“That’s disappointing? I’m likeable.” Green’s eyebrow disagrees. So I adjust my statement. “Sometimes.” I wink but she doesn’t smile back.
The back of my neck itches. She’s too serious this morning.
The urge to say something is apparent on her lips, only she’s not saying whatever the fuck it is that’s trying to get out.
Time to hit the reset button.
“How about I go grab us a couple coffees.” I reach for her cup. “Be right back.” But she stops me and grabs it herself.
“I’ll get ’em.” Her voice is pitchy. Nervous. Very non-Green when it’s just the two of us, if you ask me.
“Okay.” I sit back down, and she hurries off, knocking her purse off the back of her chair. I go to pick it up for her, and her phone slides out onto the floor. When I grab it, the screen lights up. There, right in front of my fucking face, is a text she must have just gotten or not seen yet.
Listen, I don’t read people’s texts. It’s not my style, but when I happen to see my name pop up like it did on her phone? Yeah, I’m gonna check that shit out.
I glance over at the coffee set-up and watch Green fumble with the cups before she figures out how it all works. I tap the screen of her phone and read the preview.
Need some Stiles intel. Contact me ASAP.
I set the phone down and think.
The fuck?
Stiles intel?
Like, fucking intel? On me?
The number is local but I don’t recognize it, which bugs the living hell out of me. If someone’s asking for intel, she must have already known they were looking for it. I don’t know who the fuck she’s expecting to want intel on me.
I scratch my eyebrow.
I rub the back of my neck.
I wipe imaginary sweat from my face.
If she was anyone else, I’d wait for her to come back, show her the text, and then give her a piece of my mind for fucking with my head the past week.
I need some fresh air, though. To clear my head and figure out why in the hell Green would be giving someone information about me.
Does it have to do with Donnie’s death?
Stupid fucking question.
I slide her phone back into her purse and watch her for another second over at the coffee stand before I take off. Because I don’t want to deal with stupid shit, I shoot her a text saying I have an appointment to get to.
Which I do. Kinda.
At least, it’s not an entire lie. Unlike everything she’s said and done over the last seven days.
I’ve gotta go see Walker and pretend I didn’t just read an incriminating fucking text off the phone of the woman I might be semi-kinda-sorta falling for. Most of all, I’ve got some goddamn digging to do on a certain brunette who likes to get me riled up in more than just the physical kinda way.
FACING DEMONS
THE REDEMPTION POLICE PRECINCT is located in the belly of the beast. We’re not talking triple-A level of operations, by all means, but it’s not the worst I’ve dealt with over the years, either. Not that I’d admit that to anyone outside of this conversation, mind you.
My brother’s been a part of the team for four years now, and he idolizes Walker. Gets up early every day to make sure he’s clocking overtime for Mia and their boys and doesn’t stop until his last call of the day is taken care of.
He’s been promoted once, awarded team player of the year twice, and so help me God, he still makes less than a school teacher in the suburbs. You’d never guess it, though, with his attitude and do-gooder qualities.
But then, then there’s the rest of the department.
Walker’s assistant, for example. The epitome of ass kissing. A sloth when no one’s looking. All smiles when they are. And don’t get me started on how he’s only into this gig for the notoriety. His face appears in almost every interview Walker has, which proves my point.
But I digress.
Mostly because I have shit to do.
I flip my badge open and rest it on the counter. “Here to see Captain Walker.” I take a look around to see if Jim Galley’s around, just out of curiosity.
Maybe I can interrogate his ass when I’m done with Walker.
Walker’s assistant’s eyes flash from his computer screen, to the badge, to me, then back to his screen.
“He’s busy right now.” He yawns and whether that’s just some special effect he’s cooked up to make a point or he’s trying to show me the ridiculous number of cavities he’s collected over the years; I don’t really give a rat’s ass.
“Yeah, well, he called me.” I flip the ID closed and slip it back into my jacket pocket.
Jim’s nowhere in sight. Must be out killing kids. Poor guy. Rough life.
I wait.
And wait.
And fucking wait.
“Hellooooooo.” I wave a hand in front of the asshat assistant’s face. You’d think I asked the guy to be the first male to give birth to a T-rex for Christ’s sake, the way he avoids answering me.
He leans back in his chair, swivels and arches when he peeks around the corner. Because, you know, he can’t be fucking bothered to get up or anything.
When he’s back in place, hypnotized by the screen in front of him again, he sniffs and scrunches his nose up at me.