“I’m sorry, but it’s the policy of the department that I can’t give that information out.”
He blows out a frustrated breath and curses quietly. I sit in my seat, uncomfortable and hoping he leaves. Something about him gives me the creeps and makes me want to scream for help. With every passing moment, he becomes more and more jittery. I want to know what the hell his deal is with Jack. From what I see of his dress, he’s not wearing any identifying logos that give his delivery story any validity. It could be my paranoia, but I don’t like this one bit. We get enough visitors in here asking questions about the house, particularly tourists who just start snapping pictures of everything in sight. The worst is when they try to take pictures of the memorials in the garage when the doors are open. Chief Delgado prefers to keep those private and not have them end up all over the internet.
The front door swings open behind the man, and he jumps. I lean over to see who it is and immediately regret taking this volunteer job. Okay, I didn’t “take” it. I asked for it—more like begged, really—and let Daddy work his magic. As if it isn’t bad enough working in the same space as Jameson Hayes for thirty hours a week, seeing his Cranky Pants girlfriend walk in randomly—and having to speak to her—is really killing my mojo.
“Lydia, hi,” I say with a forced smile. Lydia’s dark hair is pulled up in a perfectly orderly bun that I’ve never been able to achieve. Her makeup is minimal, and she’s wearing a sexy sun dress with wedge sandals.
“Melanie,” she says with a tight jaw. Her eyes fall to the wishbone at my neck, and when they fix back on mine, her gaze is icy.
“Are you here for lunch?” I ask her. It’s about that time. I would normally ask if she wants me to call Jameson, but I don’t. Jack is out on a call right now, but I can’t tell his visitor that—it’s against policy.
“Coffee, actually,” she says and sucks in a deep breath. “We need to talk.”
The man with the packages interrupts and slaps his hand down on the ledge.
“I’m still waiting on Lieutenant Hayes,” he says strongly. I ignore him for a beat, making eye contact with Lydia and trying to maintain my composure.
“Great, I’m sure Jameson will be out in a few.” I gesture to the empty seats behind her. She shakes her head and levels me with a flat stare.
“No, we need to talk.” I stare at her blankly for a long while, unsure how to respond. What do you say to the girlfriend of the man you’re in love with?
“I don’t think we need to talk. Do we? No offense, Lydia, but you and I barely know each other and have little to talk about, I’m sure. I mean, I don’t think we have much in common. After all, I’m an undergrad and you’re a . . . whatever you are, and I’m at work, so . . .” I stop my embarrassing rambling because it’s obvious how nervous I am from the way I’m tripping over my words and is practically advertising what’s in my heart.
Man-stealing whore.
Man thief.
Thieving whore.
Any variation of thief and whore will do at this point. That’s what this feels like—because that’s what this is. I want what’s hers, and I’m doing a terrible job at being an ally for women everywhere because I should be all “hoes before bros,” but every fiber of my being wants to jump that ship and hitch my wagon to the “all for love” cause.
“We’re in love with the same man. That’s commonality enough.”
Chapter 9
Melanie
We’re in love with the same man. That’s commonality enough.
“Oh, that,” I mumble and clumsily grab for the PA system to call Chief Delgado to the desk because I have no other idea what to do. I’m not calling Jameson down here to kick his crazy girlfriend out. “Chief Delgado, will you please, please, please for the love of all that is holy, come to the house watch desk, please?”
I’m begging into an intercom system that broadcasts throughout the entire house, over three stories. Everybody inside will hear. My message is about ten levels of unprofessional, but oh well. They can fire me, sure, but the way this week is going, that might not be the worst thing ever. My eyes dart around the small space, doing my best to totally avoid both Lydia and the stranger. It doesn’t work. Lydia’s eyes brighten slightly at my increasingly panicky demeanor. Shit. I might as well wear a sign that says GUILTY across my chest.
“I have other deliveries to make, so can you just page Lieutenant Hayes?” The man’s eyes are growing cold, and he’s getting even tenser. What the hell is his deal with Jack? I mean, seriously?