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You don’t know me.
“Between you and Jasleen, things will get handled.” I refuse to feel guilty about it. “I just need a minute. We’ll blame it on lack of sleep.”
“Then take the car around the block and take your minute. Grab a coffee, a donut, whatever you need. I—”
“You can do this alone,” I interrupt. “I’m not going to be any help on the case if I don’t settle myself.” The little bit of vulnerability leaves a bad taste in my mouth, and I try to picture how this conversation would go if I were speaking to Layla instead of Naomi.
Layla would laugh her ass off and tell me to pull my head out of mine. To get my shit together. She never suffered fools, lightly or otherwise.
I missed her with every fucking breath for someone I’d never been romantically involved with.
“You’ve still got the car keys anyway,” I say, flashing my new partner a lopsided smile. “You got this. I’ll catch up with you later in the afternoon, and I’m always available to be reached by text. Okay?”
A beat. It’s all I need, and it better do the trick.
It’s the only thing that will get my head on straight. Both heads.
I leave Naomi behind, still scrambling to get me to stay, pulling out any kind of excuse she can think of and some that lead me to believe she had them loaded up already.
My place is only a few blocks over from here. Always the bad part of town, I think, hunching my shoulders against the chilly breeze. I used to think it was a better way to connect with the people I served.
Now it’s punishment.
I don’t deserve better.
I’m not a decorated detective anymore, in my mind—I’m the scum who lets a stranger blow him in an alley during work.
In the end, the walk does nothing to clear my head, and I throw open the front door to my apartment, feeling heavier than I’ve been in months. Despite the truly fantastic blowjob from the gorgeous stranger I had no business following.
I shrug out of my coat and let it drop in a pool on the floor. A second thought has me picking it up and hanging it in the wardrobe near the door, on the hanger, with the rest of my jackets.
Crossing the living room takes approximately two seconds, and I dodge a small love seat and a dying cactus.
Somehow, even with the simple needs of the plant, I’ve managed to kill it.
My laptop is buried under a pile of paperwork from all the cases I have open at the moment. It’s small in comparison to the caseload I used to tackle and the burdens I told myself I needed to shoulder to prove I was the best.
My old partner’s hunt for justice didn’t help matters.
I hope she found what she was looking for in the end. Or at least something close to peace in the afterlife. She deserved it.
Knowing I’d never really be able to rest, to take that beat, I drop on the couch, flipping open the laptop. My work computer might have most of the information I need, but I can still do some preliminary research. Look for clues, the way I do every day from home.
I don’t have the skills of the tech guys, but I’ve got a VPN and a complex. That sort of combination goes a long way.
A quick search of some backend websites.
Someone there will know if the number relates to a site or not.
The hours bleed into each other, and the sky outside darkens. My cell is somewhere, forgotten, as I dig a chasmic hole into the mystery of the number on the card.
The search leads to a chat room I haven’t been to yet. Member searches, names, aliases.
Another hour, and I’ve still got nothing.
The chat room has some shady shit for sale, though. The type disguised as anything else in order to disabuse suspicion. If you know where to look, though, it’s all right there in the open.
Dark web shit.
