Page 136 of Obsession

“Mark is right. Robbie’s arrest was all over the news before I’d even made it home.” I shrug, staring into my empty wineglass. “Not that I’ve watched any of it.”

What I don’t say out loud is how much it hurts to even think about it. I can’t bring myself to watch anyone else relay last night’s events; experiencing it firsthand was very different.

Mark’s mouth falls open in shock. “You haven’t watched the news yet?”

A glass of white wine appears in front of me, and Elliot’s citrusy scent drifts into my nose as he straightens back up. “Drop it, Mark. Not tonight.”

“But she?—”

“Not tonight!” Elliot’s voice is a firm rasp, and I shiver at his authoritative tone.

“Listen to him,” James says, forehead dotted in sweat. “Tonight is not about work.”

I roll my eyes.

We all know James would talk work all night long if we allowed it. The only thing holding him back now is his fear that I might pull out on this project. Not that long ago, he wassprouting bullshit about a conflict of interest, and now he wants me to write about Robbie’s arrest.

An arrest I made happen.

Reaching for my glass, I offer Elliot an appreciative smile in thanks before taking a large gulp to numb the gnawing guilt inside me. It’s a strange mix of emotions to know that you made the right decision but hate yourself for it.

Did I have him arrested out of spite because I felt betrayed? I didn’t contact Chapman after Robbie tortured and dismemberedmydemons in cold blood. But the moment he killed an innocent woman, I picked up my phone and called the number Chapman had given me.

All the while, my body shook, and tears cascaded down my cheeks.

I gulp down more wine to silence the conflicting thoughts. The cold liquid slips down my throat while conversations carry on around me.

“How’s it going at your new job?” I ask Elliot, surprising myself.

Elbow on the armrest, he nurses his beer with his free hand, his thumb trailing over the condensation on the glass. “It’s been non-stop.” He lifts the pint to his lips, and his eyes lock onto mine. “I think you would like the place.”

“Yeah?”

Swallowing down the beer, he nods. “It’s a bigger paper?—”

James interrupts him, grumbling, “Not that much bigger.”

“It’s bigger,” Elliot counters with a playful smile, and I find myself returning it.

“So it worked out?” I ask. “I don’t have to feel guilty?”

Elliot frowns. “Guilty? Of course not. Besides”—he jostles James, causing the poor man to almost spill his beer over his lap—“he’d have me back in a second.”

“I hate to admit that you’re right,” James replies, placing his beer down to dot a napkin on his forehead. “You’re a damn good reporter.”

Jeanine speaks up beside me. “His ego is already big enough. Don’t make his head pop.”

Laughter drifts around me, and I try to join in. I do. But the lump in my throat refuses to dislodge.

Excusing myself, I scoot my chair back. “I’m heading home.”

“Now?” Jeanine asks, looking up at me. “It’s early.”

“I’m not feeling too well,” I respond, reaching for my scarf and winding it around my neck. “I’ll be back at work tomorrow.”

“How are you getting home?”

“I’ll phone a taxi.”