Chapter 2

An hour later, I was curled up on Sarah's apartment couch, clutching a pillow and trying to fall asleep.

The federal agents had originally wanted to take me to a new safe house, but I refused and had them drop me off at my college roommate Sarah's place—somewhere Kane would never think to look. I didn't want to see him right now.

Thankfully, Sarah didn't ask too many questions and just quietly made up a bed for me. But I couldn't sleep at all. The image of Kane and that blonde woman kept replaying in my mind.

It was already late at night. Maybe he wouldn't come looking for me. Maybe he was busy with that woman—

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Violent pounding on the door exploded through the night, making the entire apartment building shake.

I shot up from the couch instantly, my heart hammering like a drum. The sound of splintering wood came from outside the door, and Sarah ran out of her bedroom in terror: "Josie, what's—"

The door was kicked open.

Kane stood in the doorway, covered in gunpowder residue and blood, his suit jacket torn with a gaping hole, his left hand still dripping blood. But the most terrifying thing wasn't his disheveled state—it was his eyes. Those eyes that usually gazed at me with such tenderness were now cold as Arctic ice.

I remembered the legend of the "Grim Reaper." This was the Kane that criminals saw.

"Josie." His voice was unnaturally calm, calm in a way that made my blood run cold. "Come out."

Sarah cowered behind me, trembling. I tried to steady myself, but my voice still shook: "Kane, you can't just break in here—"

"Sentence me to death if you want," he took a step forward, and I instinctively stepped back, "but at least give me a chance to make my statement."

His words reminded me of courtrooms, defendant stands, and all those criminals who broke down in his interrogation room. Was it my turn now?

"I don't want to hear your explanation." I tried to make my voice sound firm. "That woman—I saw everything—"

"Whether you want to hear it or not, you're going to listen." Kane cut me off, taking another step forward. "There's only one truth."

My hands were shaking—or were his hands shaking? In this dim light, I couldn't tell. But I could see something churning in his eyes, something like anger, or maybe... pain?

"How did you find me?" I asked.

"I'm a detective, Josie." His voice was ice-cold as he extended his uninjured hand. "Let's go. Now."

"I'm not going anywhere with you!"

Kane's mouth twisted into a cold smile, the kind of smile that reminded me of movie villains: "Josie, I can ask you nicely, or I can use other methods. Which do you prefer?"

Sarah was quietly sobbing behind me. I knew I had no choice. This man was the LAPD's ace detective—if he really wanted to take me, no one could stop him.

"Fine, I'll come with you." I took a deep breath. "But that doesn't mean I forgive you."

Minutes later, I was sitting in Kane's car. The interior reeked of gunpowder and blood. He drove like he was operating a tank, taking every turn with lethal precision, every acceleration like he was venting something.

I gripped the seatbelt tightly and glanced at him sideways. His profile flickered between light and shadow under the streetlights, his jaw clenched tight, that scar near his eyebrow appearing even deeper in the shadows.

"The blood on you..." I couldn't help asking.

"Not mine."

"Whose is it?"

"Someone who deserved it."

His answer sent chills down my spine. Was this the real Kane? This cold-blooded, violent, ruthless detective?

I thought of those nights when he gently tucked me in, remembered how I liked my coffee, and softly stroked my hair when I woke from nightmares. Was that Kane fake?

The car stopped at the police tactical center. Kane walked around to my side and opened the door. This time he didn't force me—he just waited. I hesitated for a few seconds, then got out.

"Why did you bring me here?" I asked.

"To show you the truth."

The police tactical center was brightly lit, filled with high-tech equipment everywhere. Kane walked straight to a computer, casually grabbed some bandages from a nearby medical kit to wrap his bleeding hand, then entered a password and pulled up some files.

"Tonight's undercover operation," he said, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "Body cam audio recording. Complete version."

My heart started racing. "I don't want to hear—"

"You have to listen." He clicked play, and chaotic background noise filled the speakers.

It was the sound from the warehouse. I heard footsteps, low male voices, then a woman's voice: "They're watching, detective. You have to play along or you'll blow your cover."

