He coughs, choking on his beer. “What?”
“That’s the only explanation I can come up with because it sure as shit wasn’t me. Someone in my unit is dirty, and they want me to be the fall guy.”
“Fuck, man, that’s—is that even possible?”
I shrug, staring down at the table. “With AI these days, anything is possible.”
He nods in agreement. “Who’s investigating?”
The image of her flashes through my mind like a lightningbolt to the chest. “Agent Karmen Ashford.”
Sawyer blinks, mouth gaping. “Your Karmen?”
Back when I first started, and the pain was still fresh, I told Sawyer all about the woman who broke my heart.
Was she ever truly mine?
It doesn’t matter. She damn sure isn’t now.
“How the hell are they even allowing her to take this case?”
Leaning back in my chair, I cross my arms. “Because they have no idea. She acted like she didn’t even know me.”
My jaw tightens at the reminder.
Sawyer grunts. “Jesus, Cunningham. You had the perfect opportunity to call her out. You should have, after what she did to you.”
He’s right. I should have, but I didn’t, because Karmen Ashford still has me by the balls, no matter how much I want to pretend otherwise.
“Look, just tell me what I can do to help,” he says. “I got your back, man, always.”
I shake my head. “I appreciate it, but you just keep your nose clean. I don’t need you being dragged into this with me.”
“Fuck that. You’ve saved my ass more than once. I’m not sitting this one out. Tell me what you need, and I’ve got you.”
“This could fuck up your career. You know that, right?”
He leans forward, his eyes flickering with determination. “Let’s find the rat and make sure they never crawl out of their fucking hole again.”
Iknow I’m the last person Benson wants to see right now, but here I am, standing in front of his apartment door. I still can’t get over the way he looked at me today, with so much anger and resentment. But how can I blame him? After the way I treated him, I’d hate me too. But he doesn’t know the truth. He doesn’t know the real reason I ran from the cabin that day, and I’m not sure it even matters now.
My stomach churns, a wave of nausea rolling through me as I summon the courage to knock. What if he doesn’t answer? What if he tells me to leave and slams the door in my face?
Collecting a deep breath, I roll the cylinder-shaped fidget between my palms, the sharp metal biting into my skin. The small sliver of relief it offers is enough to stave off my anxious thoughts, so I slip it into my jacket pocket. I discovered the small device one night while scrolling on the internet. I’d been struggling with the intense emotional distress of our break-up. My spiraling thoughts were often hard to manage, and the bite of pain helped to ground me and keep me present, instead of constantly drowning in the past.
I’ve carried it ever since.
My fingers tingle as I raise my hand to knock, and a few moments later, the door swings open. The air freezes in my lungs, pulse racing just like it did the first time I laid eyes onhim. He was off limits then. Like he is now. We can never go back to the place we were before. Not because I don’t want to. I would give anything to be back in his arms. In his bed.
In his heart.
But I know he closed that door forever the day I walked away from him.
The day I walked away from us.
He’s still wearing his uniform, shirt unbuttoned, revealing his hard, chiseled abs. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his muscled forearms. Heat coils in my lower belly, and my mouth goes dry.
He narrows his eyes at me, mouth twisting in anger. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks, voice low and rough.
