Page 14 of Targeted By Desire

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I breathed, running a hand over my bonnet. “Just a weird dream.”

This wasn’t the first time I’d had it. Ever since I came off after my conversation with Logan, I’ve been feeling off. I couldn’t blame it on the gruesome case files I’ve been looking at in search of my potential hitman. I became numb to those a long time ago. And the thought of catching such a predator didn’t bother me. I’ve done it countless times before with my team.

Yet, there was still this uncanny feeling rumbling down my spine. One that told me to keep eyes in the back of my head.

I’ve been trying to shake it off, ignore it. But, now the feeling was trickling into my dreams and disrupting my sleep. I might need to see our company’s psychiatrist if it continued, just so I could find the root and crush it into tiny pieces. If I was going to maintain my job, and stay on top of my personal case, then I needed all the energy I could get.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. I rubbed my heavy eyelids. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“It’s Saturday. We’re going dress shopping, remember?”

Oh shit. With all the chaos earlier this week, I completely forgot about the plans I made with my mother and sister. “Oh, Izzie, my bad. This week has been-”

“I know,” she cut me off. “Logan called mom.”

“Why?” I groaned. Now, I had to prepare myself for a lecture I did not want to hear.

She shrugged. “I think he was just worried.” She tilted her head. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I scooted away from her and out of the bed. “Give me ten minutes to wash up and get dressed.”

“Okay. Mom and I will be downstairs when you’re ready.”

I held back another groan. My mother being here already meant I’d be getting the lecture sooner. Suddenly, I didn’t see a need to rush through my morning routine. If it wasn’t for the respect of my sister’s time, I would’ve moved slower than molasses. But, I knew how excited she was to go shopping for wedding dresses at one of the best bridal boutiques in town. Unless I wanted to hear both of their mouths, we needed to be there on time.

I took a quick five minute shower and threw on a tee shirt with a pair of jeans. Once my teeth were brushed, I spritzed some scalp moisturizer on the parts in between my braids and tacked down my edges that were beginning to grow out. I left my braids hanging over my shoulder since I didn’t have time to style them.

As I padded downstairs, I heard my family’s voices in the living room. My mother and sister were sitting on the couch with hot coffees in hand. My mother sat like a proper matriarch with her shoulders poised and her legs crossed. Beside her, Isabelle sat with her brown curls pulled up into a ponytail, exposing every inch of her blemish-free bronze skin.

Both of them looked in my direction at the sound of my footsteps. Isabelle’s wide smile contrasted against my mother’s firm frown. ”Here!” Isabelle said as she gracefully rose from her seat. I hadn’t realized she held another coffee cup in her hand. “I got you a mocha latte.”

I tried to match her enthusiastic smile. “Thanks.”

“You look like you need it,” my mother commented. “Did you stay up late last night?”

“Mhm,” I replied, bringing the coffee to my lips for a long sip.

“Logan said you need to be getting as much sleep as possible to make a full recovery. He said you took quite a beating the other night.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“You know, Cyrus Templeton is looking for another lawyer for his firm. If this job is becoming too dangerous, you could always move to his firm. Or William Asher - he’s still asking about you after all these years. Calls you the best intern he’s ever had. He thinks you have potential to make partner if you work there.”

“I’m perfectly happy where I am.” I crossed the living room towards my small shoe rack. “Are y’all ready to go?”

“I’m just saying, Simone. This criminal nearly killed you. Maybe it’s time to hang the badge up for a little while. You can always go back after some experience in the courtroom. Maybe in a supervisory position.“

“Mom,” I said, my voice harder than I intended. “I. Am. Fine.”

“For now,” she countered. “What happens when the next one puts a bullet in your head instead of a concussion? Your father wouldn’t want-“

“Don’t,” I hissed. “Don’t talk about what Dad would want. You don’t know what he’d want for me.”

“I know he wouldn’t want his daughter standing in the line of fire every other day. He’d want his daughter healthy and alive. He’d want better for you.”

I held back the scoff I wanted to let out. “Sure, Mom.” As much as I wanted to refute her claims, remind her that her version of dad’s wishes were the complete opposite of the truth, I didn’t want to ruin Isabelle’s day.

She was already looking back and forth between us, a frown brewing on her lips. Whenever the topic of my father came up, she tried to stay out of it. She hadn’t known him. Didn’t have an opinion. But, sometimes our mention of him brought up her own.