Chapter 12
Colton had texted Monday morning asking if I could
stop by the office today to look at the photos again, but when I got there, he
wasn’t there. I tried not to take it personally as I was handed off to
Detective Hart and taken into a private room, but it was hard. My stomach
churned as Detective Hart spread glossy photographs across the scratched
surface of the table.
I wanted to ask where Colton was. Hell, I wanted to whip out
my phone and text him. Call him.
“Just take your time,” he said, sitting back in the metal
chair. “There’s no rush.”
My gaze flickered over the photographs as my heart started
pounding in my chest. I needed to focus. Priorities. Right now, what had
happened with Colton wasn’t the most important thing going on.
The shooter was still out there.
Taking my time, I looked at each of the photos spread out in
front of me. At first, they all looked alike—men in their upper twenties, bald
with tats on the neck or just on their arms. I’d looked at twenty or so before
Detective Hart added five more photos to the mix. I glanced over at them.
My heart stopped as I sucked in an unsteady breath. I
reached over, picking up the third photograph, and held it close. There were
three shots: full frontal and two profiles.
“Ms. Ramsey?”
For a moment I couldn’t get my tongue to work. Like it was
glued to the roof of my mouth. My hand trembled as I stared at the face of the
man I’d seen shoot someone—kill someone. My throat was dry. “It’s him.”
Detective Hart leaned forward, placing his forearm on the
table. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” I cleared my throat. “That’s him.” Unable to
look at the photo any longer, I handed it over to the detective. Satisfaction
gleamed in his eyes. “What’s his name?” I asked and then frowned. “You probably
can’t tell me that, can you?”
He slipped the photo in a file. “You’d be correct. At least
not right now.” Standing, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
“There’s just a couple of forms we need you to sign and then you’ll be on your
way.”
Taking several shallow breaths, I ignored the unease
twisting up my insides. Detective Hart paused at the door. “You’re going to put
this man behind bars, where he belongs.” His smile was tight. “And you’ve
probably saved his life.”
Monday was weird.
I couldn’t focus on the new manuscript, not that anyone
would blame me. I’d identified a murderer this morning and according to
Detective Hart, I’d probably saved his life by doing so. Unless the mob guy
Colton had mentioned got to him first.
Colton.
Throughout the day, I engaged in some major wishful phone
checking. As if somehow I had missed his text or call. Of course, there were no
missed messages. My stomach dropped. After identifying the shooter, I figured
Colton would be in contact, even if it was in a purely professional sense.
Monday slowly churned into Tuesday. No calls. No texts. I
could’ve messaged him, I realized that, but I was the one who messed up and I
honestly had no experience in these things. Dating was so far out of my realm
of understanding. Was I supposed to give him space? Give him time? Or was he
waiting for me to reach out? Or was he just really busy? The latter made sense.
He was probably trying to search down the shooter.
Sitting at my desk, I groaned as I leaned over, resting my
forehead against the cool wood. I was such an idiot. I’d let that stupid, ugly
voice in my head get the better of me. I was still letting it get the better of
me, wasn’t I? Because why hadn’t I messaged Colton?
Messaging Colton would be the normal thing to do.
I lifted my head and gently lowered it back to the desk.
Rinse and repeat. What was I doing, other than banging my head on a desk?
Because that wasn’t weird or anything. Okay. I needed a plan. My heart skipped
a beat when I lifted my head and saw my cell. I could text him, something
small. I could totally do it.
Snatching up my phone, I tapped the screen and then the
little green message icon. My pulse was kicking around as I hit Colton’s name
and started typing out the first thing that came to mind. I didn’t let myself
stop and think about it or let myself feel stupid for typing it out. The
message was just four words.
I miss your crepes.
Okay. That was kind of a cute message and sort of stupid. A
lot stupid. Before I hit send, I deleted the message.
I was such an idiot, geez.
I didn’t text Colton and I didn’t hear from him.
My life had been so crazy the last two weeks it was almost
hard to believe that only that short amount of time had passed. I didn’t know
how to feel about witnessing a murder, knowing one was dead, and the other one,
the shooter, would soon be—hopefully—apprehended.
I didn’t know how to feel about a lot of things.
Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. When it came to Colton,
I knew exactly how I felt. Crappy. I didn’t think his text Monday was an excuse
to not see me. After all, after what happened, he would be busy, and since he
normally worked on Tuesday, I wasn’t expecting a visit.
