruin us if we were together.
“Goodbye, Corinne.” My voice was low, and those were the hardest words I’d ever had to say in my life.
I saw her eyes well with tears, but I still turned my back on her and walked away.
I never looked back.
Yesterday was the first time I’d seen her since then—since I’d kissed her, made her cry, and left her. Throughout the years, I’d heard Corinne had attended all the appeal arguments, but I never went. I didn’t want to run into her, and my presence wasn’t required.
Honestly, I thought I’d never see her again, and I’d made peace with that.
And now, everything’s fucked up.
I’m on the last block of my run, which will lead up to the front stoop of my rowhouse duplex in South Side. My place is barely ten minutes away from the FBI building, which makes for an easy commute.
As I approach my home, my brain takes in the fact that someone is sitting on my front stoop. It takes more than a moment—perhaps through denial—to realize it’s Corinne.
She’s appropriately dressed for the cold weather, wearing jeans and a heavy parka with gloves and a knit cap. The fact it’s overcast makes it seem infinitely colder to me, despite the fact I’m sweating my ass off from my run. A shiver runs up my spine over how beautiful she is.
I slow to a walk half a block from her, trying to think of what to say. Her head turns my way, and she gives me a friendly wave. She rises off the stoop, wiping at nonexistent dirt on her butt. I have no choice but to continue walking toward her to see because, at this point, it would be rude and entirely cowardly to turn around and run the other way.
She smiles when I reach her. I don’t smile back because just seeing her is churning up all kinds of emotions.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, then have another thought strike me hard. “And how the hell do you have my address?”
She ignores my questions. “You can’t avoid me.”
“I can if you’ll let me,” I reply a bit snidely.
“Clay… this is ridiculous. We were friends once.”
“No, we weren’t.” It’s a lie. Truthfully, we could have been more.
“Yes, the fuck we were,” she snaps, and I’m shocked by her ferociousness. “We were good friends. You came to my college graduation. We talked several times a week.”
“That was case related,” I mutter.