“Have you ever wanted something so badly that you’d sell your soul to have it?”

Wyatt clenched his fist, perhaps contemplating whether another punch might prevent Eli’s imminent devolution into melodrama. “Something or someone?”

“Either.”

He considered this in the manner of a man who had never thought about it before. But Eli knew better. A man like Wyatt Fox thought about things a great deal.

“I have.”

“And don’t say you’ve never lied or kept a secret,” Eli said, “because all your mysterious trips downstate say different.”

Wyatt’s eyes widened in gratifying surprise. Gotcha, Mr. Fox. “What do you know about it?”

“Enough. When I first started this thing with Alexandra, I had background checks run on the whole family. I needed to be sure there weren’t any skeletons rattling around in the Dempsey closets. I have enough of my own without taking on anyone else’s.”

What he’d found out about Wyatt Fox wasn’t exactly damning, but the fact that he was holding back from the rest of them spoke volumes. Those weekly trips to Bloomington were no doubt tied to the monthly transfers out of his bank account. So strange. It wasn’t as if the Dempseys wouldn’t welcome more strays into the fold. Neither did Wyatt seem like the kind of guy who would be ashamed of a past indiscretion, which made his motives for the subterfuge all the more puzzling.

Wyatt appeared only mildly affected by this revelation. “Are you threatening me?”

Eli waved that off. “God, no. I just think that a man in your position, a man hiding something from his family for whatever reason, might understand that sometimes people lie. With the best of intentions. I wanted your sister. I’ve wanted her from the moment I met her. That’s not to say my motives were a hundred percent pure, but there’s never been a second when she hasn’t been on my mind.”

“So you pretended Sam Cochrane was going to sue her to force her to date you.”

“Put like that it does sound . . . Shit, okay, that sounds bad. Really, I saw an opportunity to spend time with her. Get to know her—”

“But the lawsuit stunt isn’t what’s upset her. It’s something worse.”

Worse, and possibly unforgiveable. “It is and, for once in my life, it’s a situation I can’t talk my way out of. It’s a done deal and there’s nothing I can do to fix it.”

A moment of not uncomfortable silence—and, perhaps, understanding—passed. “Are you expecting me to pull for you now, Cooper?”

“Just thought you might feel a tiny bit remorseful about hitting me.”

“You deserved it.” Wyatt gave a cursory glance over his shoulder. “How long before I’m cuffed and sent to lockup?”

“Think nothing of it. I’m going to win her back, you know.” Those words came from some deep place where a fool’s hope lived. Hell, he’d been a fool for this woman from the start, and if he was going to take a header, he would make sure it was spectacular.

“And I’m gonna enjoy watching you make a complete fuckin’ idiot of yourself. Because that’s what you’ll have to do to be within a snowball’s chance of gettin’ with my sister again.” He stood, zipping up his CFD fleece as he rose. “What did you do in the corps, Cooper?”

“Ground intelligence. You?”

Wyatt’s smile was a slow burn. “Sniper.” He held out the hand he had just used to almost rearrange the mayor’s face. Eli clasped it and shook firmly enough to make the man wince.

“But then I expect you already knew that, Mr. Mayor.”

Alex landed a kick to the bag in the gym at Engine Company 6 and imagined it was Eli Cooper’s head.

No, his balls. Though according to the latest online gossip she’d definitely not read, because she was definitely not obsessing over Eli’s every move since their bust-up, she could leave the personal injury stuff to the mayor’s inability to put one foot in front of the other. Per the reports, he had tripped and bruised his jaw when stepping out of the shower. Like she believed that for a second.

Someone had hit him. Hard. She only wished she’d thought of it first.

Compounding her misery was the fact it was the worst day of the year for a singleton: Valentine’s Day. Whatever. She preferred to see it as The Day Before the 50% Off Truffles Sale at Fannie May.

Sweat rolled off her, drenching her tank. She aimed a foot at the bag. Its resounding thump should have felt good, but nothing did.

How could he use her like that?

She got it now. All that distrust he carried, the looking over his shoulder waiting for the knife in his back. Years can go by before you find out a person’s true colors, he’d said that night at DeLuca’s. People always hide things, play parts . . .

He was talking about Weston Cooper, but he could just as easily have been describing himself. His father had betrayed him and his mother in the worst possible way. He’d committed a crime, brought death on his family, then left Eli with this legacy he couldn’t abandon.

Refused to abandon.

Of course, it wasn’t Eli’s fault his father was a criminal—she knew that—but he had benefited nonetheless. He could give away his inheritance. He could refuse to take a salary. But he continued to profit where it counted. Politically. The unions had endorsed him, and no way could he pretend that the legacy of Weston Cooper didn’t play a part.

To her soul-sickening shame, Alex herself had played a part. Local 2, her own union, had come out for the mayor. Her “romance” with Eli had prompted that endorsement, and now all those old insecurities about being a traitor to her tribe—to the people of her heart—came back to haunt her.

All. Wrong. She kicked the bag again.

“Alex, you need to see this,” she heard Wy calling behind her.

“Busy.” Marinating in her disgust for a certain smooth-talking dickweasel.

“No, you’re not. Get in here now.”

So he hadn’t raised his voice, but that was about as heated a tone as she’d ever heard from her stoic brother. She followed his voice to the lounge, where the B shift was watching TV. The ten o’clock news, and from the clock on the screen, they were only a minute in.

Marissa Clark was on deck, by the looks of it on Michigan Avenue. Which was sort of strange because she was the six and ten anchor on NBC 5 and never did the field reporting.

“We’re used to seeing Chicago’s great architecture being lauded the world over, but this week it ’s getting more attention than ever. First with the city council’s move to halt the installation of an ‘architecturally tasteless’ sign on Sam Cochrane’s riverfront building. Now, on this Valentine’s Day, it would seem a certain someone would like to remind a certain someone else that our city ’s skyscrapers can send more visually impactful messages.”

The camera pulled back to show the skyline behind Marissa, and more particularly the Crain Communications Building, though most people called it the Diamond (or more crudely, the Vagina building). Traditionally used to get the city amped at the start of Bears or Hawks season, tonight its window lights had been manipulated to showcase a different dispatch.

Alex gasped.

Up high, for all the world to see, was a message for one person:

Eli

♥

Alexandra

With a big, red, flamboyant heart.

That no-good, unscrupulous pigfucker!

Her phone rang in the pocket of her sweats and she pulled it out, expecting more of the media calls she had been ignoring all afternoon. Thankfully, it was only Kinsey. “Did you see the news?”

“I’m watching it now.”

Marissa was jabbering on about how the mayor’s office had released a statement assuring citizens that no taxpayer dollars or campaign contributions had been used for the current lighting scheme.

“Neither the mayor nor Alex Dempsey could be reached for comment, though we have to wonder what woman could fail to be moved by such a romantic gesture.” Marissa’s eyes shone glossy and it wasn’t from the cold.