The Third Grave (Savannah #4) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,32
for Morrisette’s family, those close to her. “What about her kids?” she asked softly as beside her, nestled in the pillows, Mikado, who had been sleeping, blinked his eyes open and wagged his scruffy tail.
“With their dad.” Reed’s jaw tightened and he sniffed loudly. “Morrisette would’ve hated the thought of that.”
Nikki grew cold inside. “I’m . . . I’m so sorry.”
He lifted his head, his gaze hard, his eyes red as he looked at her. “You should be.”
A beat. Just long enough for her to process.
Her throat closed and she blinked back tears. Shaking her head, she whispered in disbelief, “You’re . . . ? You’re blaming me?”
He seemed about to snap back at her but somehow held his tongue, his jaw working. For a second she thought he would point out her flaws—stupid curiosity, her insatiable need to follow a story and her carelessness of falling into the river. As if she were the direct cause of his partner’s death. Instead he didn’t say a word. Just stared at her with grief-riddled eyes that, if she looked close, simmered with a quiet, condemning rage.
“I didn’t . . . I mean . . . yeah, I shouldn’t have been there and yeah, I slipped into the river, but I was perfectly fine. I’m a good swimmer. I could’ve—”
“Morrisette had no idea what kind of swimmer you were. She saw a person in danger, a person being swept away, a person who could drown, and she reacted like the good cop she is . . . er, was! No, Nikki, you didn’t personally drag her into the river; you were just the eager, unwitting bait.”
“No . . . I—”
He cut her off. “Detective Sylvie Morrisette took an oath to protect and serve, and that was what she was doing when she died! Protecting you.”
She gasped. “Jesus, Pierce.”
He stood then, towering over the bed, staring down at her. “I’m not blaming you. Not directly. But if you hadn’t sneaked into the crime scene against department warnings and orders, this all wouldn’t have happened and Sylvie Morrisette would be alive right now, working the case, bitching about her exes, all four of them, and being able to be the good mother and officer she always strived to be.” He squeezed his eyes shut and threw back his head, willing himself to gain control. “No,” he said, blinking up at the ceiling. “It’s not your fault that she’s dead, but because of your actions she took a risk and ended up losing her life.”
“Oh, Reed, you seriously can’t blame—”
But he was already walking out of the bedroom, heading down the hallway to the stairs, his footsteps echoing behind him. Mikado hopped off the bed and followed Reed down the stairs.
This was all wrong. So wrong.
Nikki felt miserable. Her heart was heavy, her head ached, her shoulder began to throb and she was pummeled with guilt. Throwing herself back against the pillows, she closed her eyes and fought tears. She’d never been one to cry, but now her throat grew thick and her eyes burned. She blinked and dashed the tears away. If she hadn’t gone against Reed’s orders, if she hadn’t gone to the Beaumont estate, if she hadn’t slipped and fallen, if . . .
“Stop it!” she said aloud, and sniffed back any remaining tears. Weeping wouldn’t change things. Bawling her eyes out wouldn’t help. She was and always had been a woman of action. Could never lie around idly. Not even now. She threw back the covers and got out of bed to walk into the adjoining bathroom. Using her good hand, she splashed water on her face over the sink, then caught sight of her reflection. Mussed red-blond hair, green eyes puffy from lack of sleep and the sudden spate of tears, her freckles still visible in her flushed face. Not a good look. But did it even matter? Probably not. Still, she glared at her image and said, “Get a grip, Gillette.”
Back in the bedroom, she found her robe slung over the back of a chair and slipped her good arm through one sleeve, letting the other sleeve hang over her shoulder with the sling. She couldn’t cinch the damned thing around her waist, so the robe gapped slightly, billowing behind her as she headed downstairs.
She found Reed in the kitchen.
He hadn’t turned on any lights, but a bit of moonlight filtering through the windows offered a weak, bluish illumination.