Chapter 21
Having already had two beers at a local pub after meeting up with Dwight, Con was buzzing nicely.
His plan had been to go home, continue drinking, and maybe delve even deeper into his sister’s case.
But then he remembered that Beth wouldn’t be there. Even though they rarely talked, the fact that she was sleeping in their bedroom, or if she was working late, just knowing that she would be coming home at some point, was comforting.
That comfort was gone now.
Con didn’t want to be alone. Being alone meant being trapped in his own head.
And his mind was a dark, lonely place.
No, he wanted to keep drinking with someone. Someone who didn’t feel the need to just talk all the fucking time.
Con picked up Alex outside a bookstore and she got into his car without so much as asking where they were going.
Con thought about heading to the bar he’d met AA in but then changed his mind.
The man was probably there, racking up another substantial bar tab.
Instead, Con chose a small bar that he’d never been to before.
It was nearly empty, but he opted for a dark booth at the back anyway.
They both ordered a beer.
Con was surprised that he was the one to finally break the silence. To his credit, though, he waited until their second—his fourth—beer.
“So, how was your first day, Agent Frost?”
She offered him a lopsided smirk.
“Just peachy. Agent Allen introduced me to the entire team, welcomed me to the squad with open arms. And then we had a little party like it was my birthday.”
“Seriously?”
Alex laughed. She had a nice laugh. Not a high-pitched titter but not completely baritone, either. Somewhere in between.
“No. My day was… uneventful.”
Even though Con appreciated the joke, he still looked down and fiddled with his glass.
“I’m sorry. It’s just been a rough—”
“—week. Yeah, you said that.”
Con glanced up expecting to see judgment plastered on Alex’s features.
But there was none. There was something else.
Understanding.
He’d gone through many partners since Tate, since capturing The Sandman. All men, all with experience in law enforcement. And all of them had looked at him the same way: with reverence.
Why?
Because someone had given an anonymous tip that led to The Sandman’s capture?
Con hadn’t done anything.
If he’d been smarter, worked harder or longer, he might have been able to save some of the victims.
He might have saved his sister.
But that wasn’t Alex.
While having his first few drinks of the day, Con had looked her up. As Marcus had informed him, her father was indeed a US Congressman. But Alex’s accolades stood on their own.
She’d graduated from NYU summa cum laude with an undergraduate degree in Criminal Justice. Then she was top of her class in the NYPD training program and received a glowing report from her commanding officer after a short stint as a beat cop. Her real crowning achievement, however, was the perfect mark on her final FBI exam.
Con really didn’t keep up to date on these things, but a little research revealed that this was extremely rare.
What he really liked about the woman, as minimal as their interactions had been, was that she didn’t look at him with that glazed-over expression.
Like he was some sort of celebrity, which he most definitely was not.
Rather than hurting an ego that he didn’t really have, this was a breath of fresh air for Con.
And he felt a strange sort of responsibility for Alex that he hadn’t for any of his previous partners. With this came a small tinge of guilt.
Con opened his mouth to say something, perhaps utter a half-assed apology, but Alex spoke up first.
“Listen, so I was thinking, when the first wave of people came to California for the gold rush, why did they go to Yerba Buena and not Santa Clara? I mean, it was on the way.”
The question came from so far out of left field that Con wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.
Or maybe it was the beer.
Just to make sure, Con ordered them both another drink even though Alex had barely gotten started on her second.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said flatly.
Alex made a face.
“The gold rush. The first wave of explorers who came to find gold after it was discovered here in California. They went to Yerba Buena. I thought they’d stop in Santa Clara, but they didn’t do that until Yerba was completely overrun and dry.”
“What?”
For the first time since meeting her, Alex appeared uncomfortable. There was a slight flush to her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “When we were in the car earlier, I—”
And then it clicked.
The fucking audiobook narrated by The Sandman.
“You bought the book?” Con interrupted.
The redness to Alex’s face intensified and she shifted her gaze.
“Yeah, I’m sorry. I just thought that you were a history buff. I don’t know much about the gold rush, but I thought maybe—”
“Well, you’re wrong. The first settlers dug in the Mojave Desert not Yerba… Buena.”
Alex pulled back.
“No, they definitely went to Yerba Buena.”
Con took a large swig of beer. As he did, he heard Matthew’s voice in his head. Truthfully, he’d been more interested in the narrator than the actual story, and he’d paid little attention to the latter.
And yet, he was confident that the serial killer had said that the settlers came to the Mojave Desert first.
He shook his head.
What did it matter, anyway?
“Sure. Anyways, I’m not really into the gold rush.”
Despite his comment, however, Con was impressed by Alex’s attention to detail. And her desire to get to know him better, especially considering how poorly he’d treated her.
“I appreciate you taking me out,” Alex said. “But I’m kinda jet lagged. I might take off, hail a cab. That okay by you?”
“Of course, but forget the cab. I’ll drive you home.”
Alex reached for her wallet, but Con stopped her. Picking up the bill was the least he could do. And their tab was far more reasonable than AA’s.
They left the bar and Con swayed a little.
“I think I’ll drive if it’s all the same to you.”
Con’s keys were dangling from his fingers, and he suddenly felt protective of them—he was the senior partner and it was his car. He was distinctly aware, though, that this had the potential to be an incredibly awkward moment, like those PSA commercials that used to air on TV.
Eventually, rationality won out.
Thinking that he was about to complain or maybe even pull his hand back, Alex reached out aggressively. They bumped knuckles and instead of handing the keys over, they fell to the ground.
Both of them went to pick them up at the same time, narrowly avoiding bumping heads.
Once they were on the same level, Con’s face inches from hers, and he saw that cute smile on her face, something happened.
Like Beth, Alex wore no perfume but had that clean scent about her that only women seemed to have.
Later, he would find a multitude of reasons to justify his actions.
His wife had just left him. The anniversary of his sister’s disappearance was on the horizon, the beer, the hangover, his constant strife with Marcus Allen.
But there was no excuse for what he did next. Without thinking, Con leaned forward and kissed her.
At least, that’s what he tried to do.
At the very last second, Alex pulled her head back and rose to her feet, keys in hand.
Realizing what had just occurred, Con stayed on his haunches.
He wanted to remain down here, tell Alex to just go ahead, take his car. That he was the one who would hail a cab.
What the fuck are you doing, Con? What the actual fuck?
Back in the bar, when she’d brought up the gold rush, Alex’s face had gone pink with embarrassment.
Now, Con felt as if his entire body was on fire.
His cheeks blazed, and his ears were practically smoking.
“Con?”
It was the use of his first name, something that he’d chastised Agent Hale for and forbidden the man from using, that finally forced him to take responsibility for his actions.
Face still burning, Con rose and looked Alex dead in the eyes.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he said. He took out a cigarette and lit it.
This could go one of two ways, Con knew.
Best case was that Alex just considered him some sort of creep and, while remaining guarded, tried to put this behind them.
Worst? She told Marcus.
Fuck a DUI, basically sexually assaulting a partner was guaranteed to finish him.
Sandman reputation or not, he was done.
Alex’s expression revealed nothing.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, her tone neutral. “This isn’t the first time that a colleague has hit on me.”
She was trying to deflect, and this didn’t go over well with Con.
“But I’m your superior. I should have never—”
“It’s not the first time a superior has hit on me either. Come on, let me take you home.”