As the detective helped the weeping man to his feet and retrieved the recording device, Angel went to Dr. Collins’s desk, picked up her stack of evaluations, and was about to walk out the door when the detective stopped her. She caught her breath, afraid he was going to make her hand over the papers. Instead, he insisted she stop at the police precinct and sign an affidavit.

“We gotta make sure this piece of shit stays put, am I right?” he asked, holding the broken man in a firm grip.

“But—”

Her cell rang. It was Gabriela. “What is it? Is he okay?” she shouted into the phone, watching carefully as the detective put handcuffs on the pale wrists of her ex-boss.

“Honey, honey, calm down,” said an excited Gabriela. “He’s woken up. He’s groggy, but he’s okay. The doc says he’s got all his cogs in place.”

“His cognitive abilities are intact?”

“Sure. He ain’t stupid, is what she’s sayin’. Where are you, anyway? What is that yowling?”

It was Dr. Collins, crying as his Miranda rights were read to him.

“Listen, I have one small thing I have to do. Can you hold down the fort for a while longer? Give Jose a big kiss for me? Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“I don’t under—”

“It’s important. You’ll see.” She hung up and turned back to the cop. “Okay. Can I get a ride to the station?” She grinned at Collins, so cute in his handcuffs. “But I’ll let you sit in the caged backseat by yourself. Best you get used to that now.”

Chapter Twenty-four

Maybe I should give Duke a chance. The image of him running across the field with Jose, saving her little boy’s life, melted her heart. How could it not? And his heroism came on the heels of him admitting he’d walked away from the Bronx Bolts rather than take pain pills and performance enhancing drugs. What was there not to like? There was no ugliness in him, not like she’d believed. And he’s made me feel that what I found ugly about myself could be lovable … He’s made me believe I could be part of his world.

“Angel?”

She was standing in the middle of the precinct, not expecting to hear her name, and certainly not from such a melodic voice. Yet there he was, Duke, propping himself up on crutches but perfect nonetheless, even with half his face hidden under a baseball cap.

Oh. Crutches. His long sprint with Jose took on a whole new meaning.

Before she could dwell on it too long, he said, “Are you okay?” He was anxious, confused. “Why aren’t you with Jose?”

“I’m fine. And Jose’s actually fine—he woke up! What are you doing here? I thought you were at the hospital…”