The sun is low. The dusk has turned gray. Shadows pass over his face, making his unreadable expression more difficult to interpret than usual as we drive down a street lined with brownstone homes.

“Is it some type of guilt thing? You feel guilty for the horrible things you’ve done and helping me somehow makes up for that?”

We stop at a red light. For several seconds, he says nothing.

I refuse to speak, my silence demanding an answer.

At last he turns to me with his stoic expression. “Yes.”

Not a shrug or a maybe or a yeah. It’s a full-out yes—with eye contact.

I’m not expecting it, and my mind blanks. The glow illuminating his face turns from red to green, softening his features. He looks away, and the car lurches forward.

I grab the pendant around my neck and start twisting it around my index finger. I wrap the chain around and around, letting blood pool in my fingertip.

This guy is a murderer, not a hero. He hurts people—kills people. He’s the reason my dad is dead. And I let him console me. I cried into his chest. So he could feel redemption from his crimes? “I’m not going to let you use me to absolve your guilt over murdering people.”

“And I’m not going to let you get yourself killed,” he snaps, shattering his mask of indifference. “The only reason your dad didn’t die sooner was because his investigation was high profile. Yours isn’t,” he says with contempt. I can’t tell if he’s threatening me or not. Either way, he knows what I’ve been up to. “He risked his life protecting people in this city. That included his daughter,” he says, like I’m the one who’s done something wrong.

It’s so hypocritical. Ironic. And the most he’s ever said to me at once. “My dad died putting people like you away.”

He snorts. “You’re more clueless than I thought.”

“What makes you think I won’t turn you over?”

His eyes flash at me, slicing into me. He leans closer to the door, indicating the conversation is over. “I don’t,” he says, his even, dispassionate tone returned.

I can’t tell what he means. He knows I’ll turn him over? He doesn’t care? He doesn’t think I will? I have no allegiance to this guy. I didn’t ask him to throw me off the pier. Or yank me into the stairwell. And I still have no idea why he did either.