Page 30 of Bad Situation

“Spreadsheets,” Bree says. “They’re different than the electronic files we seized, but these are definitely hers. Purchase agreements, dates, and amounts. I’m certain I recognize some of these figures.”

What the hell? Jen threw away spreadsheets? “You’re sure it isn’t the electronic files printed off? If it’s the same, it doesn’t mean shit.”

Bree’s eyes come to me before she tips her head and glares. “I’ve been over her files so many times, I would know. This is new information.”

“Lemme see.” Dean plucks it from her hands. I guess no one’s trying to preserve anything for prints. It’s been mangled in the trash, but you never know.

Dean flips through the pages and frowns. “I haven’t seen this before and it has information about Birmingham Refining, but I’d be cautious about calling it evidence. There’s nothing linking it to her.”

“Yet,” Bree pulls it out of his hands and moves to grab an evidence bag. “I need to compare it to the files but it’s still supporting evidence.”

“Her company is purchasing Birmingham, that’s no secret. How is this supporting?” I keep on.

She doesn’t have the chance to answer me when Dean states, “I’m done. I gotta shower and get to my kid’s flag football game. Working on a Saturday is shit. Literally shit when we’ve gotta dig through it.”

Bree ignores me and everyone else, marking what she thinks is evidence. I stand here and watch her work as everyone else makes their way to their cars, happy to be done digging through garbage.

I’ve done lots of trash runs through the years. It’s never fun, but nothing ever goes unturned, not one bag unemptied. We dig our way from one corner to the other of a dumpster. It’s worth it when you find something.

But I guess in Bree’s case, it’s a whole other game when you find what you’re looking for.

She didn’t make sure we were done. We sure didn’t dig to the bottom of the barrel and neither did she.

“Thanks, everyone,” she calls as they leave. “After I clean up, I’ll head into the office and compare this to the other files we found on her computers. See what I can come up with.”

“Let me know if you need any help,” I offer as I walk to my car.

She looks surprised for a mere second before she wipes the look off her face. “Thanks, but I should be good. Enjoy your weekend.”

I lift my head and climb into my car to pull out before she does. Taking a left on the one-way street, I circle around the block and pull into a fire lane. When I see Bree pull out, I give her a couple blocks before I merge into the downtown Dallas steady traffic—busy, even for a Saturday.

I need to learn more about my new co-worker.

*****

I’m headed to the elevators after badging my way into Jen’s building again when something catches my eye. Stopping next to the glass wall that frames the gym on the ground floor, I stare at the woman who seems to be taking over my life, both professionally and personally. She’s in a tank and leggings, her hair is pulled back and, from the looks of it, she’s kickboxing.

I settle in to watch as Jen Montgomery works out with a trainer, alternating between high kicks and undercuts. I don’t know how long she’s been at it, but she’s covered in sweat—her shirt sticking to her and loose strands of hair clinging to her face. After switching sides, she drops her gloves and her trainer, who’s a brute and easily twice her size, steps behind.

I can’t help but frown as he puts his arms around her, grabbing her from behind. Like he’s restraining her.

What the fuck kind of workout is this?

She maneuvers out of his hold, nothing as intricate as tossing him over her shoulder like a bag of potatoes—he probably has over a hundred pounds on her. But she uses pressure points and it gets the job done.

Huh. Self-defense.

Impressive. I bet she could kick some ass if she had to. She’s not just strong but self-confident. The only time she’s let that confidence slip was last night in her condo when I had her alone.

Her trainer starts to go at her again and I can’t help myself. I watched it once but that’s it. I have no desire for him to touch her a second time. Pushing through the glass door, I interrupt just as he was about to grab her from the front this time. “Hey.”

Her trainer steps aside and Jen swipes the hair out of her face, her big brown eyes showing her surprise.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice is labored, still trying to catch her breath.

I look at the trainer, but ask her, “You done?”

Her trainer tosses me a look before turning back to his client who, if I can help it, won’t be his client much longer. “You need to stretch and cool down.”

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