I’d expected him to hesitate, but he didn’t. “After Corinne died, I checked out. I didn’t want to be any more. I lost a lot of time to things that numbed me. Drugs. Alcohol. Sex.” He gave me a sideways grin that shot straight to the space between my thighs. “I didn’t believe I had any responsibility to bring Ralphio to justice. I’d given my testimony. I’d fulfilled my civic duty. He disappeared almost immediately after the murder anyway, and I’d thought that was it. Case closed. Corinne was dead and her murderer was gone. There was nothing to do about it.”
I studied his profile, watched him work his jaw as he paused to gather his thoughts or remember the next detail. It’s a beautiful jaw, I thought. Because thinking anything else was too hard.
“I got really good at wasting my life,” he said. “Then when Tom and Steve were killed…”
“Were they your friends?”
He nodded. “Back when I had those.” His forehead crinkled. “I don’t know why Ralphio didn’t come after me first. I’ve tried to figure it out and I just can’t. Maybe it was random how he’d attacked us. Maybe I was lucky enough to not ever be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe it was because I was such a mess that he didn’t think I was a real threat. Whatever the reason, it was a wake-up call. I was alive—if it could be called that—and there had to be a reason. Something I was meant to do. With my testimony, the police had enough to make an arrest; they just couldn’t find the guy. So I decided to try to find him myself.”
My mouth fell open slightly. “You went after him?” I wanted to be appalled by that, but, in fact, it was kind of hot. I’d always liked JC’s dominant side in the bedroom. I hadn’t realized I’d like it outside as well.
“Yep. Maybe it was a veiled attempt at suicide, but I found myself in the task. I became obsessed. I hired some really good, really expensive, bounty hunters-slash-detectives. And I slowly began to set up business deals with people Ralphio had worked with, hoping to find some leads. As an investor, it was pretty easy to work myself into questionable crowds without drawing any attention. It was a perfect cover.”
The strange arrangement he’d had at the Eighty-Eighth Floor made more sense. “That’s why Matt let you use the club on Tuesdays.”
“Yeah.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you how we were connected. Matt thought it was better to keep that quiet while Ralphio was on the loose. I think mostly it was easier for him not to talk about Corinne. It wasn’t my place to reveal that to you.”
“Sure.” It was understandable but also sad. I’d been hurting from my past. Matt had been hurting from his. We could have leaned on each other. Why was it so hard for the broken to find each other? It made the miracle of me finding JC seem even more spectacular.
Except, here he was a good person. An amazing person who gave up his life to right a wrong, and I wanted him even more for that.
“Honestly,” I said now, wanting to be sure he didn’t feel bad for not telling me about Matt. “I understand the secrecy. It was frustrating, but I get it.”
“I appreciate that,” he said. “Anyway, as much as he didn’t want to talk about it, Matt wanted Ralphio caught as much as I did. It was why he let me get away with things at the club that he wouldn’t have let others get away with.”
I mock scoffed. “Because illegal gambling and stripping in the VIP room were the obvious ways to find a fugitive.”
“It drew the people I needed to talk to.”
It drew me to him. I couldn’t deny that.
“Eventually it paid off. I got a tip from a lobbyist who was drunk at the time he gave it, but I gave the info to my guys and they found Ralphio and brought him back to Manhattan.”
“That was the day you found me in the kitchen with my father.” It was also the last time I’d seen my sperm donator. He’d given me a black eye, and JC had stormed in and rescued me. Then he’d told me he loved me. And I’d never been happier.
JC nodded, his eyes focused on the sidewalk ahead of us. “The next day Ralphio made bail.”
I remembered that too and now things clicked together. He’d had a phone call that had upset him. Next thing I knew, he was proposing, begging me to go with him to Vegas.
“He made bail and you had to go into hiding. So you wouldn’t be killed too.” Saying it sent a chill running down my spine. It made me feel selfish and petty to have spent all the hours that I had lamenting his participation in Mennezzo’s trial. As if he’d had any other choice. As if I preferred him with me and a target, as opposed to not with me and safe.