The tension snaps like a steel cable. The words deflate the anger that had been building in my chest. I look at him, loving him, wanting desperately for things to be right between us. But I don’t reach out. This isn’t going to be settled easily. Maybe not at all.

“Female police officers get pregnant and have babies all the time,” I tell him. “It’s not an ideal situation, but they don’t quit their jobs or give up on their careers.”

“You can compromise. Take light duty. Cut out the late-night patrols.”

“You can’t ask me to do that.”

He says nothing, and the floor seems to crumble beneath my feet. I stare at him, flummoxed—and more upset than I’ve been in a very long time. “Tomasetti, don’t do this to me. Don’t make me choose.”

“We’ve both been thinking about it, Kate. All I did was open the box and let it out.”

I look down at my keys lying on the table. “I have to go,” I say as I snatch them up.

Spinning, I yank open the door. Then I’m down the steps in a single bound. Running toward the Crown Vic. Aware that I left my equipment belt and weapons. The interior light comes on as I hit the remote to unlock the doors.

I hear the door slam behind me. The pound of Tomasetti’s feet. “Kate. Kate!”

I reach the car, yank open the door. Out of the corner of my eye I see him coming around the rear, gaze steady and latched on to me. Sliding into the car, I jab the key into the ignition, turn it.

“Don’t go,” he says.

I try to close the door, but he’s standing in the way so I can’t. Gently, he sets his hand on my arm and bends to me. “Please,” he says. “I’m sorry. Don’t go.”

“Tomasetti, what the hell are we doing?”

“I think the official term is ‘fighting.’”

I choke out a laugh. “Don’t make me laugh, damn it. This is serious.”

“I know.”

I don’t turn off the engine. “I don’t know what to do.”

Letting his hand slide down my arm, he takes my hand and steps back. “For starters, you can come here.”

I turn the key and get out of the vehicle. He closes the door and then eases me backward until I’m leaning against it, and he falls against me.

“I was out of line,” he tells me. “I’m sorry.”

When I look away, he raises his hand and cups my chin, forcing my gaze back to his. “This scares me,” he says. “I’m not very good at being scared.”

“Neither am I.” I stare at him, trying to untangle the emotions thrumming inside me and the words sticking to my tongue. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

“You mean about us?”