21. Chapter 21
I’m at the office typing up my notes when Monty pushes away from his desk and stands. “I’m gonna grab a cup of coffee from next door. Don’t feel like brewing any here. Want anything?” he asks.
I pick up the mug I filled earlier and glance in, seeing it half full. “Nah, I’ll just nuke this.”
“That’s disgusting,” he says as he walks past me. “Be back in five!”
About ninety seconds later I hear the door open again.
“Forget your wallet?” I ask as I turn to see two officers entering. Deputy Clark saunters in, thumbs hooked through his belt loops as he casually looks around, whistling, and Sgt. Henderson is right beside him, eyes cast downward.
I slowly rise from my seat, grab my coffee cup, and make my way past the cubicles toward the kitchenette. As I stick the cup in the microwave, I address the officers over my shoulder.
“This is an unexpected visit,” I turn and lean against the counter as my coffee warms, my hands gripping the cheap Formica countertop.
Neither answers right away. Henderson stands by the doorway, shuffling his feet, arms across his chest as he continues staring at the ground.
Clark has inched his way closer to me. “Seems like we just can’t keep away from you, Lizzie.” There’s something in the way he says my shortened name, like he’s trying to be demeaning. Belittling.
The microwave chimes, and I realize I nuked the coffee way too long. I turn and open the microwave and pull out the steaming cup, then I clear my throat. “It’s Lyzbeth, Deputy Clark. Anyway, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company tonight?”
As I hug the coffee cup between my hands and blow the steam away from my face, I intentionally take steps around Clark and make my way into the main entrance of the office, which forces him to follow, and now the three of us are in full view of the glass doors and windows. Since it’s dark out, I know anyone passing by can see right into the fully lit office. Like a fishbowl.
Henderson blows out a breath and scratches the back of his neck with one hand. “Look, Lyzbeth, things got a little awkward at the office the other day, and we didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.” He looks back at Clark, who now has his hands in his pockets and is still looking around the office, like he hasn’t a care in the world.
“It’s just this case, the King case … You gotta back off. The chief is making real progress cleaning up the city, and there’s things you don’t know, things you would never guess—”
Clark’s intentional, loud cough stops Henderson mid-sentence. Somehow he’s closer to me again. “Here’s how this works. We’re not here to ask.” His eyes flick to Henderson with anger. “We’re here to simply reinforce that this story, the one you think you’re hot on, is dead. You got me? The trail has run cold. You’ve hit a dead end. It’s over. Capiche?”
He’s now standing so close, his arms crossed over his chest, his elbows almost touching me.
Challenge accepted.
Still cupping my coffee mug between two hands I again bring it to my lips and blow, my eyes locked with his the entire time. “Nah,” I say. Clark’s eyes blaze with fury. I love it. “It’s over when I decide it’s over.”
He steps even closer to me, somehow, invading my space even more and although I’m definitely shaking in my boots, my stubbornness has me attempting to appear aloof. I hear Henderson take a step closer. “Clark,” he says, like a plea, or even a threat.
Eyes never leaving mine, Clark reaches forward and, with one finger crooked into the mouth of my mug, he tips it toward him so hot coffee spills onto the rug between us, splashing both our legs and feet.
“Clark, enough,” says Henderson, while I hear another throat clear from further away.
“Problem here, gentlemen?” EJ booms from the back of the office, where he stays holed up most of the time. He makes his way toward us with long strides, hands on his hips.
All three of our heads snap in his direction. He and I make eye contact, and I can see the questions swirling behind his. I step back and take a breath, my arms falling to my sides, with my coffee cup still gripped tightly in one.
“Not at all,” I say, trying to prove I won’t be spooked, even if it is a lie. “Our friends were just leaving. Weren’t you?” I turn my attention toward them.
“Yes,” Henderson says, at the same time Clark chimes, “I don’t know …”
Henderson lets out a sigh as EJ makes his way closer, stopping by the sports desk, then perching one ass cheek on it as he reaches over and runs his fingers along a game-winning baseball bat one of the reporters was gifted years ago after a Rochester Red Wings game. Even half-sitting, EJ’s ginormous body is still intimidating.
EJ picks up the bat, holding the skinny end in his right hand and slowly bouncing the fat end off his left palm. “Normal business hours are over. This office is closed. So, unless you have official business here, I suggest you leave,” he says, mostly to Clark.
The officer chuckles, but eventually concedes. “Yeah, of course.” He brings his hands together then raises his arms wide. “Well, this was a lovely visit. Thank you for your hospitality, Lizzie. But don’t you worry, we’ll be seeing you again soon.”
Whistling again and linking his thumbs back through his belt, he follows Henderson out the door—which hasn’t even fully closed before Monty comes blowing in.
“Was that—” he begins, then stops mid-sentence as he takes in EJ with the bat in his hands, coffee on the floor, and me, now visibly shaken.
“Did I miss something?” he asks.
After filling Monty in on our visit from the officers, I thank EJ for backing me up.
“I got you,” is all he says before giving the bat a few swings in the air and returning it to the desk, then sauntering back to his office. I have to remember to get that guy a Christmas present.
Monty is dumbfounded. “Lizzie, you have to call somebody.”
“Who am I going to call?” I ask with a laugh. “The police?”
Monty nods in understanding then says, “You’re coming home with me. You can sleep in the spare bedroom tonight.”
I open my mouth to protest but Monty puts a hand in the air. “You’re not going to stay by yourself tonight, not after being bullied by the city’s finest. Stay at our place, then tomorrow go see the chief. I have a feeling those goons went rogue. I can’t imagine Scott sticking them on you. Besides, Catherine will be ecstatic to have you.”
I hug my arms around my middle, embarrassed that Monty feels like he needs to go all dad mode and protect me, but he does have a point.
“OK. Fine,” I concede, realizing I don’t have any spare clothes, or even a toothbrush, up my sleeve, but I guess I’ll live.
We finish our work quickly and pack up our stuff, and as we step out of the office, Monty asks, “You, um, think you should call Knox? Give him a head’s up?”
I shake my head. I don’t want him to come to my rescue. I still want to hate him.