Something flickers in his eyes at that, gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
Nadine glances between us, clearly clocking the shift, then straightens. “I’ve got the evidence envelope,” she says. “I’ll log it and add it to your file.”
“Thanks,” Alex replies, not looking at her. His attention stays on me. “I need a minute.”
Nadine nods once, then moves off, leaving us standing there in the middle of the bullpen with too many eyes and too much unspoken between us.
“You came down here yourself,” he chides.
“Felt like the fastest way to get the information where it needed to go,” I reply.
He nods, but his jaw hardens slightly, like that’s not the answer he wanted. “You shouldn’t be here.”
There it is. I blink. “Excuse me?”
“This isn’t your scene,” he grates, glancing over to a singular office labeled “Grant.” “You’ve done your part. Let us handle it.”
Something in my chest grinds. “I am handling it,” I counter. “In case you forgot, these are my patients.”
His gaze hardens just slightly. “Not like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re part of the investigation. If the Captain sees you-”
“Iampart of it,” I snap. “Whether you like it or not.”
A few heads turn. I lower my voice, but the heat doesn’t fade.
“You don’t understand what you’re stepping into,” he says quietly.
“Then explain it to me.”
“I can’t.”
“Or you won’t?”
His expression cracks, like something inside him is breaking. “Liv-”
“No,” I break in. “Don’t do that.”
His brow furrows. “Do what?”
“Act like you care one minute and then shut me out the next.”
That works; I see it. But he doesn’t back down. “It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it about.”
His jaw sets like stone, and for a second, I think he’s actually going to tell me. But then, he just huffs, “it’s about you staying out of something that will get you hurt.”
The words hit harder than I expect because they’re not dismissive; they’re afraid. That’s worse.
“I don’t get to stay out of it,” I dispute quietly. “Not when it’s outside my home.”
He looks at me like he wants to argue, to say more. But he doesn’t because he can’t. Whatever line he’s decided to draw, he’s sticking to it this time.
“Thornton!” Another voice cuts through the moment. The office to the side now has a large, grumpy looking man with ruffled salt and pepper hair and two undone buttons at the top of his shirt standing it the doorway. And he’s watching us, watchingme.
