Page 33 of Selfie

Hodge clears his throat. “Sorry, sir. These are the results of eight days of surveillance.”

“Better. Where’s Ruby?”

“The old lady?”

“Yes,” I bite out. I don’t have a long list of enemies. A few terminated employees who’d probably like to take a few swings. Business rivals, sure. But sweet old Ruby is the devil in disguise. I know her true colors. Claire is a possession to her, and she’s in total denial that her son is a monster. She saw Elise beaten within an inch of her life. Ruby is the kind of vile bitch who’d ask what the woman did wrong to deserve it. She has no right to raise Claire.

“From what I can tell, these are daddy-daughter dates. It looks like he’s trying to make up for lost time. How long was he away?”

“Not long enough. And what does Peter do when he’s not with Claire?” Truth be told, Peter is even-keeled when he’s sober. It’s when he’s high or drunk that he turns into Mr. Hyde.

“He’s squeaky clean. AA meetings, daily check-ins with his parole officer. He’s even going to evening church services.”

He can repent all he wants. Corrupt cops and wife-beaters go into the ground and stay there. There should be no salvation for evil men like him. I grab my takeout coffee, unaware of the tension in my forearm. Squeezing too hard, the coffee explodes, searing-hot cortado spilling all over my desk, shirt, and lap. “Shit,” I hiss as I wait for the scalding burn to dissipate.

“You all right?”

“I’m fine.” I snatch my phone up, holding it vertically so the coffee drips down off the broken screen. “Keep an eye on Peter.”

“Sure thing, boss. How long?”

“Until I say.” While others might be easily convinced of Peter’s new sobriety, I’m not fooled. My command acknowledged, I hang up the call.

The whole office reeks of coffee now. I open a few windows to air out the space, then head to the hidden closet. I push againstthe cabinet and the door pops open. I keep a couple spare suits in here for shit like this. Sliding off my belt, I let it drop to the floor, then unbutton and kick off my pants. My shirt is probably fine, just a few wet spots, but I might as well change everything.

I grab two suits and their hangers from the rod. As I’m debating between black and dark gray, there’s a shriek from behind me.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

I turn in time to see Spencer whipping around, her long hair fanning out like silk around her shoulders. She starts to flee my office, but in her disarray she forgets the door is a pull from this side, not a push. There’s an awfulthudas she collides face-first with the door. She hits the glass so hard, she collapses backward.

I’m across the room in three long strides, my heart hammering hard, as I scoop her head up in the crook of my elbow. I normally try to keep distance between us. Holding her like this is too damn close to the line I so desperately don’t want to cross.

“Oh, shit,” I whisper upon the extent of the damage. Streaks of red are dripping from her nose.

“Am I bleeding?” Her voice is small, but clear, reverberating through my chest with each syllable.

“Yeah.” No point in lying.

“Is it broken?”

I brush the hair from her face, away from the blood, allowing my fingers to linger longer than necessary near her temple. Very carefully, I press against the bridge of her nose, hyperaware of how her ragged breath is warming my skin. “How’s that feel?”

“Not too bad.” Her eyes lock with mine for a moment. A pleading look that matches my own. Like we both want to be put out of our misery. Her discomfort is probably a mix of pain and unnecessary embarrassment. Mine? The agony of wanting her.

“Then I think you’re okay. C’mon. Up we go.”

With my hands cupped around her elbows, I guide her into a sitting position. I’m going to completely ignore that her skirt has ridden up so high I can see her bare, upper thighs. Diverting my gaze, I temper my curiosity that’s getting all kinds of stirred up. I force my gaze away from her supple skin. She’s hurt. Now isnotthe time…

It’ll never be the time.

As I move my hands to her shoulders, steadying her, Spencer presses her palms against both of her temples. “I might have a concussion. Suddenly the smell of coffee is really strong.”

“No, that was me. I just spilled coffee all over myself. Hence why I was changing.”

“Please don’t give me a hard time about this. I had no idea you were almost naked in here.” Her eyes flicker downward for a fraction of a second before snapping back up. She thinks she’s subtle…she’s not. I’m painfully aware of my state of undress, and how little fabric separates us. But the beast in my chest is purring with glee at the idea of Spencer checking me out. Maybe she is feeling what I am. “You said come to your office as soon as I got to work. The door was unlocked.”

“I know, I know. Can you sit on your own?”

---