The whole truth was that I hadn’t looked because, dammit, I was afraid of what I might see. And if I saw, would I lie? As I’d lied last night to the detective?

Shit. Who was I?

I’d been closing my eyes where before I would have been poking a flashlight into shadows.

That had to stop now. If for no other reason than I was falling in love with Tyler. And I had to know if the man I loved was dirty.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I got out of the car and marched to the van. I drew in a breath, grabbed the sliding door handle, and tugged.

Inside, Cole whipped around to look at me, then slammed his palm down on a console, making a row of five video monitors go to black.

But it didn’t matter—I’d already seen. Michelle, in full dominatrix regalia, holding a whip over a man I recognized from the Chicago papers. Alderman Brian Bentley, decked out in a ballgag and cuffs.

“Sloane, wait—”

I slammed the door, cutting off Cole’s plea. Then I ran for my car. I heard the van open, heard him call for me again. I didn’t care. I started the car, slid into traffic, and floored it.

I cranked the music up loud, and hoped that the beat would drown out my thoughts, but it wasn’t working. My thoughts were filled with Kevin’s accusations and with the images I’d seen in that van. Extortion, I assumed. Bribery. What had Evan called it? A protection plan?

God. What they hell were they into?

And what the hell was I doing?

A year ago, a month ago, hell, a week ago, I’d be calling the local PD. Now I wasn’t sure what to do.

I was twisted around because of love—but didn’t that make me as guilty as they were?

I didn’t know. All I knew was that Tyler filled my head, bigger and bolder than even the music my dad sent me.

Tyler, who had held me, teased me, touched me, fucked me. Whose heart had beat in time with mine.

I thought about his humor. About his compassion.

I drove on auto-pilot, my thoughts churning wildly, and it wasn’t until my dad’s music was looping for the fourth time that I tuned in to where I was—which was no longer in Illinois. I’d not only crossed the line into Wisconsin, but had just hit the Kenosha city limits.

I may have been on auto-pilot, but my subconscious had definitely had a plan all along.

I’d only been to the Victorian style house on Fifth Street once before, but it wasn’t any trouble finding it. The lawn had been a mess the last time I was there, but now it was neat and tidy, with colorful flowers in pretty clay pots. The dingy paint had been spruced up, at least on the street-facing side. I saw buckets and two ladders around the side of the house, and assumed I was facing a work-in-progress.

I pulled up in front, killed the engine, and sat there for a while, debating. I could go in … or I could turn around and drive the hour and a half back to Chicago.

I decided to go in.

The house was quiet, and I saw no sign of life as I walked to the front door. I wasn’t sure if I should be annoyed I’d come so far for no reason, or relieved.

I rang the bell, got no immediate response, and rang again. A good three minutes passed, still with no answer, and I finally decided that all I’d gotten out of this day was a relaxing drive and too much thinking.

I turned to go—and heard the lock click behind me.

I turned around, and found myself staring into the hangdog face of Oscar Hernandez.

He wore a coffee-stained undershirt and flannel pajama pants that had seen better days. Sleep creases lined his face, criss-crossing under his puffy eyes.

“Gee, Lieutenant,” I said. “You’re taking this retirement thing seriously.”

“Watson?” His red eyes crinkled in delight as a wide smile split his face. “Goddammit, Detective, what in the name of the devil’s younger daughter are you doing here?”

“Guess I got a little lost.”

He cocked his head, and I saw the sharp mind behind the bloodshot eyes. “You’re not talking about streets and maps.”

“Guess not.” I lifted a shoulder. “Needed a beer. Figured this was the place to find one.”

“Damn right it is,” he said. “Or it was last night. Wife’s back home with Joey,” he said, referring to their oldest daughter. “Had some of the guys over.”

“A calm night of cigars and literary discussions?”

“Fuck that. We got pissed and talked about our misspent youth. Get your tiny ass in here,” he said, stepping back and holding the door open wide.

I followed him into the kitchen, then hung back as he opened the fridge and stared inside. “I got Heineken and Heineken. Might have some flavored vodka in the freezer. Wife likes that whipped cream stuff.”

“I’ll take Heineken,” I said. “And if you’ve got a bag of potato chips hiding around here somewhere, I’ll love you forever.”

“After what we’ve been through, you should love me anyway.” But he crossed to the pantry and came out with a bag of Lay’s and a bag of Ruffles.

“You’re a good man, Lieutenant.”

“Don’t you forget it.”

Fifteen minutes later we were sitting on the back porch steps, breathing in the summer air and looking out at the water. I’d never seen my partner as the Mr. Fix-it type, but I had to admit that for a house like this—big and sprawling with a huge backyard, trees, and a view of the lake—maybe being domesticated would be worth it.

“You gonna tell me what’s on your mind? Cause as much as I enjoy your company, I don’t think you drove all this way just for beer and chips.”

“It’s really good beer,” I said, and clinked bottles with him. “But no. Honestly, I’m not sure why I came. The car sort of drove itself.”

“All the way from Indiana? You must really be going out of your mind on this medical leave.”

“Chicago,” I said, and that was as good a lead-in as any. I gave him the basic rundown, leaving out the more titillating details. If we ended up going there, I’d need more than one beer in my system.

“Last time I looked, kid, you didn’t have a Chicago badge.”

I eyed him sideways. “So?”

“So whatever these guys are up to doesn’t have anything to do with finding your missing friend, right?”

“Right.”

“And the girl was the reason you went to Chicago.”

“Yes.”

“So leave it alone.”

I blinked. “Leave it alone?”

“Jesus, Watson, you live and breathe this job more than anyone I know. You don’t have to right every wrong, you know. So unless those guys are killing folks in Indiana, their crimes and misdemeanors aren’t your problem.”

“Even if I’m banging one of them?”

He drew in a loud, noisy breath. “Well, shit, Watson. Now I’m gonna have that in my head all day.”

I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. “I’m all twisted up, Oscar.”

“Aw, shit. Aw, hell.” His big hand came down on my back and rubbed. “You’ll get untwisted.”

“How?”

“No idea.”

I laughed. “You’re a big help.”

“Okay, try this. The heart knows what the heart knows.”