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I lean my forehead against his chest, tears streaming down my face. Aaron can tell me it's not my fault all he wants – I can't help but feel responsible though. Robert is my problem. And now I've brought my problems to Aaron's doorstep. Quite literally. How can I not feel responsible for that?
Aaron strokes my hair and plants a gentle kiss on the top of my head. His body is tense, and I can feel the anger coming off of him like it has a palpable substance to it. It's thick and it's viscous and it clings to me like the thickest cobweb ever.
Aaron puts his fingers under my chin and raises my face to his. There is such a look of gentle compassion in his eyes that it melts my heart.
“Stop beating yourself up,” he tells me. “This is all just – stuff. It can all be replaced.”
“But your things –”
“Are just things,” he goes on. “I can get new things. And I have insurance, anyway. Trust me, the real valuable, sentimental stuff is not here. It's kept safe elsewhere.”
The things that fill his condo may be easily replaced, but it's still going to be a massive headache to deal with. But still, it eases the burden on my heart that his sentimental things aren’t here. Somewhat.
“Mr. Steel?”
We both turn and I feel my eyes widen slightly when I see Detective Lundgren enter the bedroom. He looks at me for a moment, an expression of surprise on his face.
“Ms. Hall,” he starts. “It's a – small world.”
Feeling a sudden spike of anger, I glare at the detective. “This was Robert,” I growl. “He's been following me, he's already threatened Aaron – this is Robert, Detective Lundgren.”
He sighs and looks down at the ground, a look of exasperated frustration on his face. Through it all, Aaron has remained silent, just standing there and observing us. I assume he caught on pretty quick that Lundgren is the one handling my case with Robert.
Lundgren finally looks up, his face grim. “You know that, and I know that,” he says. “But until we have proof of it, there's nothing we can do. We can't, unfortunately, just go pick him up and beat a confession out of him – as satisfying as that might be.”
“Surely, there has to be something that can be done,” Aaron finally speaks. “I mean, it's beyond obvious who did this – the same man who's threatened Emily time and time again. And the same man who's now done this to my condo. We're damn lucky he didn't kill a complex filled with people.”
“We're very lucky,” Lundgren admits.
“This could have been prevented if you'd taken Emily seriously and did something to stop him, Detective,” Aaron presses.
Lundgren's expression darkens and his jaw clenches. He obviously doesn't like having his work critiqued or being told what he should or shouldn't do.
“I'm sorry, but how do you two know each other?” the detective inquires.
That's a good question. A very good question. I don't think we're at the point where we can declare that we're in a relationship just yet. At the same time, I think we've moved well beyond the traditional boundaries of boss and employee. I have no idea what we'd call each other, to be honest.
“We're seeing each other, Detective,” Aaron says, his voice low and cold. “Not that it has any particular relevance other than providing this psycho fuck with the fuel he needs to keep harassing and threatening the both of us.”
“I understand how you feel, Mr. Steel –”
“You really don't,” Aaron snaps.
Lundgren sighs and nods. “Fair to say,” he replies, obviously struggling to keep his voice even and calm. “But I can't just go roust Robert without any proof of wrongdoing. I need probable cause – a witness or some sort of evidence like getting him on tape.”
“I don't see how this makes any sense, Detective,” Aaron growls. “Forget what he did to my place for a minute – the fact that he's violating his restraining order and is threatening Emily –”
Lundgren holds up his hand to cut Aaron off. “And as I told her before, I need proof that he's doing any of that before I can move,” he explains. “I believe Emily. I believe every word she says. But I'm bound by the law and there is nothing I can do.”
“This is bullshit,” Aaron grunts.
As they continue to go back and forth, my phone rings. Pulling it out of my bag, I wave at the two men and then step out of the room. It's Olivia calling. She normally doesn't call in the middle of the day without a reason. As if I don't already have enough on my plate to worry about. Making my way back through the wreckage of his place, I walk out onto the balcony that overlooks downtown LA, admiring the view. It really is gorgeous.
I push the button to connect the call to the speaker and lean against the railing, breathing in the cool, salty air of the ocean.
“Olivia, everything okay?” I ask.
“Emily, I got the results of your lab work,” she tells me.
