Page 70 of Outsider

“And someone magically gives you cash money and a car? You expect me to believe that?”

Eyes on mine, she got to her feet. Hands clenched at her sides. Eyes flashing. Combat ready. “I got this money fair and square. What right do you have to question my ethics?”

“I know where it came from, Gina.”

“Since when did you become such a Goody Two-Shoes, Kate?”

Reaching into the canvas bag, she yanked out the wad of cash, shook it in my face. “All right. Tell me this. Do you think some dope dealer or hooker or pimp deserves this? Someone who’s never worked a day in their entire useless life? Instead of me? Instead of us?”

I stared at the cash, the way she clenched it in her fist, and my heart began to pound. “There is no ‘us,’” I tell her. “Just you.”

“How many nights have we gone without sleep? How many times have we risked our lives to save someone else’s ass? How many times have you feared for your own safety and had to face down someone who was violent and dangerous?”

“It’s part of the job!” I shouted. “If you don’t like it, quit.”

“Oh, I like it just fine.” Snarling at me, she flung the cash back into the canvas bag and yanked the zipper closed. “I’m not the only one, Kate. There are others. Good cops. This is the way it works in the real world and if you don’t believe that you are not only naive, but a fool.”

“That is not the way it works,” I told her, hating it that I couldn’t quite catch my breath. “Nothing in this world is free and if it is, chances are there are strings attached.”

She made a bitter sound that was part laugh, part growl. “You are a holier-than-thou-art piece of work, aren’t you?” Dropping the bag to the floor, she moved closer to me, jabbed her finger in my face. “You have no right to judge me. I’m the one who brought you in. I made you what you are. I got you off the street. If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be waiting tables at some dump.”

The fury came with such force that I was dizzy with it. I wasn’t a violent person, but the urge to strike her was powerful. In that instant, I thought about my mamm. I thought about my sister, my datt, my brother, and I wondered what they would think of this callous, foulmouthed English woman. I wondered what they would think of me for being part of this, and for the first time in a long time, I felt ashamed.

I stared at her, seeing more than I wanted to see. Things I’d ignored for months because I didn’t have the courage to face the truth. “I’ve been hearing things about your cop friends, Gina,” I told her. “I’ve been hearing things about you, too.”

“Thanks for the warning. I’ll be sure to let them know.” Looking at me as if I were a dog that didn’t have the mental capacity to get the trick right, she picked up the canvas bag. “Me? I don’t really give a damn.”

I got to my feet, hating it that my legs were shaking. I got in her face anyway. “You need to return the cash.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, for God’s sake. What are you going to go do? Go all Amish on me?”

“If you don’t return that cash, I will. You won’t like the outcome.”

A flicker of something I couldn’t identify in her eyes. Instead of moving away, she stepped closer until her face was inches from mine. “I got the money and that car fair and square. I worked for it. I earned it. I risked my life for it. If you don’t believe me, you do what you need to do. But let me tell you this, Kate. You take all of those unfounded suspicions of yours to anyone inside the department and you’ll find yourself out of a job so fast your head will spin.”

“If I ever see you with that kind of cash again, I will turn you in. I mean it, Gina. This is your final warning.”

After a too-long moment, she stepped away from me and hefted the strap of the canvas bag onto her shoulder. As she was walking down the hall, she shot me a withering look over her shoulder and blew me a kiss.

CHAPTER 22

It’s ten P.M. and I’ve just tossed a couple chunks of oak into the wood-burning stove when I hear the backdoor slam. The children have already gone to bed; the house is quiet. Maybe a little too quiet. I’m missing Tomasetti, wishing I were at the farm, pondering how all of this with Gina is going to play out in the coming days.

The woman in question appears in the doorway between the mudroom and the kitchen, drawing me from my reverie. She’s wearing Adam’s coat. There’s snow in her hair, on the shoulders of the coat. Her cheeks glow red from the cold.

“I hate Ohio,” she announces as she stomps snow from her feet. “I swear to God when this is over, I’m moving to Hawaii.”

“I take it the snow has begun.”

“Coming down like a son of a bitch.”

“I didn’t realize you’d gone out.”

“Left something in my truck.”

Turning to her, I raise a brow. “I don’t recall seeing anything of importance in your truck.”

“This, my friend, transcends mere importance.” With great flourish, she pulls a bottle of Gentleman Jack from an inside coat pocket. “The cure for cabin fever and a troubled soul rolled into one.”