Still, Olivia’s eyes are firm, unflinching. She leans in closer, all stubborn fire and quiet mischief, and I do the exact opposite of what I should do. I talk.
“Call came through just before noon,” I say, voice low. Rough around the edges. “We’d been following some intel on a guy—domestic violence reports, history of breaching AVOs. His ex called it in.” I pause, jaw working as I stare at the grain of the table. “By the time we got out to the address she gave us… it was already too late.”
She goes still, quiet, eyes on me. I rake a hand down my face. “We had to notify her next of kin. Write up the death report. I did the welfare check with one of the constables—a young bloke, maybe six months in. It was his first time seeing a body.” My mouth pulls tight. “He puked in the nearest bush.”
Her throat bobs. “Christ…” I nod once, jaw tight.
“I’ve heard some awful stories from Brad,” she murmurs. “Things he’s carried. Things he still doesn’t talk about.” She shifts slightly. “So I’m guessing it wasn’t any easier for you either.” Something in my chest pulls. Tight. I glance at her, finding no judgement, just understanding.
“No,” I admit. “It wasn’t.” I take another pull from the bottle, letting the silence settle again. Her words linger, though, sticking to the parts of me I don’t usually let people see. She’s not subtle. That’s what worries me. Because if she keeps this up, I’m not sure how long those walls will hold. And that’s exactly why I shouldn’t open up to her.
I clear my throat. “Thanks for the beer.”
Olivia gets the hint, standing slowly. “Anytime.”
She doesn’t push. Just tosses her bottle into the bin and offers a soft nod before heading for the door. No dramatic exit. No lingering glances. Professional. Good.Stay professional, Daniels.God help me… because it’s only been a day.
Later, on my way to bed, I detour through the kitchen and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. That’s when I see it. A bright Post-it slapped crookedly over my neatly printed list, her handwriting cursive and unmistakable.
Broke two of your rules.
Not telling which.
Sleep well, Officer Control Freak.
The sound slips free before I can stop it. A soft snort. I shake my head, eyes still caught on the fridge. “She’s trouble,” I mutter to the empty kitchen.In every shape and form.I peel the note off, crumple it in my fist, and toss it into the bin before heading down the hall to bed.
8
Olivia
Mornings with Teddy are… quiet. Too quiet for someone like me, who runs on chatter and chaos.
He doesn’t talk much, not to me anyway. I get it. He doesn’t know me yet. But I’m not giving up. Sebastian’s in the kitchen when I walk in, already in his uniform—dark navy jumper pulled over his light-blue collared shirt, the NSW Police patch catching the early light on his shoulder.
He looks more exhausted today than he did yesterday. I don’t know when the man sleeps, or if he does at all.
“Good morning,” I chirp, way too bright on purpose. I can’t help but notice that his hair’s a lot more ruffled today. It’s always been longer on top, shorter at the sides, the kind of style that usually makes him look sharp and untouchable. Yet, today, it’s slightly out of place. Like he’s run his hand through it one too many times. No one should look dishevelled at this hour.
His eyes flick up. “Morning, Little Mitchell.”
I drop my voice into a fake-serious baritone. “Morning, Daniels.” I grin. “Come on, I’m not one of your colleagues. Don’t get all stern cop voice on me before coffee.”
One corner of his mouth threatens a twitch, but he doesn’t let it. “Force of habit.”
I lean against the counter, watching him adjust the strap of his bag. There’s something about seeing him in uniform that gets to me—not in the way most women probably notice, but in theweightof it. He carries it like a second skin, like it doesn’t come off even when he’s home.
He exhales, somewhere between annoyed and amused. “You’re late.”
“I am not,” I argue, eyes darting to the clock. “We have exactly thirty minutes before we even need to leave. Chill, Bash.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Noted,” I reply, lips twitching as I file it away underwords I’ll definitely use again.I plant a hand on my hip, cocking it, and only then do I realise he hasn’t reached for his bag or his thermos yet. “Shouldn’t you be leaving now?” I ask.
He glances at his watch, nodding once. “Yep. Just wanted to make sure everything was sorted before I go.”
“Uh, that’s literally why you hired me, is it not?” I arch a brow. “It’s been a week now. I think I’ve handled myself just fine, but thanks for the vote of confidence.” I smack a hand to my chest in mock offence. “Truly, I’m touched. I’ll remember that forever.”