I didn’t get one either.
And he hadn’t texted or called. There was a part of me that
wanted to listen to the small and probably more reasonable voice that claimed
his lack of contact didn’t mean anything. He had to be busy, and I also hadn’t
reached out to him. Mainly because I didn’t know what to say.
I still couldn’t believe I had asked him that question. If
he was angry, which I knew he had been even though he’d said I hadn’t needed to
apologize, it was within his right. Insinuating that he had some kind of
ulterior motive to spending time with me and doing the things we had been doing
was downright insulting.
I’d fucked up.
And as Jillian sat on the edge of my couch early Wednesday
evening, watching me pace back and forth in my living room, I told her just how
badly I’d fucked up while she sipped the latte she’d brought with her.
“So, that’s about it.” I dropped down on the couch, eyeing
the cappuccino she’d brought me. It was all gone. “Not only does he probably
think I’m a jackass, he also knows I have the confidence of a sewer rat.”
Jillian frowned from behind the rim of her cup. “I don’t
think he believes you’re an asshole. He told you not to apologize.”
“That’s because he’s a good guy and he’s not mean to anyone.
Even in high school he was that way. Standing up for the kids that got picked
on and friendly to everyone, and this last week has taught me he hasn’t changed
in that department.” I grabbed the empty cup and stood, unable to stay seated.
I walked into the kitchen, tossing it in the trash. “If he thought I was a
jackass, he’s not going to say anything.”
“That may be true, but I just don’t think that’s the case.”
She placed her cup on the coffee table and waited until I returned to the
living room. “And about the confidence thing? You shouldn’t be embarrassed by
it.”
Stopping near the TV, I arched a brow as I folded my arms
across my chest. “Lack of confidence is seriously one of the most unattractive
things out there.”
Jillian rolled her eyes. “And it’s also seriously one of the
most normal, common things out there.”
“True,” I murmured.
“I always thought being told you should be more confident,
because confidence is sexy, was like getting a bitch slap in the face,” Jillian
said. “Like ‘thanks for pointing that out.’”
I laughed dryly. “It’s weird, you know? I hadn’t even
noticed this about myself in the last couple of years. I just sort of stopped
thinking about myself as a woman. I know that sounds stupid, but that’s the
best way I can explain it. I think…” I sat back down, resting my hands in my
lap as I gave a lopsided shrug. “And I was always so comfortable with Kevin. It
wasn’t something I ever had to think about, and I think the newness of all of
this rattled me.”
“That’s understandable.”
A weak smile crossed my lips as I glanced at my phone.
Colton should be off tonight, unless he was still handling the investigation.
My stomach dropped a little. “I guess in a way it’s a blessing in disguise. At
least now I know how I feel. I can do something about it.”
She twisted toward me. Thick brown hair slid off her
shoulder as she tilted her head to the side. “Like what?”
I really wasn’t going to admit to the whole staring at
myself naked thing. “Mostly I think I just need to be more aware of myself.
Take some time for myself, you know?”
“You do work all the time,” she agreed after a moment. “I
thought my dad worked a lot, but I think the only time you take off is when we
get together.”
That would be an affirmative.
She peeked at me through the thick fringe of bangs. “Do
you…want to change yourself?”
“Who doesn’t want to change themselves, just a little bit?”
I laughed as I brushed my hair back behind my ear. “I mean, I could probably be
a wee bit healthier. Stop drinking cappuccinos every day. But I’d rather be
happy with myself than to really try to change everything about myself.”
“That’s good.” Her gaze lowered. “I wish I thought that.
About myself, I mean.”
I frowned. “Do you want to change yourself?” When she didn’t
answer, understanding set in. “Is that why you’re transferring colleges? To
start over?”
Her shoulder rose in a halfhearted shrug. “I just want
to…yeah, I want to start over, and I can. I will.”
Concern flickered through me. I reached over, placing my
hand on her arm. “Is everything okay?”
Jillian nodded in response to the loaded question. The girl
had never been very forthcoming with information, only dropping bits and pieces
here and there. I knew she wasn’t close to many people, except…except a guy
named Brock. He was some kind of fighter with her father’s organization. From
what I had gathered, he’d been around her family for a long time.
And whenever she did talk about him, which wasn’t often, her
face would always get this look of absolute adoration on it.
“Jillian—”
“I just don’t want to end up doing what my entire family