Rooke’s eyes snap to me, and I nearly drop the dustpan. “What are you still doing here, Jordan?” He flicks his fingers toward the door.
“Uh…filing?” I manage.
“Later.” Rooke’s eyes bounce back to Thatcher. “And unless you have further insinuations, Deputy…?”
I give Thatcher a sheepish look as we both head out of Rooke’s office in unison.
“Wouldn’t want to get on his bad side,” Thatcher says under his breath. “Guess he’s really upset you broke that ornament of his.”
“Award,” I mumble. “It was an award or something.”
“Ah. That would do it.” Thatcher gives me a faint smile. “That true about the study group? Surely Professor Rooke wouldn’t pass up a chance to mentor his students?”
“Yeah.” I rub the back of my neck. “Teaching’s not his strong suit. He doesn’t have the patience, I don’t think. Lecturing is more his style.”
Then I realize I’mdefendingthe man who forgot to tell me the criminal chargeshe’dframed me for had been dropped.
“He’s also a narcissistic asshole with a God complex,” I add dryly.
“Whoa,” Thatcher says, eyes sparkling with amusement when he glances at me. “Tell me what you really think.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, not meaning it. “So what’s with all the questions? I thought the case was closed?”
I expect the deputy to give me some half-assed answer, but he stays silent for a few steps, frowning faintly, then says, “I don’t like him.”
“Rooke?” I say through a laugh. “You and ninety-nine percent of humanity.”
“I’m hoping you fall into that category, Mr. Jordan.” His expression is so stern, I’m forced to keep looking at him even though I’d rather not. We start down the stairwell, trapping me side-by-side with the deputy.
“Didn’t you just hear me call him an asshole?”
Thatcher shrugs. “There’s something off about him.”
Yeah. No shit.
“Just…be careful around him.”
If Thatcher knew I’d just been on my knees for that son of a bitch?—
“There you are! I’ve been looking?—“
We both stop walking. Haven does too. She stares from me to Thatcher with wide eyes, mouth working soundlessly.
“Afternoon, Miss Lee,” Thatcher says. He turns to me, giving me a polite smile as he tips his hat. “All the best, Mr. Jordan.”
He reaches out a hand, and on instinct, I go to shake it. But instead, he puts something in my palm and closes my fingers around it, patting my fist. Without another word, he turns and heads down the stairs.
Haven watches him leave, plastering herself against the railing like she’d rather fall to her death than risk him interrogating her.
While she’s distracted, I take a peek at what Thatcher pushed into my hand.
A button.
One of Rooke’s fucking buttons.
My fingers snap closed as Haven rushes up to me and grabs my arm.
Her blue eyes are wide and panicked. “What the hell?—”
