Chapter 9
Liv
I don’t see him for three days after the fire, which shouldn’t bother me.
And definitely doesn’t; or at least that’s what I tell myself.
Because I’m too busy to notice the lack of him.
Between extra shifts and back-to-back calls, I’m too busy being so exhausted that it’s in my bones and is making everything feel just a little bit heavier.
It should be enough to keep my mind occupied.
It’s not.
Because every time the rig turns down my street, I look. Every time I pass by that building, I look. Every time I hear a siren in the distance, I wonder.
It’s stupid, I know it’s stupid.
Which is why, on day four, when I drag myself up the stairs to my apartment after a fourteen-hour shift, I definitely don’t expect to see him.
But there he is. Leaning against the wall outside my door, like he belongs there.
My steps slow, just slightly. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for him to pick up on it. His head lifts as soon as I hit the landing, eyes locking onto mine instantly.
“Detective,” I say teasingly.
“Ms. Carter.”
God. That shouldn’t do anything for me. And yet…
“What are you doing here?” I ask, shifting my bag higher on my shoulder as I dig my keys out.
He pushes off the wall slowly. Casually, too casually. “I was in the area.”
I snort, because no, he wasn’t. Not for any casual reason like his tone suggests. “Right. Because this is a great area to just casually be in.”
The corner of his mouth ticks up, just barely. But more than enough.
“I brought food,” he says, holding up plastic bags of take-out.
That… I wasn’t expecting.
I pause mid-motion, key halfway to the lock. “…You brought food.”
He twists his wrist, showing me all sides of the bag like he’s assuring me that there isn’t a bomb on the backside of it. Takeout, smells good too. Really good. “I figured you haven’t had time to eat,” he adds.
My stomach, the traitor that it is, growls immediately. I close my eyes for a second. Because this is how people end up in bad decisions. “You can’t just show up at my apartment with food,” I say, even as I unlock the door.
“Why not?”
I push it open and step inside. Because apparently, I have no self-preservation instincts. “Because it makes it very hard to say no to having a detective hanging around in a neighborhood like this.”
The words slip out before I can stop them.
Silence.
I turn to find him watching me more closely now. Something subtle shifts in his expression.
“Is that what you’re trying to do?” he asks quietly. So quietly that I think he might be afraid of the answer. “Say no?”
My brain short-circuits for a second. “…No,” I admit.
That’s the problem.
I step back, opening the door wider. “Come in before the food gets cold.” Bad decision. Definitely a bad decision.
Pip is immediately at my feet, chirping like I’d personally abandoned him for years.
Alex pauses just inside the doorway. His eyes drop to the cat, then flit back up to me. “I forgot you have a roommate.”
I huff a laugh. “Yeah, Pip. He runs the place.”
Pip circles Alex once, long enough for me to think he’ll be as impartial to Alex as he was the last time he came over. But then, the traitor leans into his leg.
I blink. “Wow. He doesn’t even like Scott. That only took two times-” I frown down at the joyful little fluffball. “And here I thought you just only liked me.”
Alex crouches slightly, one hand hovering before gently scratching behind Pip’s ear. Slowly, carefully, and protectively, like he’s approaching something fragile.
The thought of him being protective hits me out of nowhere.
Pip purrs instantly.
“Of course,” I mutter. “You win him over in five seconds.”
Alex glances up at me. “Animals are good judges.”
Something about the way he says it, like it means something more, makes my chest tighten, reminding me of the day I found little, injured Pip in the alleyway and he let me cradle his tiny body in my hands.
I shake it off before it gets me teary-eyed over my little guy’s hardest day and head for the kitchen. “Alright, what did you bring?”
We settle into the barstools at the edge of the kitchen just like last time. It’s almost becoming natural already.
He unpacks the food, Chinese takeout. Not my usual “whatever’s in the fridge and barely qualifies as a meal.”
“You’re trying to impress me,” I accuse lightly.
“Is it working?”
I stab a piece of orange chicken with my fork. “…Yes.”
He watches me take the first bite, like he’s waiting for a reaction. It’s good, really good.
I groan slightly before I can stop myself.
His mouth curves again. “Worth it,” he mutters.
God.
We eat in a strange kind of quiet at first, not necessarily awkward. Just… aware of each other. Of the limited space between us. Of the fact that this isn’t normal yet feels like it is.
“You’ve been busy,” he says after a few minutes.
“Always am.”
“You picked up extra shifts.”
I go still, fork halfway to my mouth. “That sounds less like a guess and more like you already now.”
He doesn’t even try to deny it. “I ask questions.”
Of course he does.
“About me?”
“When it’s relevant.”
There it is. I set my fork down slowly. “And I’m relevant to what exactly?”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Your neighborhood.”
The air shifts, there it is. The real reason he’s here. And I’d stupidly let myself think it wasn’t just about the case, but maybe about me specifically too.
