Chapter 22

"Tomorrow night," Chase says, closing his laptop. "Did you get the email from the chief?"

I pump my fists in the air. "Fuck, yes. Saw it a few minutes ago. We're going to nail Lambert. What team are we going in with?"

"Cooper and Resnick. Both great guys to have with us when we're delivering a nice little package to a perp. Beat cops outside in case someone runs. The beat cops won't know until we go over there. Just you, me, Cooper, and Resnick know. Well, the judge and chief. They aren't telling anyone."

"At least they aren't making us wait a week to assemble and brief. Every time they do that, someone on the drug dealer payroll in this department gives them the heads up." I look behind me to make sure I don't have an eavesdropper. Chase and I are clean cops, but there are dirty cops that like a little extra cash on the side. "It's nice it's quiet this time."

"I think everyone wants this dick off the street. Hell, other sellers want him off the street."

"Them next," I say with a smile.

Chase and I have been pulling all-nighters, either watching the Lambert house or documenting everything into the case system and our own spreadsheets and documentation systems as we get everything in front of our boss and a judge. We've lined up witnesses that are Lambert's buyers and will contact them to see who turns on Lambert as soon as we have him. Our warrant is finally ready, and we're going in as soon as everyone that needs to know everything about the house and the case can be briefed. We're also waiting on Lambert's ex-girlfriend's information on what weapons are in the house and where they're stored.

Nervous energy moves through my body, and I need to do something with it. I need a physical release like running or fucking the shit out of someone.

I've always hated running.

Except for a text message, I haven't talked to Lorelei since court. I've been trying to focus, and when I'm not working, I'm sleeping a couple hours or grabbing something fast to eat on the go. I've thought about texting her with something witty or a funny meme, but the mental energy to come up with something witty that'll impress her just isn't in my head right now. The only thing in my head is getting Jacob Lambert in jail and his brother in a proper youth facility or home that can help him.

I don't know why it hasn't occurred to me to simply text her and tell her I'm thinking about her until now.

Will she think it's corny of me to text and tell her I'm busy but can't wait to see her? She didn't tell me goodbye at court, and I'm unsure if she's mad about something that happened there. I did my best to not ruin her, and I'm sure she didn't want to act like we have a relationship in front of her lawyer.

What is our relationship?

I reach for my phone to text her, but it rings in my hand instead. The picture of Mom and me at a community park concert last year comes up on my screen, and I slide the button to answer it. I've also been unintentionally ignoring her.

"Hi, sweetheart," my mother says, her face filling the screen when I answer the Facetime call. "Bad time?"

Do her cheeks look pinker? "It's fine. I have some downtime since we got some good news. Do you need groceries? Want me to get you some books and bring them over?"

"Not necessary. I got some new ones."

"Did the library finally take you off the waiting list for the delivery service?" I ask, wondering if my mother felt better today and went to get her own books. She shouldn't be feeling that well a few days after chemo. She doesn't usually start feeling better until a day before the next damn appointment.

"Nope. That lovely Lorelei girl of yours brought me some."

I suck in a breath. "You've seen Lorelei?"

Chase raises his eyebrows across from me, probably also confused that Lorelei is visiting my mother. Normally, I would be concerned or worried that a woman I like stopped over and talked to Mom. Did they talk about me? But there's something comforting about Lorelei spending time with my mother if I can't. Lorelei would make sure my mother is comfortable and the house doesn't get too crazy.

"Don't worry. We didn't talk about you…much," Mom says. "We talked about dirty books. You want to come over and eat? I made a big pot of stew and had two bowls. It's good stuff."

I smile a little, and tears prick my eyes. "You felt like eating so soon after a chemo session? I usually have to force you to sip some Ensure. Are you sure they gave you the right meds and not a placebo?"

Mom looks away, and I know she's hiding something. She puts on a fake smile and shakes her head. "Don't shit on my miracle. You coming over or not?"

Thanks to traffic, I roll into Mom's driveway an hour later, surprised to find Mom standing at the door and waving like she was watching for me from the window. As I walk up the sidewalk, she practically bounces on her toes.

"I haven't seen you move like this for months. What's up?" I ask.

Her eyes widen, and she stops bouncing. If anything, she slouches and diminishes before my eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm clearly sick."

"Don't bullshit me, Mom," I say, opening the screen door and holding it for her to pass by. I catch a whiff of her soap. Mom hasn't bathed without the help of a home health nurse because she's been too weak to stand in the shower, and I'm worried she'll fall getting in and out of the tub. The nurse only comes every other day, and today isn't a visit day. "Did you shower?"

"I did for a whole three minutes. It's enough to wash all the important stuff. You want stew or not?"

"I'll get it," I say, directing her to the couch.

She immediately slaps my hand away. "Liam, I feel fine today. Let me try to be back to my normal self."

"I'm just surprised, Mom. It's out of nowhere."

"It's not out of nowhere. I got my appetite back. Once I started eating a little, I started being able to do a few more things around the house. I actually felt like cleaning. Sure, I didn't get on the floor and hand mop it, but I pushed the Swiffer mop you got me around a little. If I can keep eating, you won't have to come over and help as much."

"Mom, I don't mind coming to help you every day. I just haven't been able to this week."

"I know, sweetheart. Let me get you food, and we can talk about your week."

"Sit down, Mom," I say. My stern voice silences her, and she shrinks onto the couch. "Save your energy."

She listens this time, smiling a true smile that reaches her eyes. She smiles whenever I come over, but I know it's usually for show. She's trying to comfort me. This grin is real, though.

I go into the kitchen and scoop a bowl of stew for myself and look around the cabinets for some crackers. Finding some, I crumble the crackers and taste the stew. It's a little bland, so I open the fridge, looking for the Worcestershire sauce my mother keeps for when I'm over for pot roast.

It's not in the usual place on the door, so I rummage through the shelves, lamenting that my mother hasn't changed her ways in regards to having upward of ten leftover dishes in the fridge at a time. I move aside a butter tub and come across a pan I've never seen before. It's glassware and has pink and yellow butterflies on the side.

"What's in this pan, Mom? Did you bake something?"

Silence.

"Mom?"

"Uh," she drawls, and it only makes me examine the pan harder. "No. That's some leftover stuff from church." She talks fast, and I immediately know it's a lie.

I lift the aluminum foil off the pan and tilt my head to the side as I wrap my head around the contents, it all making sense. I'd recognize the way she cuts her brownies anywhere because I've been obsessed with those brownies and the girl that bakes them.

I grit my teeth, and my lips curl until my nose scrunches. Fury heats my neck, and I dig my keys out of my pocket.

"Where are you going?" Mom asks as I stomp by her. "Don't be stupid, Liam."