He nods, looks over at the graves. He grimaces upon seeing the doll, then he turns his attention back to me. “You okay?”
For a split second, I think I am. I’m going to make some snide remark about his city-slicker clothes and give him hell for disturbing me during a private moment. Or maybe I’ll rub it in a little that my high-risk sting paid off. I’ll make fun of Skid’s partially shaved head. Brag about getting the sons of bitches responsible for the murders of this family. Instead, I put my face in my hands and burst into tears.
For a moment, the only sounds come from the patter of rain against the ground. The caw of a crow as it lifts from a twisted branch of the bois d’arc tree. And the sound of my sobs. Saying nothing, Tomasetti keeps his distance, waits me out.
“I’m sorry,” I say after a moment. “I’m a mess.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” I use my right sleeve to wipe my face. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“I’ve seen you naked.”
Choking out a laugh, I raise my head and look at him. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“Sorry.”
I blow out a sigh, try to settle myself. “I thought I’d feel better when this was over.”
“Give yourself some time.” He sighs. “You’ve been through a lot, Kate.”
“I wanted to do more for them.”
“You did your job. You gave them justice.”
“I got justice for myself, too.”
“You shot a murderer in the line of duty,” he returns evenly.
“I shot him when he was down.”
“He had a weapon. You didn’t have a choice.” Tomasetti’s eyes sharpen on mine. “Guilt can do a number on you if you let it.”
He’s right, of course. The use of lethal force is a heavy burden for a cop to carry around. Even now, I feel the weight of it on my shoulders. But not in the way he thinks.
“I don’t feel bad about killing Barbereaux,” I say after a moment.
“Tell me you don’t see his face when you close your eyes at night.” He frowns. “Tell me that’s not why you’re hitting the booze.”
“The only reason I feel bad is because pulling that trigger felt so damn good. What kind of person does that make me?”
“That makes you a cop that had to make a tough decision. That’s all. No more. No less. End of story.”
I can’t hold his gaze, so I look out over the sea of headstones. “There were too goddamn many parallels, Tomasetti.”
“I know.”
“She was young and troubled and Amish. She was pregnant.” I run my hands over my face, surprised because I’m crying again.
“She was na?ve, Kate. You were never that na?ve.”
“I guess the moral of the story is you can’t go back.”
The rain is coming down in earnest now. His hair is wet. The shoulders of his coat are wet. I can feel water soaking through my own coat. “There’s not enough good in this world,” I say quietly.
“There’s more good than bad. You just have to look for it. When you find it, you have to hang on tight.”
He opens his arms, and I fall against him. His warmth and strength wrap around me like wings. Closing my eyes, I revel in the sensation of being held. “Have you found your good?” I whisper.
“Yes.” He kisses the top of my head. “I’ve found it.”