“Yes,” he said flatly. He took a slow step toward her.
“That’s what happens in the line of duty.” The words tumbled from her. “You were probably trying to—”
“I killed my father when I was seventeen.”
She fell back against the door. “What?”
He took another step. “You think you’re the only one with secrets, Katherine?” Dane shook his head. “We all have them.” His hands reached around her. “You have to move for me to open the door.”
Oh. Right. She stepped to the side and he opened the door. The wind blew off the river, lifting her hair. She turned into the wind and stepped onto the balcony, wrapping her arms around her stomach.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why?” Dane’s deep voice followed her onto the balcony.
She stared below, at the darkness of the twisting New Orleans streets. Danger was everywhere. “Why?”
“He was an abusive SOB who thought I’d let him use me as a punching bag for the rest of my life.”
She didn’t speak. She hadn’t expected this from Dane, hadn’t realized—
He’s like me.
“I was tired of taking his hits. Tired of having his fist slam into my face.” He rubbed his fingers along the bridge of his nose. The small bump suddenly took on a new significance.
Katherine’s hands curled along the wooden railing of the balcony.
“My mom left when I was ten,” Dane continued. “I didn’t blame her. He’d been hitting her. He didn’t hit me. Just her.”
“She left you with him?” Anger boiled inside her body.
Dane came to stand beside her and stare out at the glittering city lights. “Maybe she thought it was just her who he’d hurt. I saw her bruises all those years, I heard her crying…”
“Why didn’t she go to the cops?” Instead of leaving her son.
“Because he was a cop.”
Her heart beat faster. Cops hunted the monsters. They weren’t supposed to be the monsters.
“So one day, while he was off working a case, she packed her bags and got the hell away from him. The bus dropped me off after school, I walked home, and she was just…gone. Without her there, it was only a matter of time, I guess, until he turned all his rage on me.”
He’d been ten when his mother left. Seventeen when he killed his father. So many years. So much pain. The whisper of that pain was in his words. Her left hand moved a few inches. Her fingers brushed over his.
“I tried to tell his partner what was happening. Maybe he didn’t want to believe me. Not at first.”
A kid’s word against a cop.
“Then my dad started drinking. He got into fights with suspects. Put another cop in the hospital. The more he drank, the more he lost control.”
Her hand was entwined with his now.
“One night, he broke a whiskey bottle and came at me, swinging.” His free hand rose, and his fingers slid over the faint scar beneath his lip. “He was screaming about how my mother left because of me.”
She turned away from the city. Stared up at his profile. So hard. Jaw locked.
“I knew he wasn’t going to stop. He was going to kill me. He wanted to kill me.”
“I’m sure he didn’t.” Her own voice was sad.
“I punched the bastard as hard as I could. Slammed my fist into his jaw. He was at the top of the stairs. He stumbled back, lost his footing. By the time he hit the third step going down, the whiskey bottle had embedded in his throat.”
Her fingers tightened around his.
“His partner was the first one on the scene. I was bleeding and had bruises—I always had them back then—and my dad stunk of booze. His knuckles were bloody from where he’d been punching me. The neighbors finally came forward and talked about the yells they’d heard for years. The fights they’d seen.” His lips twisted. “It just took him dying for them to be brave enough to come forward.”
A lock of her hair slid over her cheek, blowing with the wind. “What did his partner do?”
“Harley?”
Harley Dunning? Katherine gasped.
“Harley told me he was sorry. Said he should have helped me sooner. He got me out of that house and brought me to live with him.” He gave a little roll of his shoulders. “Then he turned me into the one thing that I always thought I’d never become.” He met her gaze. “A cop.”
He looked back out at the city. “So yes, I’ve killed.”
“What happened to her?”
Dane’s head turned toward her.
“Your mother. Did you ever go find her?”
“She left me. There was no point.” He shook his head. “I don’t want you thinking I’m some kind of damn hero. I’m not perfect, far f**king from it.”
And that was a good thing. “Perfect’s a lie. I thought I had perfect once. Now I want real. I want good, bad, everything in between.” She stood on her toes and pressed a quick kiss first to the scar beneath his lip, then to Dane’s mouth.
“Katherine…” Her name came out as a growl.
Her turn to confess. “In three years, I never wanted a man. Not until I met you.”
His fingers tightened around hers. “What?”
“It was like part of me was dead. I was cold inside. I went through the motions. Even attempted to date some guys.” Trent.
He released her hand. Then his fingers were closing over her shoulders, pulling her back against him. “I’m trying to do the right thing with you.”
“I’ve got a killer on my trail. I’m more concerned with feeling alive than I am with what’s right.” Didn’t he understand that?
“You’re staying alive.” She couldn’t hope yet. For years she’d been living with the threat of the grim reaper. Katherine pulled in a deep, steadying breath, then slowly eased away from him and began to walk back toward the open door.
“No one in three years?”
She’d just reached the threshold when he came up behind her. His arms closed around her. “Why me?”
She didn’t turn toward him.
His mouth was on her neck. He kissed her sensitive skin. Katherine felt the light rasp of his tongue. “All of those men out there, why the hell did you pick me?”
She looked back into his eyes and told him the truth. “You make me feel safe, Dane.”
His mouth took hers. Not tame any longer. Not gentle. The need had burst free. He kissed her with a wild hunger. The same hunger that she felt.