Conversations cut off when I pass, not completely, but enough that I feel the shift. I’m out of place, again. It’s becoming a theme.
“Can I help you?” The voice pulls me back. A uniformed officer stands behind the front desk, watching me with polite curiosity and just a hint of suspicion.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m here to drop off something from a case the other day. I found some possible evidence in my rig after transporting a patient.”
His expression shifts slightly at that, recognition flitting over it. Or maybe just the weight of the case settling in. “Name?”
“Olivia Carter. EMS.”
He types something into his computer, glances at the screen, then nods. “Detective Thornton’s unit?”
My stomach tightens at the name, but I keep my expression neutral. “That’s what I was told.”
“Sit tight. I’ll let someone know you’re here.”
I nod, stepping away from the desk and moving toward a row of chairs against the wall. They’re hard plastic and unforgiving, the kind designed for function over comfort. I sit anyway, folding my hands in my lap, trying to ignore the way my eyes instinctively scan the room looking for him.
“Olivia?”
I look up. It’s not Alex, a fact that makes me sadder than I expected. A woman stands in front of me, in her late twenties, maybe, sharp eyes and a meekness that seems slightly wrong.
“I’m Nadine, the secretary,” she says, offering a hand.
I take it. “Liv.”
“He’s tied up right now,” she adds, like she already knows who I was expecting. “But I can take the possible evidence.”
Something deep within me tightens slightly. I nod anyway and stand, pulling the envelope from my pocket. “Sure.”
She gestures for me to follow her leading me deeper into the precinct, up a couple flights of stairs and down a hallway. I don’t know why she’d need me to go anywhere aside from the entryway but follow her anyway. The noise shifts as we move, becoming less public and more focused. Desks cluttered with files, evidence bags stacked in corners, and whiteboards covered in names, arrows, and strings making connections like in the movies.
“Everything okay?” she asks, eyeing me up like I look sick or something.
“Oh, yeah,” I chuckle lightly. “Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting the boards to actually look like that. I thought that was just a Hollywood kind of thing.”
Instead of accepting the joke, her head tips just slightly as her eyes fill with recognition. “You were at the fire.”
“Y-yeah.” I take a deep breath.
“And the highway.”
My chest tightens at the memory. I nod.
Her expression shifts again; respect maybe or understanding. “That’s a hell of a month.”
“Yeah.” Understatement.
She takes the envelope from my hand, flipping it with practiced efficiency. “And you’re the only one in your station that touched it?”
“Yes, I am.”
“And do you know which of the women transported may have dropped it?”
“The one who would talk,” I confirm. “She mentioned a name. Partial, but-”
“York,” Nadine finishes.
My head snaps up. “You already have it?”
