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“Look,” I say. “It’s late. I’m done for the day. We can reconvene tomorrow and go through whatever you want.” Not to mention the damn headache brewing right behind my eyes.
It’s not fair for my partner to have to deal with me. I let her see my exhaustion, a little bit of vulnerability I never let anyone see. Least of all, Naomi Ellison.
She blinks those dark eyes at me, surprised. “Are you kidding? Dev, you’ve barely been here today, and when you’re here…I don’t need to tell you it’s basically like talking to a brick wall. Help a girl out a little bit. We’re never going to make a dent in things if we don't work together.”
“Trust me.” I pause to grab my coat and swing it over my shoulders, shrugging into the warm material in anticipation of the chill outside. “I've got people working on it. The IT guys are running their programs for me as well. We’re going to get to the bottom of this case, and when we do, the Syn—the perp is going to be brought to justice.”
“You never told me.” She shakes her head. “Come on—”
“I’m done,” I interrupt.
She hurries after me. “You can’t be done.” Her voice is loud enough to draw eyes and snickers from the rest of the guys working desk duties, especially Jerry, who no doubt has a quip loaded and ready to go in poor, douchebag taste.
I leave without saying anything else to Naomi. The entire ride down the elevator and out to the street, my phone rings. One call, two, three. I send the last one to voicemail and turn off notifications.
I’m a shit partner.
Better off for her, though, because I don’t need to get personally involved with a partner again and form a friendship. An attachment.
My own family has gotten the point. My mother used to call incessantly, at least once a day after I broke things off with Kimmy. Partly to rag on me for making a mess of the best thing that had ever happened in my life and partly to get me to see sense and go after her. When I failed to take the hint, she slowed the calls. Until finally, I stopped answering, and she stopped calling.
My father sent a strongly worded letter once, instead of a call or a text, and I crumpled it and threw it out. A shit son on top of everything else.
Instead of driving, I walk it off, taking the cold evening air and drawing it into my lungs. Nothing helps the spiraling thoughts inside of my skull or the paths my mind takes back to memory lane. I reach up to press my hand against my shoulder, the wound there buried under layers of clothing.
The scar will always be there, just like the memories. A quick stop at a corner store lands me with a microwave burrito in a plastic bag, and the dinner situation solved.
My keys jingle in my hand all the way up the stairs, sliding easily into the lock. Except the inside of the apartment isn’t dark, and it’s not silent.
I’m not alone.
The lights are on, and the stereo is blaring nineties dance music. There’s Naomi on my couch with her feet up on the coffee table, toes bobbing along with the beat. She’s got her socks off, and her toes painted a bright and chipper neon green.
Funny. I would have gone with pink if I had to guess.
“What in the good fuck is going on?” I blurt out.
I’m not sure how she hears me above the blasting of the music, but she slowly turns to face me and smiles. She’s in her clothes from the office and must have driven pretty fucking fast to get here, break in, and make herself comfortable. The ponytail is still in place, but there are a few stray hairs around her ears now, and I wonder if she’d gone full-on headbanging to a song before my arrival.
“There you are.” She sounds just as chipper as ever. “You needed an extra-long walk home, huh, Dev? I thought you’d never get here.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” My keys bite into the skin of my palm, and I stand there like an asshole, staring at the mess Naomi has already made. How long has she been here?
How the hell did she get in?
She shrugs and shifts on the couch, pushing forward even though she doesn’t take her feet off the coffee table. Not even socks. I shudder. “Kinda puts us back on even footing then, huh? Since you haven't been answering any of my questions, either,” she replies. “Turnabout is fair play. It’s a saying, isn’t it? I knew I’d have to go to drastic measures to get through to you.”
She lifts a brow at me, waiting for me to erupt. Waiting for me to do something other than standing there and struggling to keep up.
“At least my evasion didn’t lead to breaking and entering.”
“Oh, that little thing?” Naomi scoffs, and my eyes bug. “Nothing.”
“You’re a cop! What are you talking about?” I ask.
“I had a key made. I actually ran it by Ashcroft before I did, and he signed off on the idea because he’s worried about you. Said someone needs to have access to your place in case…you know.” She pauses, shifts uncomfortably, then slowly drags her thumb across her neck. “I guess he wanted someone to be able to get in the apartment in case you offed yourself and your body was left to rot.”
My keys drop out of my suddenly numb fingers. “Great. Thanks so much for the visual,” I manage to say. Never in my life had I considered suicide. Not even in my darkest moments. My coworkers, however, must think me close enough to the edge to consider something I can’t take back.
