Will pulled out his handkerchief—crisp, white, absurdly neat—and gently began to clean the blood from her hands. He didn't say he loved her. That word was too small and too large all at once. Instead, he said the only thing that mattered in that room, at that hour.
Will’s jaw tightened. Lenny Brock was a vice detective, which meant he was just a badge with a worse drinking problem. Will’s mind, that relentless, precise machine, was already cataloging: Lenny’s shift schedule, his favorite bars, the unmarked Crown Vic he parked in a handicapped spot every day. He could solve this. He could make Lenny disappear into the system so deep he’d be filling out traffic citations in North Dakota. will trent angie
"Lenny?" he asked.
Will closed the door behind him. The deadbolt clicked with a sound of finality. He didn't sit. He learned long ago that sitting next to Angie on a bad night was like sitting in a fire. You’d get burned, and you’d thank her for the warmth. Instead, he said the only thing that mattered
"I've got you."