“Yeah, no, I get it.” Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on the top of the table, fingers still kneading the headache from my temples. Renee reaches out and squeezes my hand sympathetically.
“You’re a good person, James,” she says. “You always have been. But believe me, there’s nothing you can do. So don’t kill yourself trying. Move on to the next person who needs your help, okay?”
I nod and stand up, gathering my jacket from the hook near the door. I turn back to Renee. “Are you opposed to letting me speak to Jake about this and see what he knows?”
I think she might deny me for a second, and I wouldn’t blame her, but she surprises me by nodding her head. “Of course not. He might be more help than I am, anyway.”
“Thanks, Ren.” I turn to leave, but before I can, Renee speaks again.
“Just … be careful,” she says. “Both of you. It’s dirty business, and I don’t want to see the people I love come out hurt on the other side.”
I nod because I don’t know what to say to put her at ease. Probably nothing. I’m not even sure looking into this whole mess is a good idea, but I can’t sit back and watch the potential horror unfold. I got into social work to help people and intend to do just that.
I have no choice. Not when it comes to two innocent lives.
It’s dark by the time I make it home from the hospital, and I climb three flights of stairs to reach my third-floor apartment. It’s nothing fancy, my little one-bedroom downtown, but there are certainly worse areas in Denver to live. And it’s cozy. It’s familiar. It’s mine.
I kick off my shoes inside the front door, lock the deadbolt behind me, and then go to the fridge for an already-opened bottle of wine. I pour myself a drink and then flop down on the couch, feeling so emotionally drained that the physical fatigue is already creeping up. I’ve been at work from before sunup until sundown, and my bones are feeling it now. Unfortunately, days like today aren’t rare, and they happen more frequently than I’d like;Fortunately, I didn’t get into social work for the nine-to-five schedule.
It doesn’t take long for the wine to kick my exhaustion into overdrive, and it’s only a little after nine when I drag myself to my bedroom, slip on pajamas, and climb into bed, ready to take tomorrow head-on.
* * *
“Hi,there. I’m looking for Jake Denny. Can you help me?”
The man standing before me is so good-looking that I almost stumble over my feet and fall. He’s middle-aged, mid-forties probably, with tousled dark hair sprinkled with flecks of silver that I want to run my fingers through. His eyes, a stunning topaz blue, hold me captive for a moment, and a muscle in his jaw twitches, like he’s trying not to smile, which is probably a good thing because his smile might just send me off the ledge. He looks as though he’s made from granite, the muscles under his shirt flexing against the fabric, and I have the nagging urge to reach over and squeeze one of his biceps.
But I don’t. Because that would be weird.
“Sure, Jake is around here somewhere,” the man says. “My name is Ely Burton.” He holds out his hand to me, and I take it. Warmth spreads from his skin to mine, and heat rushes down my body. The calluses tell me he’s a hard worker. Hopefully, a good man.
“Hey, Jami, girl,” someone says behind us, and I drop Ely’s hand to turn and find Jake approaching. He wraps me in a hug that could have very well cracked a few ribs. “It’s been a minute, hasn’t it?”
“More than a minute. Try over six months.” I punch him playfully in the shoulder, and Jake laughs.
“Hell, where has the time gone?”
“Beats me.” I hug Jake back and then step away to admire him. He’s grown up now, a man instead of a boy, a cop – not just the arrogant quarterback from college. He looks good, really good, and pride washes over me.
“Come on back and have some coffee,” Jake says. “It sucks, but it’s what we have. We can chat there.”
I turn back to Ely with a polite smile, ignoring the tingling between my thighs every time I look at him. “It was great to meet you. Thank you for your help.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Ely says quietly, and something about the way he speaks makes my heart hammer against my chest in such a way that it leaves me breathless, and it’s only Jake’s pressure on my lower arm that gets me moving away from Ely and towards the other room.
I follow Jake to the back of the station and into a small staff lounge area complete with a small TV, a ragged couch, and two recliners. A small kitchenette sits against the far wall and a small eating table, and Jake makes us a fresh pot of coffee. I take a seat at the table because the lounge chairs seem inappropriate for the conversation we’re about to have. The TV is on, but the sound is low. Otherwise, the lounge is empty.
“Ely seems nice,” I say, hoping we can rid some of the tension in the room. Jake smirks, clucking.
“He’s my boss, Jami. Don’t get any grand ideas.”
“Who, me?” I say innocently. “Blasphemy.”
Jake pours me a hot cup of joe and slides it across the table, then sits across from me, cradling his own mug between his hands. He pushes out a long breath and meets my gaze. I can tell he knows something is wrong, and he’s probably dreading this meeting as much as I am.
“Alright,” he says with a nod. “Out with it. Are you okay?”
“It’s not about me. It’s … it’s about someone you work with.”
