he said, meaning every word, knowing she had more than every right never to believe him again. She shoved him. He faltered backward, then regained his balance. She shoved him again. This time he didn’t budge. And when she saw she couldn’t move him, she started pummeling his chest. He didn’t feel anything other than a well of remorse bubbling through his insides. “When did you decide that?” she asked, raw agony making the question a knife that slid between his ribs. Jack had no idea how to explain. He had no idea how to make her understand. “I already know you had nothing to do with any of this.” “Oh really? How did you come up with that conclusion? Because I’m good in bed?” “Our being together has absolutely nothing to do with trying to find out who murdered those people,” he insisted, trying not to let the sneer in her tone add to the well. “Or finding out that my best friend was a criminal.” “Sue me,” she fired back at him. “Because if you think I’m going to feel sorry for you right about now, you know what will happen to hell.”
