Do I? No. “That’s not the problem,” I admit.
“Then what is?”
I exhale slowly. “You’re pulling me into something I shouldn’t be involved in. And I’m letting you.”
There it is, the truth.
His expression softens slightly. “I’m not asking you to do anything you’re not already doing,” he says. “You’re just… telling me what you see.”
“That’s how it starts.”
His gaze sharpens. “You think I’d put you in danger.”
Again, not a question.
I meet his eyes. “I think you’d do whatever it takes to stop what’s happening,” I say honestly. “Even if that means getting close to people you shouldn’t.”
“You’re not just ‘people,’ Liv.”
My breathing stutters.
That… that was a mistake. Because now the line isn’t just blurred, it’s gone. It’s like he’s trying to makethisjust be about information potentially regarding his case, yet those efforts keep falling apart no matter how hard he tries to stick to them.
Neither of us move. Neither of us look away.
And for a second, just one, it feels like something is about to happen.
Something we can’t take back…
Until Pip jumps onto the counter.
I jerk back, startled, the moment shattering instantly.
“Wow,” I mutter. “Great timing.” I pick him up off the counter and carry him over to the couch. “You know you’re not supposed to jump up that high, Little Man. Stick with your stairs, please.”
I set him onto the middle cushion. He gives me a little yowl telling me he dislikes that I moved him from some potential chicken he could have stolen but gives in, curling up and laying down.
Alex exhales slowly, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah,” he agrees quietly. But his eyes don’t leave me.
And something tells me that this isn’t over. Not the investigation, and definitely notthis.
Chapter 10
Liv
My day off starts with coffee, bad coffee. Because apparently, even when I’m not working, I still end up at the station.
Normally I don’t mind the coffee here because it’s provided by the station, but when I could be enjoying a better roast with salted caramel creamer at home, then I really hate this stuff.
“This is a cry for help,” I mutter, string into the cup like it personally offended me.
“It’s free,” Scott says, quoting my usual comeback to him when he complains about the coffee. He doesn’t even look up from the report he’s half-heartedly filling out.
Smart ass.
“That doesn’t make it good when I don’t have to be drinking it.”
“No, but it makes it tolerable. It’s also not the coffee’s fault that you’re here. That’s on you.”
