Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
She’d been duped and deceived, and at this point, she had to assume that even the intimate moments they’d spent together had been part of some greater plan to infiltrate the department, or steal evidence, or whatever he’d ultimately been there to do. And it enraged her, but it also ate at her pride, and if she was going to be honest with herself, she had to admit that it hurt her too.
Ambrose was the first man she’d really connected to since Tanner. And though she felt stupid for being conned, she also felt guilty because in some sense, it felt like she’d betrayed Tanner by giving even a small portion of her heart—the heart she’d promised to him—to a lying criminal.
I’m just . . . not great in relationships. What was that? A way to give her an out before he used her? An out she hadn’t taken?
What was his point, though? Why had he taken a risk like that? If he was apprehended, he’d serve prison time.
God, she felt stupid. Stupid and gullible and pathetic. And she was driving herself crazy with questions that had no answers. And she suddenly had all this time on her hands. She could sit around and stew and beat herself up over the situation. Or she could do something about it.
She didn’t currently have police powers, and so she’d have to be creative—and smart—but decided that a personal investigation wasn’t going to hurt anyone. And if Mars had impersonated an agent to find out more about the “BB” pill case, then maybe he knew something she didn’t. Maybe this was bigger to someone than even the police understood. She was certain other inspectors had taken on the case since she’d been removed and sent home, but that meant the whole investigation was behind, as they’d have to read through the case, reexamine evidence, interview people who’d already been interviewed and try to get up to speed. All while juggling the cases they were already in the middle of.
But she’d collected some leads before getting attacked in that tent, and dammit, she was going to throw caution to the wind and follow them. The people she intended to interview didn’t want anything to do with the police, a double-edged sword that meant they might not talk to her. But they were also very unlikely to report her, should they be suspicious. Maybe the leads wouldn’t go anywhere. Or maybe once she was reinstated, she’d already have a leg up. Either way, it seemed worth it to try. And who knew, maybe she’d run into the criminal known as Ambrose Mars, because if he’d been interested enough in the “BB” pill case to infiltrate the police department, he likely still was. Which meant that he, too, would be searching for more answers toward whatever end he had in mind.
As soon as the sun had begun its descent, she’d headed to the TL, hoping it was late enough that there’d be at least a little traffic but early enough that the women would have a few minutes to speak with her.
That was, if they were willing at all.
First, though, she’d stopped in at the bar called the Cellar that Darius Finchem had mentioned, a dank underground establishment that would likely fail a firesafety inspection. It was creepy, but she’d gone early enough in the evening that there was still light spilling in through the entrance, and there were barely any customers.
Because you’re chickenshit. And fine, she didn’t really want to be there when the party, such as it was, was in full swing, though she would come back if she struck out on Geary. And, no surprise, the lone bartender hadn’t given her any information about supposed women who worked the back rooms. In fact, he’d outright denied knowing anything about that at all. So here she was on Geary now, hoping for a bigger break than she’d achieved at the Cellar.
There was a woman wearing a skimpy black dress, eating an apple and mumbling to herself on a bench, and though she was dressed like a prostitute, Lennon decided she’d leave her to her mumbling. Instead, she approached a woman in a pair of tight red shorts who leaned back against a light pole, smoking a cigarette. But when she attempted to speak with her, the woman raised her hand, showing Lennon her long spiked fingernails, and said, “Take off, pig. I’m not doin’ nothin’ your boyfriend isn’t happy to pay me for.” Well, at least Lennon wouldn’t have to flash an empty badge holder and hope no one noticed. People living here clocked her in a moment. Fine. That made things easier, in light of her current circumstances.
“I just have a few questions,” Lennon called after her.
But the woman raised her hand and shot her the bird, and then yelled, “Fuck you!” in case Lennon hadn’t taken the gesture to heart.