Chapter Twenty-Eight
News of Junior’s death breaks late the next morning while Declan’s in a meeting off-site with George.
The reason I learned about it is because I have a local station on the TV in my office, the volume turned down low. I didn’t want to search for news about him, because I didn’t want there to be any search records for it before it was public.
I sit there anxiously watching the reporter. B-roll plays as she talks, video taken outside of Junior’s house, of a stretcher holding a body bag being loaded into a medical examiner’s van.
I feel glad my office door is currently closed because my smile would be difficult to explain. Yes, I breathe a sigh of relief that authorities are already saying the preliminary cause of death appears to be an anaphylactic reaction, and that Junior had a known, severe food allergy.
Now, only time will tell if my preparations hold, or if someone will dig deeper.
I easily avoid George and Declan upon their return because I’m at lunch. Then I run a couple of errands, stop by the campaign office, and delay my return until nearly two.
No sooner I walk in than Declan appears in my office doorway, hands in his pockets, and staring at me with a look that’s Alpha Declan to his core.
“Yes?” I say.
One eyebrow slides up, but he doesn’t say anything.
I tuck my purse under my desk. “Did you need me, Dec?”
He steps inside and, with his foot, eases my office door shut before he leans against it.
And stares at me.
I sit back in my chair. “What’s wrong?”
“You tell me,” he quietly says. “What’d you do last night?”
“Uh, you don’t remember?”
“Before, Casey. Where were youbefore?”
“I told you. I went into town, did some work, ran some errands.”
“Where?” he snaps.
“Where?”
“Yes. Where?”
“Really?” I stare at him. “Do you not trust me now or something?”
He speaks through gritted teeth. “Fucking tell me what you did yesterday.”
I hesitate, like I’m confused. “I ran by the campaign office, the law office, and I spent time with the girls at their dorm.Why? What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“That’s…all?”
I don’t rise to the bait. “If you’re getting at something, would you please get to it? Because I have a lot of work to do. Frankly, you’re starting to freak me out.” I open my laptop.
I hate that I can lie to him so easily. Although technically I haven’t lied to him. Omitting’s not exactly the same thing.
I know he’s bought it because I see him falter, his conviction that I had something to do with this suddenly in doubt.
He approaches my desk, Alpha Declan already fading to the background as my boy emerges. His hands are still in his pockets. “You don’t know?” he quietly asks.
Mild exasperation is easy to feign, because working in state government, I’m usually feeling some degree of it at all times. “Seriously, don’t knowwhat?”
