Face pinching inward, he takes a hard inhale and nods, eyes closed.
“That’s right,” Reza whispers into his ear. “That’s right. You’re fine.”
It’s a lie, but it’s a pretty one. It abates the acid in Vince’s veins. Makes him feel nearly normal.
He rises, swipes the phone off the dresser. Presses it to his ear and opens roughly with, “Another one?”
A beat of silence. Then, “Yeah,” Hepburn says, tone heavy and hunted at once. “Yeah, another one.”
The detective moves as slowly as he can convince himself is acceptable. His hands are clumsy on each button of his shirt, movements stilted.
He wonders when Reza did it. While Vince was making an arrest with Graham, maybe. Riding a different, bitterer high.
I lost control, he’d said. He’d meant it.
Reza sits with his legs hanging off the side
