Chapter Eighteen
The work day kicked off with a small meeting. Mac had sat next to Chelsea as Calhoun discussed an upcoming partnership with the CDC to transport materials for a bioweapon project. The shipments were important to national security, and the Marshals were tasked with ensuring a smooth shipment.
As soon as the meeting had wrapped, Mac beelined for Calhoun, and they fell into a quiet discussion. When she’d joined them, the conversation died. It’d been spectacularly uncomfortable, and she begged off with a self-conscious wave.
Which was how she ended up staring at her laptop screen.
The room’s fluorescent lights had mocked her firm belief that smoothies could act as a hangover wonder drug, because after the morning meeting and reading an email from Mac, Calhoun CC’ed, filled with questions and noting missing forms, a dull ache formed above her right eye.
Heat blasted from the air vent above. The stifling temperature didn’t help her headache. It had to be seventy degrees outside, but with Fall officially kicked into high gear with pumpkin-scented lattes and football chatter, the building’s maintenance department had decided to kick on the heat.
Chelsea tugged at her collar. She rolled her shoulders and opened a link to another form that Mac said she’d missed. Was he still with Calhoun? Why hadn’t he mentioned the paperwork if it’s so important?
She bet Mac and Calhoun were holed up somewhere with a fan or even a window that opened. Her jealousy knew no bounds at the thought of a fall breeze.
Maybe Chelsea could convince Calhoun to relocate her desk so that she and Mac could converse instead of shooting emails to one another. They weren’t even on the same floor.
Again, she tugged at the collar of her starched button-down blouse and wished she’d worn a thinner, less abrasive fabric.
Taking off her suit jacket hadn’t helped much, and worse, despite the fact that she’d showered and readied as she did every morning, she could have sworn she could smell the slightest hint of bourbon hanging in the air, making her stomach turn.
A hard rap knocked on the doorjamb, and Chelsea jumped.
Calhoun stepped into her dungeon office. “How’s it going?”
She searched for Mac behind Calhoun’s large frame, but he was nowhere to be seen. She gestured to the screen and the printer. “About as can be expected.”
He gave a good-natured chuckle then settled on the edge of a short filing cabinet. “Mac mentioned there was some missing paperwork.”
She ground her molars. Mac was going to find himself dealing with a peeved partner if he had too much to say.
Calhoun waved his hand. “No one’s tattling, Kilpatrick.” But he crossed his arms and looked down his nose as if that weren’t true. “I asked if he was getting caught up.”
“I think he is.”
“There’s a big difference between providing backup and working this angle alongside you. I have the feeling that Mars is about to strike again. If we could find her before she does…”
She bit her lip, finding no reason to explain about Mac’s abysmal interest in Zee Zee Mars.
“He’s worried about you.” Calhoun’s gaze tightened. “And after talking to him, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was too.”
Her eyes widened. “I’m not sure how comfortable I am that he went to you instead of me.” For the life of her, she didn’t know why their relationship had grown rocky.
Calhoun sniffed. “And I’m more comfortable with Mac involved on the day-to-day when it comes to Mars.”
“I am this close to homing in on Zee Zee.”
He nodded like he’d heard it before—because he had. “And Mac will be by your side when you do.”
“He will be,” she promised.
“Good. It’ll look great for all of us to be able to earn that credit.”
Credit for what she’d been doing for years?
The idea was infuriating. “He hates everything about Zee Zee,” she reminded Calhoun.
Couldn’t her boss recall how often Mac had mentioned that Zee Zee had taken up important real estate on the most wanted list. Privately, he acted as though her obsession with Zee Zee Mars would hold him back from gaining leadership positions.
Calhoun moved to the window. He used his fingers to pull apart the blinds then yanked the cord. Sunlight flooded the already warm office, not helping her hangover. She tried not to wince.
“Not much of a view, huh?” Calhoun asked of the back alley lined with a row of dumpsters.
“I was never in this for the view.”
Fortunately, he dropped the shades. The blinds’ clatter echoed in her ears.
Calhoun paced to the other side of her desk. “Have you checked in with Dr. Casper lately?”
The department shrink? “No.”
He frowned.
“Was I supposed to?”
