The only other man who’d really stood up for her before had been her ex-patrol partner, Dane.And her old chief, to some extent, during the subsequent IA investigation.Aside from that, she’d always had to defend herself and fight her own battles, and she’d learned to be okay with that.
With Tristan, it was different.The way he’d defended her last night, unafraid to get physical with their client to protect her even though it would likely have repercussions with management at CPS, had touched her deeply in that secret place she kept locked away from everyone but Bristol.It was getting harder and harder to keep her walls up around him.
She got in the shower, stood there letting the hot water pound down on her head and shoulders for a while before washing her hair and the rest of her.Putting on her dress pants and blazer felt a little like putting on armor.When she was in professional mode, it was easier not to let things bother her.
She texted Tristan.I’m up and at ’em.You ready to roll?
I’ll bring him down.Meet you at elevator bank.
His response bordered on abrupt.For a moment she considered asking if he was angry about last night, then rolled her eyes at herself.She didn’t do that kind of shit anymore.Because she wasn’t responsible for other people’s actions or emotions, let alone a grown-ass man’s.
She was, however, responsible for her own.That was on her.
So she had to ignore—or preferably stop—these intensifying feelings for Tristan.
Yeah, good luck with that, a little voice whispered in her head.
She packed her overnight bag and made her way down to the underground parking to bring the SUV around to the elevators.I’m in position, she texted Tristan, and received a thumbs up.
On our way down.
How is he?she asked.He’d consumed at least a bottle of vodka last night.She was surprised he was even awake.
Rough.
Good, she thought with a smirk she wasn’t entirely proud of.Maybe Schumacher’s well-deserved hangover would save her from more of his innuendos and advances.
The elevator doors opened minutes later, and Tristan stepped out with Schumacher.Their client had sunglasses on even though they were underground, as if the lights were too much for him.Tristan opened the back and they both got in.
“Morning,” she said cheerfully.“Ready to head to the airport?”
“Yeah,” Schumacher said, slumping back against the seat.“That was a helluva good time last night.”His smug smirk and pointed tone sent a streak of unease through her.
She knew that tone well, had years of experience with it.And it never boded well.
Cassie shared a questioning look with Tristan but didn’t say anything and put the vehicle into drive.Nobody talked on the forty-minute trip to the airfield.Schumacher seemed to be asleep, which was a relief.And he didn’t so much as look in her direction as he boarded the jet and slumped in a seat near the back.
She took it as a win.
She and Tristan spent the short flight back answering messages and emails.The vibe coming from him was a bit cool, but she refused to get all up in her head about it.If he was mad, he could talk to her about it later like an adult.
Almost as soon as they landed, Cassie received a call from Ryder.“You back yet?”he asked.
“Just landed in Portland.Once we hand the client off to his driver, we’ll head back to the coast.”
“Come see me when you get in.”
She frowned.“Something wrong?”
“Need to show you something.”
That sounded...ominous.Something to do with the investigation into the shooting?The dead guy who had planted drugs in her car?Or had Schumacher actually filed an official complaint about last night?
“Okay,” she answered, not wanting to dig for more in front of Schumacher.She looked back at him.He had managed to rouse himself and was getting up.“See you in a few hours.”
“What is it?”Tristan asked from across the narrow aisle when she slid her phone into her pocket.
“Ryder wants to see me in person when we get back.”
