and relieved him of his weapon, I stood back up and looked around to find my partner with a bullet through his chest and a mother and daughter with matching ones through their heads. I was so busy trying not to crumble to the ground in grief that I forgot to cuff Joe. He jumped up from the ground, grabbed my side-arm, and shot himself under the chin, blood and brain matter splattering against my police uniform.
The sound of the phone ringing tears me away from my dark memories of that night. I need to focus on what I’m being paid to do. Who gives a rat’s ass about the relationship Layla has with Eve? Gwen is right. It has absolutely nothing to do with the stalker case. It has nothing to do with me. If this is the way Layla chooses to live her life, I don’t give a flying fuck.
Pulling up the file on the computer where Gwen stored the scanned copies of the letters Layla has been receiving over the last year, I go over them and take some notes, focusing my mind on what's important, not on what doesn’t matter.
Layla and the choices she makes do not matter. She’s her own person and can do whatever the fuck she wants. I couldn't care less.
It’s been three weeks since Brady and I went on our run. Three weeks since he's actually acted like a decent human being to me. I have no idea what changed between then and now, but the playful, friendly Brady has been replaced with the stand-offish, all-business Brady. I tell myself that I should be happy about that because it’s not like I need the extra distraction that friendly Brady gives me. I don’t have the time to daydream about kissing the dimples on his cheeks or the warmth I felt as I watched him talking to his niece on the phone.
Then why the hell are you doing it right now?
We’re sitting next to one another at the same conference room table where we met. But this time, I’m not on the opposite side of the table wondering who the hell he is and what he’s doing in my domain. Now, we’re sitting so close that every once in a while his leg brushes up against mine, and I have to fight down the urge to reach over and place my hand on his thigh to see if it’s as muscular as it looks.
I’m still wondering who the hell he is, unfortunately. I’m still questioning if I can trust him and if the two sides of I’ve seen of him so far will be it, or if there’s some other personality lurking under the surface waiting to jump out and confuse me even more.
“So you don’t read all of your fan mail?” he asks distractedly as he sorts through a pile of stationery, unopened envelopes, and torn-off sheets of paper—all with words of praise, thanks, or backhanded compliments from my fans all over the world.
Aside from barely saying two words to me for the last few weeks, and only replying to me with curt answers, Brady has been here at the office every day poring over all of my mail or following me to all of my meetings and practices, making inquiries and taking notes. He had asked me to come in today because he has a few questions. Well, actually, he had sent an email to Finn asking me to come in today, which of course pissed Finn off. I’m still treading lightly with him after the incident in the woods. He feels slighted, like I chose Brady over him. I would never choose anyone over him. It'll take some groveling and sucking up on my part to reassure him that I would never choose Brady over him, but he'll eventually come around. He always does. I tried my best to smooth things over with him when he received the email.
“Why the hell is he emailing me for? And why does he need to bother you with this shit? If he has questions, he should just ask me,” Finn angrily complained as he scanned through his emails on his phone.
“Finn, he’s doing his job. You know there is no use fighting this. Eve hired him and we just have to live with it for a little while. He’ll see that there’s no claim to these stalking allegations Eve has insisted on, and he’ll go back to his life and let us get