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And the new me, surprisingly, has friends.
Such a foreign feeling.
Making my way across the dining area of the bar, I lean over the booth and stifle my laugh when I find Tim asleep, his thick bottom lip just barely parted to allow air to pass through, and his broad shoulders bowed in so his muscular chest pushes forward. He has tattoos too, and a thick vein rolling through his neck that makes me think of Archer.
Both men are intense. Both are bossy. And neither of them hesitate to cuss at me when they feel like it.
Damn them both for making me realize I have a type.
Shaking my head and stepping away, I hold my stolen coffee mug in my hand and stare longingly at the steaming pot on the counter against the wall. Tim needs his sleep, and my morning commute just so happens to be at the worst possible time of the day for his schedule. Which means tomorrow, I need to have my own coffee in my own apartment.
Everyone deserves to sleep uninterrupted, even if their grumpy act is charming and sexy.
Stepping to the heavy wooden door, I take my coffee through and flip the lock before I leave, then pulling the door shut, I listen for thesnickbefore I turn and walk away again.
Sweet dreams, Tim.
It’s time for me to start my new job.
* * *
Despite my grand plans just a day ago to never again walk this way, I’ve since realized everything is on theotherside of Archer’s apartment: my work, the store, the hospital, and everything in between. Which means unless I plan to go the long way around every day for the rest of my career, I don’t get a lot of choice but to pass his apartment and hope against all hope he no longer hangs out on his fire escape.
A reasonable assumption, considering the weather. Though that would mean to assume he’s a reasonable man.
Yet to be determined.
With my coffee fisted close and my other hand warming in my pocket, I pass his apartment with my head down and my eyes on the sidewalk in front of me. I pass the store with police tape out front—but I use the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street—and just another block up, I pass the massive hospital, so large in its presence, it rivals those I was familiar with in New York City.
Nerves flitter low in my belly as I come closer to the George Stanley Building—my new home away from home. Stopping across the street when I’m right out front, I look up and marvel at the high-rise that stands an easy fifteen floors tall. A steep driveway leads below the building—parking, I gather, or perhaps storage—and at the front is a revolving door bustling with people coming and going.
Forensic scientists in white lab coats go in, and plain-clothed families come out. Police detectives mill around, and cars zoom through the driveway just as often as vans and wagons.
If I thought moving away from New York meant I was coming someplace quieter, then standing outside the Stanley building now is proof: whether I work in a city of eight million or four million, people continue to die in droves, securing my future in forensics and justifying the existence of the team I get to lead the moment I step inside today.
Taking a deep breath and shaking my head at the icy cold tendrils of winter that scrape at my throat, I drop my gaze once more and start across the street. I would typically carry a briefcase, or at the very least, wear my cross-body bag to hold my belongings, but the briefcase was inside my stolen suitcase, and my stolen suitcase was never returned.
Though of course, I knew it wouldn’t be.
And that’s fine. Really. There was nothing particularly valuable in the bag, and nothing that won’t be replaced the moment I step inside my office today… but the absence of its weight in my hand as I come closer to the George Stanley adds to the nervousness washing through my stomach.
Bravely, I step into the path of the spinning door and join a handful of others entering the building made up of glistening tile and sparse furnishings. This isn’t the type of place people typically go to hang out and shoot the shit. If you’re visiting here, you’re a cop, a doctor, or your loved one is already dead, and you’ve been called in to identify the body. If you’re a detective following up on a case, you’re here to find your doctor and ask a specific set of questions. And if you’re a scientist, then you’re working and have a long list of things to get done, because in a city this size, people die faster than doctors graduate medical school.
There’s too much work and not enough manpower to get through it all.
That’s a universally known fact.
“Doctor Mayet?”
I turn at my name echoing across the tiles, and stop on a woman who appears to be a couple of years younger than I am. She’s shorter than me, a little curvier, has blue eyes, and hair several inches shorter than mine. Though her hair is made up of pink streaks and blonde ambition.
“Pleasetell me you’re Doctor Mayet?”
“Er…” I stumble back when the bubbly woman comes in with an aggressive hug.
“I’m Aubree Emeri.” She squeezes extra tight just to push home her threat, then stepping back, she smiles so big, her cheeks force her eyes halfway closed. “I’m your second in charge. You’re my new boss. And for the next hour or two, I get to run the show.”
“You do?”
