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So far.
I shake my head. “Not kidding, no. The gears of CPS stop for no woman. I have a meeting first thing tomorrow morning about a permanent placement for an abandoned baby. Honestly, it might be a bright spot in my week. Giving a kid a home versus snatching them out of it; could be a nice change of pace.”
“Or you could take the day off and get some bottomless mimosas with me,” Ashley offers, wagging her brows.
“I thought you were sober.”
“I am! California sober,” she says a bit defensively. “Weed and alcohol are fine. It’s all about moderation.”
I watch Noelle zip her lips closed in an effort to keep all of her unsolicited advice inside. We both know moderation is not Ashley’s strong suit. Doing the exact opposite of what we adviseisone of her strengths, though. Most of the time, it’s better to stay quiet and let her figure it out on her own.
I give her a thin smile. “Raincheck on the brunch. I have a case file to review.”
I hang up to a mini-chorus of well wishes and encouragement. But too quickly, the oppressing silence of my apartment settles over me like a cobweb. No matter how hard I try to fight off the discomfort, I can’t seem to shake the tingle of wrongness in my skin.
It was easy to shove my attack into a dark corner of my mind when I had Noelle and Ashley to talk to. Now, it’s front and center. The same ninety-second interaction plays on an endless loop in my brain.
Along with the blue-eyed beast who came to my rescue.
That’s a little harder to forget.
4
PIPER
After I reread the first paragraph of my case file ten times in a row, I give up and chuck the folder aside.
“That’s a tomorrow problem,” I mutter, repeating one of my grandma’s favorite sayings.
In her world, almost everything is a tomorrow problem. Right now, it sounds like as good a solution as any. Especially when I catch sight of the stack of medical bills on the corner of my desk.
That isdefinitelya tomorrow problem. Maybe a next week problem. Maybe even a next life problem.
I drop down on my bed and drag a pillow over my eyes. I need a sensory deprivation tank. A place to exist without the past, present, and future crushing in on me from all sides. But I guess a pillow on my head will do in a pinch.
Without really meaning to, I fall asleep.
* * *
The rain is lighter now. It’s a fine mist, more like a fog than anything. It presses in on me, muffling my senses.
Hands plunge out of the haze towards me. Strong fingers wrap around my biceps and jerk me into the mist. I try to scream, but no sound will come out.
I’m frozen. Helpless. Defenseless.
The hands shove me back against the brick wall, but this time, it’s spongy against my spine. It’s almost comfortable.
Then the owner of the hands steps forward, breaking through the rain to reveal himself. I should have recognized him already. Even through the mist, his eyes glimmered.
“You,” I breathe.
The blue-eyed beast smirks. I didn’t know his full mouth could do that. I’ve only seen him grimace. A smile looks good on him.
I feel myself losing focus. But there’s danger here. I was being attacked. “Where did the other guy go?”
He leans in close. “It’s just the two of us now, Piper Quinn.”
The wall behind me is now a bed. Instead of standing upright, I’m flat on my back with the beast looming over top of me. I’m naked, too. When did that happen?
