Page 64 of Man of Honor

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. We both knew the truth. All that mattered to me was Gage.

Vanderhoff watched the point land and smirked. “That’s what I thought. But the law is the law, and you don’t get to bend it for your little boyfriend anymore.”

We’d never seen eye-to-eye, but as I stared at this man I’d worked with for more than a decade, I felt like I was lookingat a stranger. “You’ve got to give this up, Kent. Boone is gone. Whatever grudge you had against him should’ve been buried with him. Going after his boys does nothing for you.”

“You’re overstepping, Deputy,” he warned, baring his veneers. “It’s not up to you or me to decide what’s justified. That’s for the courts. But in the meantime, I’ve got a perp with busted knuckles and a rap sheet that says he doesn’t know how to keep his fists to himself.”

He started toward Gage, and I grabbed him by the arm. “Kent?—”

“Save it.” He cut me off with a wave. “Let the system do its job. Book him, or I’ll do it myself.”

“Don’t fucking touch him,” I snarled, blocking his path. My pulse was jackhammering in my throat, and my palms were itching to wipe that sneer off his face. “I’ll handle it.”

“You better.” He jabbed a finger in my face, cast Gage one last scathing look, and then stalked off to micro-manage Teddy instead.

I dragged a hand down my face and forced myself to look at Gage. He was still lounging on the curb like he didn’t have a care in the world, but I recognized the defensive hunch of his shoulders. He was bracing himself for a blow, and I was the one about to deliver it.

What the hell was I even doing anymore? Being a cop had never been a job to me; it was my calling. It wasme—and now it was the thing about to drive a wedge between us.

I crouched in front of him and reached out to brace one hand on his knee, but he was so tense, I pulled the touch at the lastsecond. Maybe comfort was the wrong play here. It would only make things harder.

“Let me guess,” he drawled sarcastically. “I’ve got the right to remain silent?”

“Gage,” I said hoarsely. “I don’t have a choice here. We’ve got to do this by the book.”

His sigh was heavy. “Yeah, I get it. You don’t have to explain.”

“Do you?” I pressed, drowning in guilt. He acted like he wasn’t even surprised. I’d sworn to always have his back, and here I was, throwing him to the wolves. “Do you get it? Because this isn’t what I want. You’ve got to know that.”

His gaze drifted. I tried to chase it, but he refused to look at me. “You’ve got a job to do. Ain’t like I’ve never been in the back of your car.”

“Not like this,” I muttered. “Aggravated assault is a felony, Gage. You could do real time.”

A muscle worked in his throat when he swallowed. “Worth it.”

“Let me help you up.” I offered a hand, but he stood on his own, shifting away from me as soon as he was on his feet. I got it—I did. Pride was all that was keeping him upright. But the deliberate distance between us hurt.

Across the street, Vanderhoff was grinning like he’d already won. “Enjoy the cell, Beaufort! We’ve got a bed waiting with your name on it.”

Gage’s eyes were steely as he stared straight ahead, but his jaw locked, and he flinched when I touched his elbow. I kept my hand on him not because I thought he’d try to run, but becauseI needed that small point of contact. Every step widened the invisible chasm between us.

When I opened the car door, he paused, meeting my eyes briefly before glancing away. In all these years, I’d never seen him with no fight left in him. Until now. He’d already decided exactly how this would play out, and nothing I said or did would change it.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he said softly. “This was bound to happen one day.”

Then he slid into the backseat and leaned his head against the rest with practiced indifference. I gripped the door so hard my knuckles ached. The storm that had been building overhead finally let loose with a rumble of thunder. I glanced up at the darkening clouds. It felt like more than the storm was breaking.

So were we.

Chapter Thirty

WYATT

My cell phonechirped just as I was shoving through the department’s double doors. I answered without checking the caller ID. “Mason. Talk to me.”

“I’m working on it,” Mason replied, skipping any pretense of pleasantries.

“Work faster,” I snapped. The desk sergeant glanced up at my tone, caught my expression, and immediately glued her eyes to her computer screen. Smart. I wasn’t in the mood for small talk. I had one goal, and I was going to tear the head off anyone who got in my way.