“I understand there was recently an event for Julia.”
Chelsea’s eyebrows arched. “A bit ago.”
“It’s been a long year,” he said expectantly. When she didn’t respond, he continued, “How are you handling that?”
“Is that why you asked me about Dr. Casper?” They had protocol, and she’d followed it, which was to say, she didn’t do anything. If she’d shot someone, if her partner had been shot, or if she’d been shot, she would have gone to see Dr. Casper, but none of those events had occurred.
When she’d felt the need to discuss Julia, Chelsea turned to Linda and Frank, or a few close friends. And… most recently, Liam.
“It wouldn’t be mandatory,” he suggested vaguely.
“Sir, it’s been more than a year.”
Then Calhoun pinged her with a rapid slew of questions about her clarity and focus, all of which Chelsea answered with unease.
Calhoun paused. She apparently hadn’t said the right words to abate his concern. Though she hadn’t known he was concerned. What had Mac said?
Chelsea bit away a tart retort as Calhoun pursed his lips.
“Have you taken time off for yourself?” he finally asked. “A vacation? Time with family?”
“Last year, around the funeral.”
He pursed his lips again as though he had to think over her uncomplicated answer.
“And, honestly, I don’t need a vacation,” Chelsea added.
He hummed. “Maybe you should take the afternoon.”
Stunned, she blinked. “What? Why?”
He propped an elbow on a crossed arm and rested his chin in his hand, stroking it.
“Sir?” Chelsea pressed.
Calhoun turned, giving the office door a quick shove so that it clicked shut, and he stepped back to her desk.
“Have you been drinking today?”
Chelsea reeled. “What? No.”
“I smell alcohol.”
Her eyes bulged, and her mouth gaped. Dumbfounded, she could barely string thoughts together. “No, I haven’t been drinking.”
“Have you been,” Calhoun continued, “drinking more than normal?”
“No,” she said through clenched teeth.
He took a deep, long sniff. “I smell alcohol.”
Her cheeks heated. “This is absurd—”
“Chelsea, you smell like booze.”
She couldn’t find the words. The explanation was simple enough. The previous night, one single, solitary night, she’d hit a happy hour and drunk too much. But a couple shots and beer were hardly a problem that required her boss to show up.
“Sir,” she tried, swallowing over the sudden dry mouth and pounding headache. “Last night, I went out with a friend. Maybe we hit the liquor harder than usual—”
Calhoun’s forehead pinched.
“Considering I don’t drink often,” she amended. “Harder as compared to not usually.”
“Just a regular Thursday night except for with liquor,” he summarized. “Go see Dr. Casper.”
Incredulous, she felt her jaw drop. “Because I went out last night?” Is this a double standard? She couldn’t count how many times the men in her office had gone out for drinks for no reason or because some sports team was on television, just as they were every week.
“Because I said so.”
His reasoning wasn’t flawed. It was nonexistent. “Sir, this isn’t necessary.”
“Consider it a requirement.” Calhoun dropped his chin as if to declare the conversation over then added, “And go home.”
She blanched, and he gave a curt nod.
“This is ridiculous.”
“Go home, Kilpatrick. Make an appointment with Dr. Casper next week.” He turned to leave but stopped with his hand on the doorknob. He gave her a once-over assessment. “Take some time off, and I’ll check in with you in a couple weeks.”
The door opened and closed, and Calhoun was gone.
Exasperated, Chelsea grabbed her phone, knowing the last person she should call was Mac, and scrolled for Julia.
But reality hit. Julia would never answer again.
That had been a mistake she’d made a few times over the last year, and Chelsea let the phone slip from her hand.
Tears burned at the back of her throat, and even though she was alone, she refused to let them slide free.
Her phone buzzed with a text message. The screen faced up. Liam’s name showed on the notification. Chelsea took a deep breath, understanding his bad day more than she had the day before, and picked up her phone.
LIAM: I thanked you for last night. But I didn’t for breakfast.
Her phone buzzed again with a second text.
LIAM: Thanks.
A small grin curled on her face despite what had transpired in her office. She didn’t want him to make her smile, especially not when she’d been upset and ready to call her best friend. Yet she really, really did.