Page 55 of Deadly Force

Before I can reply, a voice cuts in behind me. "We meet again, Ms. Weston."

I turn, my pulse jumping. Detective Crowley.

"You want to tell me why people keep shooting at you?" he asks.

I glance at Caleb, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. A nervous habit I can't seem to shake. "Guess I rubbed someone the wrong way."

Crowley doesn't smile. "Not funny. I'm one step away from putting you in protective custody."

I wince, ready to defend myself, but his attention shifts to Caleb. "Mind if we talk?"

Caleb's jaw tightens. "Could use some coffee anyway."

They move a few paces down the hall, far enough that I can't hear them, close enough that I can't stop watching.

I sit on a molded plastic chair that's been bolted to the wall, trying to look calm. Normal. But I feel anything but. My hands smooth over my jeans, a restless gesture that betrays how unsettled I am.

Their conversation continues in low, urgent tones.Caleb's posture is tense, his shoulders rigid. Whatever they're discussing, it's not going well.

Samantha leans over and nudges my shoulder. “How well do you know Detective Crowley?”

I look sidelong at her. “Not that well. Why?”

She flicks her hair over her shoulder and lowers her voice. “Caleb is making him nervous.”

I assess them again. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s tapping his thumb, scanning the room too frequently, breaking eye contact, but he’s unnaturally still. That one is a dead giveaway. He’s trying to appear composed. He’s not.”

“You noticed all that?”

Sam’s brow lifts, a flicker of enjoyment on her face. “Why else do you think Hightower recruited me?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to find out!” I say.

Our conversation is cut short when Caleb nods curtly and Crowley stalks off down the hallway. When Caleb returns to my side, he doesn’t have pleasant news.

"They're posting a patrol at your house," he says. "Marked unit out front.”

"They want me to go home," I say flatly.

"They're not making it a demand. Yet. But if you don't play along…" He glances down the corridor.

My gut clenches. "We need to find that file."

He nods, scrubs a hand over his jaw. “I can find it. Reese just arrived. He can help.”

I squint at him. “Oh really? Reese doesn’t know where Eliza was when she threw it away.” I hastily add, “Neither do you.”

He fastens me with a loaded look. Then sighs heavily. "Fine. There’s a motel close by. I’ll get us a room. We’ll look first thing tomorrow."

Caleb

I hate this plan.

Hate that Brooke is out in the open. Hate that I’m in the same place I was the night she was shot at.

Mostly, I hate that she’s right. I don’t have a fixed idea of where Eliza was, but I get the feeling that it’s seared into Brooke’s memory. Along with a record of everything I’ve gotten wrong to date.