I think.
I’ve been in law enforcement for almost thirty years, and even I can’t make heads or tails of her complex web. So I doubt the person in her room last night was able to either.
She has printouts of the photos Ridge took spread out across the conference table, as she sits cross-legged in a computer chair with an open sketchbook in her lap. Pens, pencils, highlighters, and other writing utensils are scattered all around her on the floor, the table, and her lap. A pile of processed snack foods rests on the chair next to her. Neon sticky notes in a plethora of colors are covered in her handwriting and placed indiscriminately all over the place.
Whatever system she has set up only makes sense to her.
Blake scribbles on another sticky note, rips it from the pad, and slaps it down on one of the photos. A determined wrinkle seems to be permanently etched between her brows.
The pink eraser at the end of a number two pencil is on the receiving end of her frustration as she chews it to bits. I’d bet my next pack of cigarettes that she doesn’t even realize she has the habit.
The multipurpose room isn’t much to look at, and in all honesty, it doesn’t get much use. Blake could move in here, and none of us would notice.
The beige walls are a few shades darker than the rest of the station due to the lack of natural light in here. Blake appears to be content to work among the scratched-up whiteboards, fluorescent lights, and cramped filing cabinets.
Blake’s head snaps up, pointing right at me. “I survived many years without a babysitter.”
Leaning a shoulder against the door frame, my eyebrows lift. “Funny. I think Levi, Santiago, and I can say the same.”
“And you all are still alive because of it,” she returns in a cheeky tone.
“And you can say the same thing,” I retort.
She gives me her signature you’re-annoying-me look. “You’re impossible.”
My palms make a slight upturn in response. She can be irritated with me all she wants, but at the end of the day, if she’s safe, I’ll happily take her ire.
Blake returns to her sketching and note-taking for a few moments. Even the crease between her brows makes a comeback, but it’s not long before she’s circled to irritation again. “I can’t focus with you hovering like that.”
Arching a brow, my head falls forward an inch in consternation. “I’m all the way over here. You have every office supply we have in the station besides a stapler, plus food,” I emphasize my pointing by nodding toward the pretzels, chips, and other snacks. “What more do you need?”
Blake drops her arms onto the table. “Space.”
The amount of time I’ve been standing here without her notice could be considered creepy, and I understand her need for room. No one likes it when people hover.
Pushing off the frame, I point my index finger at her. “Fine, but I’m not leaving the building.”
Leaving the door wide open, I head back for my office located right next to the meeting room.
Blake wants space, so I’m giving it to her. She deserves that at the very least.
Hell, she deserves a whole hell of a lot more than I’ve been giving her lately.
I let my door remain wide open as well, and I tell myself it’s not because I want to be able to see if Blake leaves the other room.
Collapsing into my desk chair, I kick my feet up and rest them on top of the desk. My office is exactly the way I left it this morning.
Incident reports are stacked neatly in a tray on the corner of my desk. My department radio charges next to my computer monitor. My coffee next to the keyboard is in the same place, but it’s long since gone cold. A heap of case files waiting for signatures sit neatly in the center of my desk.
The stark contrast between my office and the absolute chaos that Blake has turned the conference room into is drastic.
Flipping open one of the case files, I attempt to focus, but after rereading the same section several times, I still don’t know what it says. I swipe a pen from the top right drawer and jot down my signature. A brief review lets me know that I signed the wrong line.
So much for productivity.
I toss the file back on top of the pile and rise to my feet. Fiddling with the blinds over the one window in my office, I make note of the dust. Retrieving a napkin from another drawer, I give the horizontal slats a quick wipe and chuck the napkin into the trash.
Pacing the length of my office, my mind finally does what I’ve been trying to avoid.
