I do relate to your predicament more strongly because it mirrors my own, but that just means I’m in a better position to empathize with you. It means I’m the person you should be confiding in right now.”
“Confide in you?” He laughed bleakly. “I’ve done too much of that already, Francesca. Did you forget that you came here to arrest me?”
“But they’re not going to let me arrest you now,” Francesca said. “I’ve been taken off the case.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You have?”
“And I wasn’t supposed to tell you that,” she added. “But I guess I’m breaking rules left and right. Doesn’t matter, seeing as how I’m about to get fired anyway.”
“But if you’ve been taken of the case,” he said, “then why does it matter to you what I do? The snow is melting. You should be able to leave by tomorrow, and then you can go home. I’m sorry about the blow to your career. I never would have wanted that to happen. But what difference can we make to it now?”
Francesca hesitated. She was crossing a line now and she knew it. Laird had said that he would stand by her—but would he feel the same way once he knew what she had done?
What if she got herself in too deep and found herself all alone?
It didn’t matter. I’m already in too deep, she realized. What she had said to him was true—she felt empathy for his situation. She had been up all night, not just out of fear of losing her job, but out of horror at Viggo’s situation. How awful it must be to have to run away from your life, not to know whether or not you had killed someone.
She wanted to help him, and she was going to help him.
“I’m off the case now,” she said, “and that means I don’t have to follow the rules the FBI has set out for me anymore. I can just do what I think needs to be done.”
It wasn’t strictly true. She was still employed by the FBI, and she had used their resources and their information to get here. Anything she did now would reflect on the agency, and she suspected she was heading into worse trouble than ever. But she didn’t know whether Viggo would accept her help if he knew that she was putting herself at risk.
Viggo was watching her, obviously curious. “What is it that you think needs to be done?” he asked.
“I think you can’t give up your life in New York,” she said. “You love it there. You made that clear to me. Just yesterday, you were saying how New York was your home. How even though you love Konäs, New York had given you something special.”
“Not something I can’t live without,” he said.
“I don’t know,” she countered. “When you were talking about New York—that was the only time yesterday that you sounded really happy. You were miserable when we talked about your public life. You were sad when we talked about your relationship to your family. But New York…you love New York.”
He was quiet.
“Think about it,” she said. “All things being equal, wouldn’t you want to go back? If you had the option?”
“Of course I would,” he said.
“I know you would,” she said. “I know it because I feel the same way. I would never willingly leave New York behind. It’s my home too.”
He regarded her. The was a vulnerability in his face that she hadn’t yet seen.
He doesn’t have anyone he’s close to, she thought. He doesn’t get along with his family. The people he socializes with could hardly be called friends. What must it be like for him to have someone sit down with him and say that they understand what he’s feeling?
She couldn’t imagine. Her own family was so big, so full of people, that she had never lacked for someone to talk to. Even though they often had a difficult time relating to the job she had chosen and her priorities in life, she had always had someone who was at least willing to try to understand her.
It occurred to her now that Viggo had probably never had that.
“We need to go back to New York,” she told him. “Both of us. Together. We need to figure out what really happened that night. If we can clear your name, you can have your life back.”
He frowned. “What do you have in mind?”
“You said the snow will be gone by tomorrow?”
“Maybe not gone. But I think