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In my book, Quinn knocked out two birds with one stone. Since the auction bust, he’s been skeptical of everyone; from the FBI to members of his own task force. Putting Carson as my detail ensures my safety to him, with someone he feels he can trust, even if Carson did betray him by leaking privy information to the press to pay on a gambling debt. But it also demotes Carson. From detective to babysitter, it’s his official reprimand.
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I hear Carson waiting for me outside the gym bathroom. The meeting must have wrapped up quickly. I finish drying my hair from my quick shower. Knowing he’s out there hovering, waiting, increases my anxiety. I hate having others wait on me, and I try to comb through my ratted tresses faster.
The process to darken my hair during the op wasn’t difficult. Going back to platinum blonde, on the other hand, has fried my golden locks pretty damn good. I should’ve just let the color wash out naturally. It might be childish, but I don’t want Quinn to regard my dark hair with Carson, linking some correlation between the two.
The day after the op, I had Alexis strip every bit of brown from my tresses.
“You all right in there?”
I huff out a long breath. “Fine. Almost done,” I call out.
I realize he’s just as annoyed by this arrangement as I am, so I bite back a snarky retort. Every morning for the past couple of weeks he’s rushed me after my training sessions with Quinn, and every morning I’m tempted to relay that not everyone is as quick as he is.
That, however, would bring the awkwardness front and center, and I’d rather allow us both to forget what transpired in The Firm. Again, for Quinn’s sake. Sometimes being an adult is ridiculous.
I stuff my makeup and hairbrush into my bag, then head out of the bathroom in the harried rush my life has become. “Ready. Let’s go see what Aubrey has in the works for today.”
Carson’s boyish features harden, as he knows just how unhappy I am about the FBI medical examiner taking over leadership of my lab since their arrival. Even more so now after I was involved with the warehouse bust.
I’m not a cop. I’m not a detective. I have no field training. So the fact that the Feds willingly documented my role in the bust as a supported tactic is not only skeptical, it’s absurd. I have no doubt that Doctor Aubrey Paulson has been put in charge to make sure I don’t screw up.
For my sanity, I have to take back charge of my lab.
Carson tries to be unseen as we navigate the hallways toward the crime lab. This isn’t an ideal situation for either of us, but recently, we’ve gotten good at giving each other space.
He takes his usual post at the entrance as I enter into the main lab. Aubrey is already seated at his desk, a chemistry set before him.
“Cramming for a test,” I say, digging my office key from my pocket. “I hear the teacher is a real pain.”
Aubrey completes his transfer of solutions before looking up. “Well, she has been riding me pretty hard.” His face flushes, and I turn toward my door quickly, allowing the innuendo to go unnoticed.
I may’ve been extremely preoccupied with my secret life, but Aubrey’s interest in me hasn’t gone undetected. It’s a shame, too. Despite his unfortunate connection with the FBI, he’s a brilliant scientist. Had we met under different circumstances, we could’ve gleaned so much from each other—two experts in our field.
It’s just such a sad cliché. A woman and man not being able to work companionably due to the sexual tension that inevitably arises. That stupid elephant in the room needs to be shot.
I drop my keys on my desk and blow out a breath. I never used to have such violent thoughts. And I work in a damn crime lab. But they’ve been coming more naturally lately, if I’m being honest. I used to think I was tough, strong. Quinn said I was deflecting, but that’s how I’ve been able to shield myself against my job for years. Resilient is a better word. Resilient in the face of adversity.
I had no idea a person’s will could be tested so thoroughly.
Price Wells broke me, the Alpha shown a light on my fractures. Instead of healing, I hardened, like a callus that forms over a splinter, the poisonous sliver too deep to excavate.
Every day, a new layer of skin thickens against the elements. I’m tougher, my edges more defined and abrasive. I fear the woman Quinn loves is vanishing—the woman he deems to protect may need more protection from herself.
Pushing unwanted thoughts aside, I adhere to my new routine. Every morning after training, I check on the solution. I test new compounds against it, apply variables, and log my notes.
This test I keep out of the lab; it’s my own private experiment. Although I do suspect Aubrey has an idea of what I’m up to; it’s not as if it’s a secret. If he asked, I’d tell him, but I’m thankful he hasn’t probed. For one hour each day, I’m able to hold my very own confession—my catharsis.
Working on the antidrug elixir to counter the effects of Trifecta has proven to be just as liberating as Quinn’s self-defense lessons. If the Alpha has any plans of releasing the drug to the public, I’m going to find a way to reverse it. It may not alleviate all guilt on my part for it’s creation—but since I am the drug’s designer, it’s my obligation to balance the scales.
Our worst fear is Trifecta landing on the streets. Finding its way into the hands of pimps and rapists. If that day comes, Quinn will fight it. And I’ll be ready with an antidote for the victims.
The newest solution may be close. Only I have no way to test its effectiveness. The thought briefly crosses my mind to inject myself, but then I see Quinn’s disapproving frown. I can’t put him through that again.
After I’ve logged my notes, I open my desk drawer and toss in the tracker. Not today. I grab the Velcro strap and slide my pant leg up, then wrap it above my ankle. Quinn would feel better if I wore a tracker—well, I feel better having a weapon of my own design.
After being abducted from my lab a couple times over, a girl has to take precautions.
