Page 10 of Only You and Me

Rachel has him cuffed, and I read him his Miranda rights as two of our patrolmen walk in. I give them a quick rundown of the charges and hand him off. Then I sigh, throw some cash down on the bar, and tell Rachel to go home.

Me? I’m heading back to the station to complete an arrest report. But first, I have a stop to make.

Ten minutes later, I park in front of the Elladine Fire Department Station Three and swipe my badge. Any cop in my district can get into the fire stations, so that if there’s ever an emergency, we can access the building to provide support.

Once I’m a few feet down the main hall, I follow the sound of laughter to the main break area. When I’m only feet away, I stop and listen for a moment, though I probably shouldn’t. But, fuck, do I miss the sound of her laughter. Or, more accurately, the sound of her laughter directed at something I’ve said or done.

Even when our friend group hangs out, she doesn’t laugh very often, and she hasn’t directed that gorgeous sound at me in approaching a decade. She’d have to stop pretending I don’t exist to actually laugh at something I say.

“All I’m saying is I don’t understand why we have to keep watching reruns ofBridgerton. You realize you’ve probably watched this more times than any of my female friends, right?” Trina’s voice is light and teasing.

“Captain! Why are you hating onBridgerton? This is one true love, soulmate type shit right here. We gotta teach Thompson here how to treat a lady.”

“Jesus. Thompson, don’t listen to anything these old fools are saying. They’ll ruin your young brain. What are you? Twenty? Twenty-one?”

“Twenty-one, ma’am.”

“Well, first, I’m not even sure there’s such a thing as ‘true’ love, let alone one true love. And definitely not soulmates. You’ll save yourself a lot of heartache if you learn that lesson now.”

“Does Joe know you don’t believe in soulmates, Cap?” another male voice chimes in, his tone jovial.

Who the hell is Joe? I rub at my chest. Damn, jealousy does not feel good.

Unable to listen any longer, I walk up and lift my hand to knock on the open door in time to see Trina smiling at one of the guys, as she throws a slice of the orange she’s eating at him. She looks up as my knuckles meet the wood. All joy drains from her face, replaced almost instantly with the flat affect she wears especially for me.

“You got a minute? In private?” I ask her.

Trina stands and walks to the door. Before she steps out, she glances over her shoulder at her crew. “Don’t fill Thompson’s head with any of your crap while I’m gone. None of you, but especially you, Gio.”

As she walks past me, I follow her and the ripples of laughter as her colleagues continue their conversation fade away the further we get from the room. It’s clear from what I just saw and heard that these men serving under her have affection for her.

A minute later, she opens another door, flips on a light, and she takes a seat behind a desk—one that I presume is hers—then gestures to the chairs opposite her.

“How can I help you, Detective?”

Okay, she’s going formal.

“I wanted to come by and make sure you were okay.”

Trina squints her eyes at me and frowns like she thinks I’m the world’s biggest idiot—which, with her, I might be—then holds her hands in front of her, palms up. “Why wouldn’t I be? Even if I’m not, it’s not any of your concern. So, unless there’s some police business you need to discuss?—”

“I arrested an obnoxious customer at O’Riley’s tonight for being unruly. Part of his spouting off was about you. About some things he apparently said to you today, and how he blames you for getting fired from his job. I wanted to make sure it didn’t shake you up. And that he didn’t make any threats.”

She sits back in her chair, and her eyes widen. “Joe fired him because of what he said to me? Wow, okay.” She says it more to herself than to me.

Anxiety creeps up into my chest. This Joe character has rapidly become my least favorite person, and I don’t even know him.

I should stop myself from asking the question that’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t. “Who’s Joe?” I sneer.

“No one you know.” Her tone is so dismissive I feel my blood pressure rising. “Are we done here?” She stands.

Apparently, she’s finished. But I’m not.

“Tell me why you’re still so angry with me.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’m already there,” I mutter under my breath. The way her eyes narrow tells me she heard it, though.

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