Page 19 of Nothing At All

She had her phone in hand again, texting furiously. I ignored her on the remaining two blocks to the city complex.

In the fenced parking lot behind the building, I frowned at the PD seal next to the heavy metal door. “You want to file a report on this guy bothering you?”

“What?” She stared at me, eyes wide, those too-heavy, too-black lashes fluttering. “No.”

Why not? I swallowed that. I was new at this, too, and people got squirrelly about stuff. I’d ask someone who knew more before I pushed the point.

“You got a pic in case I see him around the neighborhood?”

She fumbled with her phone, fingers flashing across the screen. Finally, she turned the device toward me, an average looking guy pinning the camera with a bored expression. A cap sat backward on his head, a mullet brushing the collar of his Southern Tide t-shirt. Bro-country, all day long.

“What’s his name?” I filed away his features, the brown hair, blue eyes, the little scar by his mouth. “Text that to me.”

“Sure.” Skin pale about her pinched lips, she tapped on her screen and my phone vibrated. “Um, Brandon.”

“Last name?”

“Smith.” That strangled note might be fear. Maybe.

With her out of my car and headed around to the front of the building, I strode through the back door to the PD. Antibacterial cleaner hung heavy in the air, fluorescent lights gleaming off the waxed tile floor. I slid into a chair one table back from Josh for the shift change meeting and took notes while Dix talked.

In the department platform, I added a request for increased patrol rounds on my street.

Once the meeting broke up, I twisted around to look at Monroe, one of the older guys on the force. He’d been doing this since I was in middle school. He’d know what was normal. “Hey, Mel.”

He didn’t look up from his notebook. “What’s up, kid?”

“Normal for a woman whose ex is being sketchy not to want to file a report?”

“Can be.” He flicked a glance up at me, brows lifted over his reading glasses. “What kind of sketchy we talking?”

“Riding by her house, that kind of shit.”

“He texting, calling?”

I tried to remember what Nicole had said, but ignoring her and forgetting what she said was a habit. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Sometimes they don’t want to because that means admitting it’s bad. Or they know it’s bad and don’t want to make it worse.” Monroe tapped his pen on his pad. “Whose the vic?”

“One of my neighbors.” If she wasn’t reporting, she wasn’t an official vic and putting her name out there felt like invading her privacy. “Asked me to keep an eye out. I asked if she wanted to report. She said no.”

“You can’t make her.” With a shrug, Monroe tucked his pen in his pocket and shoved his chair back. “Good you’re nearby, though.”

“Yeah.”

Phone in hand, I studied Brandon’s photo. He looked like a prick. I tapped out a quick text. Need a description of his truck

Ford

Black

I stared. Lord, she was dumb.

All right, I did feel bad about that. Vapid, maybe. That was a good word. And fear did funny things to the brain.

New? Old?

Newish