“Astrid … please.” She was grasping for words, her emotions in turmoil making it hard to form a thought. “Just … take care of him.”
An inscrutable look passed over the other woman’s face. She nodded and then turned on her heel.
Sofia stood there frozen in her spot as she watched the town car drive away. Her heart felt like it was ripping in two, and she couldn’t breathe. He thought she had betrayed him. They had been arguing about Caroline before he was arrested. And then those words Bushnell—no, it was Masters—said had been the last nail in the coffin.
She stumbled back, her knees like jelly. Lucas’s expression of pure hate would be forever burned in her mind. She had tried to tell him she loved him, and he rejected it. And then he threatened her family …
“Easy, Detective.” Sharpe’s lanky arms caught her before she fell back.
The words were stuck in her throat and she let out a pathetic cry.
“You should get some rest,” Sharpe whispered gently. “Do you want me to take you home?”
She nodded weakly. “Yes, but not to my apartment.”
He guided her back to the car, helping her into the passenger seat. She murmured the address she knew by heart, and he didn’t protest at the distance or the traffic building up at the Queensboro bridge, but just drove her to where she wanted to go.
They stopped outside the familiar building, the cheerful mural of blue domes greeting her. But she didn’t feel anything. She grew numb on the ride over, her heart’s defense mechanism so she wouldn’t feel anything. Just like when her mother died.
She didn’t even know how she had gotten out of the car or trudged into the restaurant. Pappoús looked up as he wiped up a table, his face turning bright as he saw her. “Sofia! What a nice surprise.” He put down the rag and walked over to her. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you, and you haven’t been answering.”
And then, the dam of emotions broke. “Pappoús,” she bawled as tears poured down her cheeks, and she collapsed into his arms.
“When will you stop moping like this, Sofia?” George Selinofoto asked. “Isn’t it about time you go back to work?”
She raised her head to look at her father from where she was lying facedown on the mattress. “Are you kicking me out?”
“No, Sofia.” George let out a deep sigh as he sat down on his daughter’s bed. “You know you are always welcome here.” He placed a large hand on her shoulder. “But you’ve been here for a week. You haven’t left the house, gone to work, talked to anyone.” When she arrived at the restaurant, she gave them an annotated version of what happened with Lucas.
“I don’t want to do any of those things.” She pressed her face to the pillow. “I just want to be left alone.”
“I know, baby. And I’m sorry.” He tipped her chin to the side to face him. “But you have to at least get out of this bed.”
She didn’t know if that was possible. Her bed was safe and warm, and anything outside of it was … not. After what happened with Lucas that day, she just didn’t want to face the world anymore. Even taking a step out of bed to go to the bathroom felt like a chore. All she wanted to do was sleep and forget. Forget about Lucas and his mismatched eyes. And all the times they made love. And the hateful expression on his face when he called her a deceitful bi—
“At least you haven’t lost your appetite.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “In fact, you’ve eaten so much lately, you might eat me out of house and home.”
“Dad,” she whined.
“It’s okay, I’m just glad you’re still enjoying food.” He chuckled. “Though with your appetite, you’d think you were pregnant or something. Your mother was the same.” The mattress rose when he took his weight off. “I’ll bring you some food from the restaurant tonight, okay?”
“Thanks, Dad,” she said. As soon as the door closed behind him, she flopped onto her back. Of course, her mind began to drift to Lucas, so she quickly shut it down. Instead, she thought about her job. She had cashed in as much vacation time as she could, but she knew she would have to go back on Monday.
Sharpe had been nice enough to keep her updated on what was happening at the station. Bushnell was recovering but would be out of commission for a couple of weeks while he healed from the injuries from the accident. One of the more senior lieutenants, Jameson, was acting captain for now, and according to Sharpe, was doing a decent job at least.
Winters also called her once over the week and relayed some messages from the D.A.’s office. The attorney assigned to Bianchi’s case was freaking out because she hadn’t been answering her messages when the trial was coming up in two weeks. She asked Winters to relay to them that she was still going to testify. However, she didn’t tell the D.A. or anyone about the two men who had attacked her in her home. The crime scene had been cleaned up, and she would have to make a report and expose the Lycans. Attempted murder of a police detective would have been a nice addition to the charges, but she already knew Bianchi would be going away for a long time.
She didn’t ask about Masters, but Sharpe assured her that their case was solid, and he was currently still locked up. However, he refused to talk about what happened, not even to defend himself or deny the charges, but it looked like he would be pleading guilty to avoid a long trial. She wondered if his associates had anything to do with that, but she didn’t really give a shit as long
