Page 76 of Bad Situation

My life.

How the hell he knows all that he does is beyond me. I waited years for my shot—being looked over for the golden cases that were handed out to the good ole’ boys club, but never to me. I always got the low-profile, shit cases that were pled out before I ever stepped foot in a courtroom, let alone got any time on the stand.

When I came upon that scene and saw Pettit with Montgomery yesterday, I thought for sure that would catapult my investigation. But when I walked into work this morning, Larry was downright cold with me. We’ve been together now for months and, when he informed me about OPR coming down on me this morning, you’d think I never had his dick in my mouth or had let him fuck me across his desk.

No, it was like none of it ever happened. He told me to get my act together because his supervisor wants to know why he doesn’t have a better handle on his agents.

He turned on me.

Everyone’s turning on me.

And after my time in the elevator with Pettit, I know why.

Everything was going great until he rolled into town. Damn him. He thinks his name carries so much weight, but he’d better watch out. There’s no way I’m getting Giglioed. I’ll do everything I can to avoid that.

He has too much on me. He knows I had a tracker on him. He somehow figured out I planted the evidence. And I have no clue how he knows about Larry and me—we’ve been careful.

I pull out a cigarette, light up, and inhale deep. When I blow a stream of smoke out my cracked window, I see him.

Pettit slams the door to his shit apartment and jogs out, bypassing his government car for his personal truck. He’s carrying a briefcase and a duffle bag. It’s barely six o’clock. I have no doubt where he’s headed and no smoke is going to calm my boiling blood.

I fall into traffic to follow and find that I’m right. He pulls into the downtown posh building with the rooftop pool and deep private balconies that overlook downtown and the Trinity river. He types in a passcode and the steel door lifts, giving him access to the private underground parking. Pettit’s truck disappears inside, no doubt where it’ll stay for the night.

My finger gets itchy as I grip the Glock resting in my lap.

Always itchy.

I flick the butt out my window and grip the steering wheel.

I’ll get him back—for everything he’s done to me.

Chapter 21

Trust

Eli

“I just put a check in the mail. It’s all I can do right now. Shit blew up at work yesterday and I don’t know when I can get back up there.”

Silence. The guilt weighing on my soul is heavy enough without her fucking silent treatment.

“Sarah,” I call for her and hear her sigh. I pull my phone away from my ear to see that Bree Newman is on the move and following me. I don’t even care that she knows I’m here, this place is so secure she can’t do anything anyway. At this point, she’s an annoyance. “Look, I’m about to pull into underground parking. I might lose you. Call me after the appointments this week. I want to know what the neurologist says.”

She huffs. “Like I wouldn’t call you.”

I reach out and punch in the code to get into the parking garage under Jen’s building. “You know, this might be easier if we work together instead of clawing at each other for a change.”

“Right. Together.”

“I gotta go. Call me after his appointments.”

Like the bitch she’s turned into while I was working undercover, she doesn’t respond and hangs up on me.

I don’t have time for this shit. I can’t help that I’m here. Can’t help that the Bureau shipped me off to Texas to get me far away from any remnants of the MacLachlan case. I didn’t choose this. As I pull into a parking spot next to Jen’s white Rover that somehow magically got back here from her parents’ ranch today, I feel a whole different kind of guilt. If I had the chance to put in for a hardship move to get back to Chicago to be there for the people who need me, I’m not sure I would.

In fact, right now, I know I wouldn’t.

That makes me all the colors of an asshole. But I’ve spent too much time giving my life to my job. One day, you wake up, you’re in your thirties, and have nothing to show for it besides a few newspaper articles singing your accomplishments that no one will remember next year.

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