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“Here,” I say, reaching for the glovebox.
My jaw flexes in irritation when she moves her leg out of my way. I wasn’t planning on touching her. I’m not using this as some fucked-up chance to try and seduce her, but her pulling back as if she wouldn’t even tolerate my touch is a slap to the damn face. I don’t blame her. I’m not upset with her. I fucking hate Dixon for hurting her and putting her in this position in the first fucking place.
“You can use this one,” I say, pointing at the handgun in the glove compartment.
She looks from the weapon to me and back again. “How many guns do you have?”
“In the car?” I ask, no hint of a joke in my tone. “Or in general?”
She shakes her head, a small smile playing on her split lip.
“Go ahead,” I urge when she just sits there. “It’s registered.”
She slow blinks at me. “You register your guns?”
I understand her surprise. Registration isn’t a requirement in New Mexico, so most people don’t do it.
I tilt my head, trying to hide my own smile.
“That one is registered.”
I’m awarded with another half-smile, and at this point, I’ll take anything she’s willing to offer me.
I pull up in front of the police department, reaching into the back seat to grab the shoes Slick brought by and stuck inside the SUV earlier this morning. I blame her ability to make me lose all train of thought for not remembering them sooner.
“Slick brought these,” I say, holding the sneakers up. “She had to guess your size.”
“Thank you,” she offers as she bends to pull them on without a single complaint about the fit.
She looks to the front door of the department but makes no move to leave the vehicle.
I want to offer to go in with her, but I get the feeling she’d decline on principle alone.
“You probably have stuff to—”
“I don’t,” I say, interrupting her in my eagerness to give her anything and everything she needs.
“Will you go inside with me?”
Rather than answering her with words, I pull away from the curb and find a parking spot.
With it decided that I’ll join her, she doesn’t hesitate to open her own door and start the trek to the front of the department. When we enter, drawing every eye in the place, I’m left wishing I’d called ahead and had someone open the back door for us. Even the guy in cuffs sitting at one of the detective’s desk looks at her with sympathy.
“Maison?” Chief Monahan says as he approaches. “I thought I said to take some time off to rest and recover?”
“If I’m going to need to clear out my office, I’d rather get it over with.”
Monahan’s face crinkles.
“You’re not fired, Maison.”
Instead of speaking more on the subject, Lennox walks toward her office.
“Is she okay?” Monahan asks me.
I turn to glare at the man. I was there yesterday when he all but ignored her questions about her job. She didn’t rub it in. She didn’t say I told you so or blame him for her attack after refusing to listen to her about the connections in the cases.
“If you have questions for your detective, you need to ask her.”
I leave him standing in the middle of the office, annoyed that he’d think I’d break any damn confidences she might’ve given me. I know there’s a process of getting back to work after something like this happens. She has to be cleared for duty and that may take some time, but telling someone not to worry and treating them like a child when all they think they have is the job, it’s a form of psychological torture no one should endure.
Lennox looks lost when I step into her office. Her eyes are open but unseeing as she stares off into space.
“Hey,” I say, hating the way she jolts.
She gives me a quick smile. I know immediately it’s fake, and I fucking hate it. I hate that she feels like she has to put on some sort of mask for me.
“I was wondering how you’d feel about me using you for sex.”
Her tone is flat, as if it’s a business deal that she could either take or leave and not feel any certain kind of way about it.
My heart races, my palms growing sweaty. I barely resist the urge to wipe them down my jeans.
In the same indifferent tone, I answer, “I guess that’s okay.”
Chapter 33
Lennox
I’m wondering if these are the final hours before my head just completely breaks in two. I know it’s crazy to have almost been raped and murdered last night and have this urge. I don’t have to be a psychologist to know it isn’t a healthy response, but at the same time, no one else has to live my life. I’ll do with it how I see fit.
