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Am I really going to get into this on a phone call? Jackson deserves to know the real reason I’ve been avoiding them, but I can’t seem to get the words to move past my throat.
“It’s more than just a case I’m working, Jack.” I call my brother by the nickname only his wife and I use. She stole it from me. He was my Jack before he was hers. When I was really young, I couldn’t say his full first name. I could only get the first part right. It only comes out on occasion now that I’m grown.
“I’ve got time for my little sister.”
“Since when does the all-powerful Jackson Andrews have spare time?” I chuckle, hearing his breath vibrating through the line. It warms my heart that my comment made him laugh.
“Only for special people. So,” he prompts.
“I need you to ask your wife. It really is a long story, too long, and not one that should be told over the phone. Plus, I just parked. I have a lot to get done today.”
“It’s Saturday, and you don’t work weekends unless you’re on-call. You aren’t on-call for another three weeks.”
During my and Alana’s talk, I didn’t get into being on admin leave or that my job is hanging in the balance right now. I had already said too much as it was. That would have put her over the edge. She already hates the unit I work for at the PD. She’d flip her shit if she knew I’m currently helping the DEA on a case.
“Since now,” I admit. “Jackson, please talk to Alana. She’ll fill you in and then if you want to talk, and I know you will, call me. But know that I’m fine. Alana showing up was a really good thing, and I should have told you both what was going on.”
“Brianna,” he draws out. “You’re making me worry, and I worry enough as is. Man up and tell me yourself.”
“Jackson,” I whine.
He’s right. I should, but sitting here hashing out the whole ordeal isn’t going to get me one minute closer to nailing Diaz or finding my boy.
“You have nothing to worry about. I’m a grown woman that can take care of herself. If I weren’t knee-deep in a lot of shit, I’d come home and tell you, but I can’t so talk to your wife.”
“Why do I get the feeling I’m going to want to rip someone apart?”
“Because you love me and are way overprotective. You’re the helicopter parent no one knows is a helicopter parent. You hide it well.”
“I’m not a helicopter parent. What the fuck is a helicopter parent?”
“Ask Alana that too. I have to go. Love you, big brother.”
“Love you too, brat.”
I press “end” on the call, dropping my cell phone into my purse, then push the door open and get out of my car.
I stand, looking over the roof of my Audi, eyeing the unmarked building. I’ve driven past here multiple times not realizing this was the LA field office for the DEA.
There is no signage marking the building. It’s a white two-story that’s quite inconspicuous. There are windows lining the upper and lower levels and a glass door at the front with writing on it that I can’t make out from the parking lot.
Walking around my car, I head to the door. Pulling on the metal handle, it doesn’t budge. It’s locked. It’s then I notice the keypad to my right and an intercom system. Eric didn’t mention I’d need badge access, so I either call him or press the call button.
Reaching up, I press the white, round button and then wait.
It’s a full minute before the door opens with Eric peeking his head out.
“You’re early.” He swings the door open, gesturing for me to enter. “I wasn’t expecting you for another fifteen.”
“On time”—I do air quotes as I slide past while he holds the door open—“might as well be late. I don’t do late, Alders.”
“Eric,” he corrects. “Just call me Eric. I hear my last name enough. It gets tiring after a while.”
He steps in front of me, turning to face me while walking backward.
“Since we’re friends, you can stop all the formal shit.”
“Who says we’re friends already?” I don’t give him a chance to answer. “Took my last partner”—I do air quotes again—“at least a month to become friends, and now I’m not sure we ever were.”