I lean back slightly in my chair, crossing my arms. “You’re using me to spy on my neighborhood.”
It’s not an accusation, not really. Just… a fact, apparently.
His jaw tightens just a little. “I’m asking for your perspective.”
“Which is conveniently free and already located in the middle of your investigation.”
He’s silent for too long. “Have you noticed anything unusual?” he finally asks. He gestures toward the window, toward the street, toward the world I live in every day. “Strange vehicles. People who don’t belong.”
I stare at him for a second. Then I let out a quiet, tired laugh. “Alex,” I say, shaking my head, “everyone who doesn’t belong belongs in this neighborhood.”
His brow furrows slightly.
“The office building across the street?” I continue, gesturing vaguely. “It’s been a revolving door of squatters for a year. People come; people go. No one asks questions because no one wants to get involved.”
I take another bite, chew it in silence, then swallow. “The only new thing,” I add, quieter now, “is the increased violence.”
That lands. I can see it, the way his mind snaps into action. Connecting dots and filling gaps.
“Since when?” he asks.
“A few months,” I reply. “Maybe a little longer. It’s not always loud like the shooting or the fire. Sometimes it’s just… off.”
“Off how?”
I hesitate, because this, this is the line. “I don’t know,” I admit slowly. “More cars at weird hours. People hanging around who don’t look familiar.”
I glance at him. “Girls, sometimes,” I add.
His expression doesn’t change, but something behind his eyes does. I figured he’d have seen that coming, but it hits differently to see it not have much of an effect on him.
“They don’t stay long,” I continue. “At least… I don’t think they do.”
Silence stretches between us, the guilt creeping in. Because I live here, because I saw things. Because I didn’t do anything.
“They were in that building,” I say quietly. “Weren’t they?”
He doesn’t answer right away. That just makes it worse. Then he quietly says, “yes.”
Simple, but heavy and so final. Too final. I swallow hard. “I should’ve-”
“You couldn’t have known,” he cuts in, firm and immediate.
My eyes snap to his. “And even if you had,” he adds, voice lower now, “you don’t go into situations like that alone.”
Protective, again. It wraps around me in a way I didn’t expect. “I’m EMS,” I point out weakly.
“Exactly.”
That doesn’t make sense but deep down, I know he’s right.
I don’t work alone. I have Scott in the rig, plenty enough to keep a few perverts from bothering me during transport.
And for dangerous calls, there’s always PD on scene.
Trying to do anything about that apartment building, even just getting close enough to figure out if assumptions were correct, would have been solo…
and riskier than I want to think about right now.
We fall quiet again, busting into the lo mein.
After a while, I break the silence softly. “York,” I say.
His eyes lift to mine instantly. So I did hear that right.
“You heard,” he says. Not a question.
“I was right there.”
Another pause until he sighs. “Small player.”
I blink. “That didn’t sound like a small operation.”
“It’s not,” he agrees. “But names like that… they’re usually middle management.”
Middle management? That thought of a corporate business structure somehow makes this worse. “Then there’s someone above him,” I murmur.
His gaze holds mine. “Yes.”
The word settles between us like something dangerous. I look down at my food, suddenly less hungry.
“This is a bad idea,” I say quietly.
“What is?”
“This,” I gesture between us. “You being here. Me talking about this.”
He doesn’t move. “You want me to leave?”
Do I? No. “That’s not the problem,” I admit.
“Then what is?”
I exhale slowly. “You’re pulling me into something I shouldn’t be involved in. And I’m letting you.”
There it is, the truth.
His expression softens slightly. “I’m not asking you to do anything you’re not already doing,” he says. “You’re just… telling me what you see.”
“That’s how it starts.”
His gaze sharpens. “You think I’d put you in danger.”
Again, not a question.
I meet his eyes. “I think you’d do whatever it takes to stop what’s happening,” I say honestly. “Even if that means getting close to people you shouldn’t.”
“You’re not just ‘people,’ Liv.”
My breathing stutters.
That… that was a mistake. Because now the line isn’t just blurred, it’s gone. It’s like he’s trying to make this just be about information potentially regarding his case, yet those efforts keep falling apart no matter how hard he tries to stick to them.
Neither of us move. Neither of us look away.
And for a second, just one, it feels like something is about to happen.
Something we can’t take back…
Until Pip jumps onto the counter.
I jerk back, startled, the moment shattering instantly.
“Wow,” I mutter. “Great timing.” I pick him up off the counter and carry him over to the couch. “You know you’re not supposed to jump up that high, Little Man. Stick with your stairs, please.”
I set him onto the middle cushion. He gives me a little yowl telling me he dislikes that I moved him from some potential chicken he could have stolen but gives in, curling up and laying down.
Alex exhales slowly, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah,” he agrees quietly. But his eyes don’t leave me.
And something tells me that this isn’t over. Not the investigation, and definitely not this.