reports, documenting everything that happened yesterday, from executing the search warrant at Valdez’s apartment to the events that occurred at the marina. I check on the disposition of the evidence that was obtained yesterday at Valdez’s apartment. I review the witness statements. There were three civilian witnesses who offered statements at the scene last night. Fortunately, two of them used their phones to record the events that occurred on Ian’s boat.
I’m anxious to get out of here, so I can talk to Ian. But Captain Walker asks me to hang around for a departmental review meeting on the shooting death of Valdez, scheduled for early afternoon. There are processes that have to be followed, procedures, an internal investigation. It’s all standard operating procedure.
According to the coroner’s report, Valdez was struck three times in the chest. A forensics exam has concluded that two of those shots were mine, and one was Miguel’s. It was one of my bullets that hit Valdez directly in the heart and ended his life. I was justified in taking that shot—he was actively firing at fellow police officers as well as at me and Miguel—but still, there will be an investigation. That’s fine. I’m not concerned about that.
All afternoon, my thoughts drift to Ian, and I wonder what he’s doing today, what he’s thinking. I wonder how he feels about last night and the way I treated him. When I think about how rough I was with him, I’m ashamed by my loss of control.
Finally, after the incident review meeting, after all the reports have been written and submitted, and after all the questions have been asked and answered in triplicate, Walker clears me to leave the building.
It’s early evening now and there’s only one thing on my mind. Getting to Ian. I need to see him—I need to face him. And I hope to God he accepts my apology.
I head home first, to shower and change into clean clothes. I dress casually, in a pair of ripped jeans my sister got me for Christmas last year. She said they were cool, and that I needed to let my hair down once in a while. I dab on a bit of cologne and a form-fitting black tee that I’ve been told looks good on me. I laugh at myself when I realize this is the first time I’ve made an effort to look good for someone.
I reach for my gun holster and my jacket, and then I’m out the door. Tonight, I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right with Ian.
Ian’s house is dark when I pull into the driveway. I shut off my engine and sit there for a moment, trying to psych myself up for this. My hands are shaking. Shit, I’m actually nervous.
I walk up the stone steps to his door and knock, but there’s no answer. I guess I’m not entirely surprised as the house is dark. I knock again. I suppose he could be inside and simply ignoring me. I wouldn’t blame him if he was. There’s still no answer.
I walk around to the carriage house in the back and peer through the windows. It’s empty. He’s not home. I could leave and come back later, or I could come back tomorrow. But instead, I end up back at his front door where I take a seat on the top step. I’m not leaving until I see him. I’ll wait as long as it takes.
I have a lot of time on my hands to think, which isn’t good. I try not to speculate on where he might be, or what he’s doing. Or, God forbid, whom he might be with. He’s young and headstrong and a bit impetuous, and I imagine he’s fed up with me. I worry that the combination of those things might drive him to seek attention elsewhere.
If he’s out clubbing tonight, I’m sure he’s not lacking for offers. He attracts men like moths to a flame. The thought of him being with someone else sucks the air right out of my lungs, leaving me feeling more than a bit panicked. It almost feels like… jealousy. Shit.
Finally, just as it’s getting dark, he pulls into his driveway, the headlights of his Porsche flashing across the front lawn, and momentarily across me. He continues on back to the carriage house, and I hear the garage door opening and then closing. I remain fixed to my spot on the top step, my heart pounding as I wait for him