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Whoever Thursday is… this isn’t the first time he’s put his hands on her in the last month. It’s the second, but that’s two too many. Short of following her around like a stalker, I don’t know how to get his name out of her. She’s insanely tight-lipped and refuses to break the rules she has in place.
Just... Fuck her safety.
She couldn’t care less.
I do, though. And it’s taking everything in me to let her handle it on her own. If I find one more mark on her, I’m asking Riley to help me sort the problem. Even if that means I have to break the rules and follow her like a serial killer waiting to snatch his next victim.
I press my thumb and index finger against my eyelids, shaking my head. I need a change of scenery, but I’m stuck waiting for my partner to get back to the office after he rushed out for croissants and espresso. Because we don’t have a ton of shit to sort through with the Crimson Bay Police and Fire Department.
No. If it was up to Harrison, we’d show up and act like bumbling feds with our thumbs in our asses and our heads in the sand.
I shuffle all the papers scattered on my desk into a neat stack, ready to move into the break room, when Trevor glides through the door as if time stops for him.
He’s my least favorite person in this whole fucking building, but what can I do?
Nothing.
“Morning, Lawson,” he calls to me, like we weren’t having a conversation at my desk three hours ago.
“Where the fuck have you been?” I ask. “I thought you went for food and coffee?”
“Croissants and espresso,” he corrects. “And who are you? My fucking wife?”
“We have a job,” I remind him. “Shit to do... A police chief and a fire chief to talk to.”
He shakes his wrist to expose his watch, and I try to stop my brow from wrinkling when I see it.
“I wasn’t gone long. We still have forty-five minutes before we meet them,” he tells me. “Settle down, rookie. You’ll give yourself hemorrhoids if you strain too hard.”
I blow out a heavy breath and collapse into my desk chair as I watch him. Observe him with some of the obsessive energy I’ve had all morning.
His mood has improved since he left, but when he pulls a snack bar from his desk drawer, I know he didn’t get food while he was gone. He doesn’t smell sweaty, so the gym isn’t an option, not that it really stood a chance. Trevor isn’t exactly healthy. His pupils aren’t blown wide, so I dismiss drugs. For now...
That watch, though.
I’ve seen him wearing it for the last two weeks. It’s the same brand my dad buys, and the price tag can easily add up to the purchase of a new car. Maybe ten grand, if you buy the cheapest one. And it really only sticks out because if it was something he’d been saving up for, then he’d be excited to show it off. But he doesn’t even acknowledge it as anything special or something he worked hard to afford.
I know how much the average salary for a federal agent is, and he’s not making enough here to afford the lifestyle he lives.
The only three options I can think of are that he comes from money, someone died and left him money, or he’s dirty.
Trevor has a quarter of a million dollars sunk in two cars, and when we stopped by his place six months ago... His apartment is nicer than Gemma’s. And she’s an entrepreneur, running her own business. I’ve seen her drop thousands of dollars on bullshit like wine or clothing or furniture without flinching.
Being a life coach is apparently pretty fucking lucrative for her, though I don’t know how you can give other people life advice when you can’t implement the same measures to rid yourself of abusive men. It blows my fucking mind.
The thing is, it wouldn’t be unusual to see her in a thousand dollar pair of shoes or luxury clothing. She carries herself as if she comes from an affluent family. I know because I’ve lived that life.
My dad is a US senator, but he came from old money before getting a law degree and making a name for himself. He expected Emily and me to act and dress a certain way any time we left our house. Naturally, I became a stickler for rules while my younger sister went the opposite direction for a while.
She’s now married to a sleazy politician from Silva Meadows who is the same age as our mom. But my opinion of Stephan Reynolds doesn’t matter when she’s still actively rebelling against our parents.
Seeing Trevor Harrison wearing tens of thousands of dollars in brand names to work every day is getting real suspicious real quick.
And I’m going to run on a hunch here and say someone’s been cleaning up these files.
So before I let Trevor troll through them, I decide to take pictures of what’s left. Just not out in the open where anyone can see me.
I stand from my desk chair, tuck the folder under my arm, and head to the bathroom. There’s no need to worry about cameras in there, though my director might ask why I took them with me. It’s an easy enough lie to sell, telling him I was so engrossed that I couldn’t stop reading until I was done, not even for a personal moment. He’s a modest sort of man, so he shouldn’t ask any further questions.
