Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 133127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
I’m still laughing. “I agree. Anything but that.”
It’s Friday afternoon. 2:00 p.m. to be precise, and I’m downstairs at the police station going through some evidence with one of the detectives, Martin. We’re sitting at his desk, each with a coffee in hand. I like Martin. We have an easy friendship. He doesn’t try too hard to be cool or funny, he’s just who he is. I’ve had a good week, I’m settled into my new apartment, and I have plans for the weekend with Callie and Rourke. It’s been seven days since I had my bathroom fling with Brock. I think I’m finally beginning to forgive myself a little.
I guess it’s just one of those things. No matter how much I regret it, I can’t go back and change anything so, as Callie says, why beat myself up about it?
Nobody else cares. Why should I?
He wore a condom, I told him how I felt after it, and he obviously got the message because he hasn’t called me again since.
Whatever the reason, I feel better about it, anyway. Maybe that’s just because I got a chance to say my piece to him.
“There’s always a chance with the investigation that prior events will be brought up,” Martin says.
“No, that won’t do. I need to see someone about it now,” I hear a familiar voice demand from the front reception desk.
I know that voice. What the…?
I turn and see Brock and his friend from the gym talking to the receptionist. Brock is asking to see someone.
Shit.
I turn in my seat so that my back is to the reception area, hoping he can’t see me.
I stare at the computer screen in front of me as I eavesdrop on the conversation he’s having with the police officer at reception.
“I want to know who was driving the police car with the number plate
NGH 167 last night,” Brock states.
“I’m sorry, sir, we can’t give that information out to the public.”
“I’m not the public, I’m investigating a crime and have reason to believe that one of your officers may be involved.”
My eyes widen as I listen in. Shit.
“That’s completely out of line, and I can assure you that false accusations can and will get you prosecuted in a court of law. Now, please leave.”
“Nope. I’m not going anywhere until I know who was driving that police car last night.”
“Sir.” The policeman sighs. “I don’t even have access to that information.”
“Who does?”
“The person who does isn’t in again until Monday.”
“Piss off.” Brock sneers. “Do you really expect me to believe that you don’t know who’s driving the fucking cars around?”
I frown to myself, knowing that the officer is telling a complete lie. The vehicle information is in the back room for all to see. Everyone has access to it.
“Do you feel comfortable about doing that?” Martin asks, interrupting my thoughts.
I glance over at him. Huh? I have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.
“It’s in the printer now,” he says.
I frown and glance over at the printer. What the hell is he talking about? Martin’s phone rings. He answers it and nods. “Can you grab that from the printer for me, Tully, please?”
“Sure.” I stand and try not to face the front reception. I walk over to grab the paper from the printer and stare at it for a moment. Hopefully Brock’s gone by now.
I drop my head, walk back, and slink into the seat.
“Tully?” Brock’s voice calls out.
I scrunch my eyes shut. Damn it. I turn and see Brock watching me. I offer him a smile. “Hi.” Shit, I can’t be rude, so I walk over to the counter.
Brock frowns, clearly confused. “You’re a cop?”
“Erm.” My eyes flicker to the policeman standing nearby us. “No, I’m forensics.”
His face falls. “You’re a scientist?”
I nod nervously. “Uh-huh.”
He’s wearing a white T-shirt, blue jeans, and damn it, he looks so handsome I could cry. He’s the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.
“You work here?” He points to the floor.
I nod, unable to stop myself from smiling at the shocked look on his face. I wonder what he thought I did for a living.
“Yeah, for a long time now. A couple of years, actually.”
He and his friend exchange looks.
“I’ve got to get back to work.” I smile at his friend. I think his name is Ben, if I remember correctly. “Nice to see you both,” I say casually.
Brock frowns as he watches me. “Yeah. See you later.”
I turn and go back to the desk Martin is sitting at. “I have to go upstairs. Can we finish this later?” I whisper.
“Sure thing.”
I walk over to the elevator and push the button so that the doors close. I exhale heavily once they do.
What are the chances?
It’s 6:00 p.m. when I walk out of work. I make my way over to cross the road, and I’m on the edge of the curb when and I look up and I see him, my steps faltering.