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Lucy nodded and went back to her post. “They’re so pretty.”
“Keep them,” Sersha said. “Keep all of them. Or give them away to good causes.”
“I don’t get it,” Lucy said, her head dropping to the side. “He really loves you.”
“He doesn’t know me. Any messages?”
“A bunch!” Lucy said, grabbing a stack of notes from her desk to hand them over. “How can someone who doesn’t know you love you so much?”
“Exactly my point,” she said, looking through the stack.
One man showed his love with flowers, the other used mangled corpses. Did either of them really know her? That wasn’t fair, Connel never claimed to love her. His murder spree was about the family name, not winning her heart.
She turned to head for Steeple’s office but didn’t get a step before her head spun. Grabbing for the reception desk, she squeezed her eyes closed, searching for stability.
“Sersha!” Lucy exclaimed.
Someone held her arm and helped her to the floor to sit. Sitting was better.
“Thank you,” she said. “I just… moved too fast, I think.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
A male voice. A familiar one.
She opened her eyes to confirm the ID. “Daly.”
“Didn’t think I’d go far, did you? Want to get out of here?”
“No!” she asserted, trying to get back to her feet. God only knew where the notes had gone. “I’m going to my boss’s office.”
“Okay,” he said.
Suddenly, someone scooped her up off the floor. “What the hell are you doing?”
Daly again. Goddamnit. Was he even allowed to carry people? How injured had he been?
“Boss says to do whatever you need.”
“Well, you tell him I needed to have screaming, wild sex right in the middle of the bullpen and I forced you to oblige.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I wanna keep my life. But I can call him if you—”
“Don’t even think about it.”
Without knocking, he opened Steeple’s door. Her boss spun in his chair, phone to his ear, and frowned the moment he noticed them.
“I’ll call you back,” he said and hung up to leap to his feet. “Ser, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” she said as Daly settled her down in the seat opposite Steeple at the desk.
Daly offered a two-fingered salute and went out, closing the door, though he stayed right there to block it from the outside.
“This guy again?” Steeple said, wary as he descended to sit.
“Don’t,” she said on an exhale. “It’s not me, it’s Conn—I’ll talk to him, tell him to call his people off.”
Though without her phone, calling to converse might be difficult.