It was that woman's voice. My breathing stopped.

Kane's voice came through the speakers, low and tense: "How long?"

"At least thirty seconds. They need to believe we're together."

Then there was silence. I imagined them kissing, my stomach churning.

But Kane's next words made my eyes widen:

"Fuck. My girlfriend's going to kill me for this."

The woman laughed softly: "She'll never know."

"You don't know Josie. She'll know everything." Kane's voice held tenderness and worry. "She's always concerned about my safety—she's probably back at the safe house overthinking right now."

My hand flew to my mouth.

The recording continued: trading negotiations, gunshots, chase scenes, then the commander's voice:

"Kane, just got word that your protectee requested emergency relocation, citing 'problems with protection protocol.'"

Kane's voice immediately became tense: "What? Is she at the safe house?"

"Negative, she's already left."

"Shit!" Kane swore. "Target secured, asset safe. Commander, I need to get back and find my girl immediately. She might have seen something—I have to explain. Let Reynolds handle this."

"Roger, Kane. Stay safe."

The recording ended.

The entire tactical center fell into deathly silence.

I turned to look at Kane. He stood there, the "Grim Reaper" gone from his eyes, replaced by exhaustion and something almost vulnerable.

"Kane..." My voice cracked. "I..."

"What you saw was only the surface." He said slowly. "That woman is our asset embedded in the organization. She was right—if I had pushed her away, we'd both be dead."

Tears began blurring my vision. "But I saw you two..."

"I know what you saw." He took a step forward. "But my heart was only thinking of you the entire time. Every second, I was wondering how I'd explain this to you after the mission."

I broke down.

All the anger, all the pain, all the misunderstanding collapsed in that instant. I thought of the pain in his eyes earlier, the blood on his body, how he'd broken into Sarah's apartment just to find me...

"I'm sorry." I cried. "Kane, I'm sorry. I should have trusted you. I should have waited for you to explain. I should have—"

His hand gently cupped my face, his rough palm warm against my skin: "Next time you have doubts, just ask me directly. Don't suffer alone anymore."

I nodded, tears streaming uncontrollably: "I thought... I thought you'd be like Diego..."

"I'm not Diego." His thumb wiped away my tears. "I will never be Diego."

An hour later, we sat in a nearby 24-hour diner with only us as customers. Kane sat across from me, having ordered my favorite hot chocolate and blueberry muffin. His hand was properly bandaged now, the white gauze stark under the lights.

"Does it hurt?" I pointed at his hand.

"No." He tore open a sugar packet and poured it into my cocoa. "Are you still afraid of me?"

I shook my head: "I wasn't afraid of you. It's just... the first time I've seen you like that."

"Like what?"

"Like the legendary Grim Reaper." I said quietly. "Now I understand why criminals are all afraid of you."

Kane was quiet for a moment: "That Kane exists to protect you. Including tonight."

"Tonight?"

"The blood." His voice was soft. "Tonight when we were arresting a weapons dealer, he tried to resist. And..." he paused, "I got word that Diego was released from prison three days ago."

My grip tightened on the cup: "Will he... will he come looking for me?"

"I won't give him the chance." A flash of coldness crossed Kane's eyes. "But until we deal with him completely, you need to be extra careful."

I imagined that scene—Diego's terror when facing the Grim Reaper Kane. Strangely, I felt no sympathy for him at all.

"Kane."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for coming to find me." I reached out to cover his bandaged hand. "Even after how I treated you, you still..."

"I would find you anywhere." He turned his palm up, intertwining our fingers. "No matter where you go."

His tenderness always appeared when I least deserved it. Looking at his tired but gentle features now, I remembered what he'd said in the recording:

"She'll know everything... She's always concerned about my safety..."

He truly understood me, truly cared about me.

And I had almost lost it all because of my own distrust.

"Never again." I squeezed his hand tightly. "I'll never distrust you again."

Kane nodded, then lowered his head to kiss our joined hands: "Let's go home, girl. It's late."

Home. He said go home.

Yes, wherever Kane was, that was my home.