Chapter 6

"I think that's all from me for now. It was a productive week."

I nodded, thinking how much he loved productivity. As I agreed, I also put my hand at the side of my chair to flex my fingers, which had cramped about ten minutes before because of the excessive writing I'd had to do as he talked. Beckett had offered a laptop for my note-taking but I was nowhere near as fast typing, so my scribbling was here to stay.

"Camille, anything else?" he asked, turning to the new associate. The company had made an offer of employment to her and, as he'd expected, she'd taken the job. She'd been here for a few weeks and the two of them got along great. He had let me know—more than once—how pleased he was with her work, how bright she was, and what a good thing it was for our department to have her.

"I feel the same way," I'd answered. "Really lucky." And in a way, that was really true. Camille seemed to be a good lawyer, in that she accomplished a lot and never resorted to screaming at people or crying at her desk (as our previous boss before Beckett had done). She came as early as he did and stayed just as late, and I'd heard them talking about how they'd spent time together at the office on weekends, too. They seemed to get along great, and I was happy that some of the pressure had eased off me. I was busy enough with other things and I didn't need to worry about this place on top of everything else.

"Juliet, have you heard back from the planning commission yet about the Grand Rapids project?" she asked me now.

Well, there was something that I should have worried about. "Um…" I flipped through the notes I'd also prepared for this meeting, because there was so much happening in my brain that I had to keep track pretty carefully and rely on this notebook a lot. "No," I said finally. "I've left two messages and emailed several times, but I haven't heard back from them yet."

"Camille, it's time for you to step in," Beckett told her and she nodded and made a note on the laptop that sat in front of her. She typed exceptionally fast. "Is that all?"

"I'm all set," she agreed, and closed her computer. "Have a great weekend, you guys."

I said something like thank you, and Beckett nodded. "You, too. Juliet, a word," he told me, so I kept my notebook open and waited for her to leave his office. Then he did the thing of staring at his monitor and I wondered for the thousandth time if he had a script there to read from. I looked over his shoulder at the reflection in the window and there was definitely a document, but I couldn't see the words.

"How have things been going for you lately?" he asked.

"Just fine," I answered. "Keeping busy." That was true because I was working constantly, but that was fine. Everything was fine, except for the part where I was constantly afraid. I knew that what I was doing was stupid. I knew it, but I wasn't going to stop.

"How is your niece?"

"Esme," I filled in. "She's ok." All my busyness meant that I didn't have much time to see my newest relative, who had arrived in Michigan with my brother and my mother. I'd been hearing a lot about my absence from Mom, who had sincerely believed that I was going to return to live in the family home and adjust my hours at Whitaker Enterprises to help them out. My sister Sophie had stepped in instead and was, it seemed, doing a great job—but I couldn't let myself think about that situation too much, because I felt extremely guilty about abandoning them. Sophie was probably cursing me because I'd stuck her with the problem. I couldn't understand why she was bothering to deal with it at all.

"Esme," Beckett repeated. "She's good. Good to hear." There was a long pause.

"Was there something in particular that you wanted?" I asked. He did like to bounce ideas off me (even if he didn't like to call it that), so I waited.

"I hired another paralegal. He'll start in two weeks," he commented. "I think we need more help, even with Camille here." He hesitated slightly. "I've previously shared my opinion of her performance. What do you think?"

"She seems ok," I answered. "You obviously like her a whole lot."

Now he stared at me. "What does that mean?"

It meant that they got along and anyone could see it. They were in and out of each other's offices all the time and I often saw them eating lunch together, as I had with him, too. Even at the gym, they went on machines next to each other and talked more—again, like he and I had. But unlike the two of us, they had so much in common due to their mutual success.

"I don't know what I meant," I answered vaguely. "I mean, nothing. I didn't mean anything by it."

He was still staring at me, now with a lot of intensity. "I'm satisfied with her work product and initiative," he informed me, and I said that was great, but he was obviously displeased right at this moment. "It sounded as if you were insinuating that there was something untoward happening between us," he continued.

No, I hadn't been the one saying that. It had been two other people that I'd overheard in the lunchroom as they chowed down on the eclairs he'd brought in for everyone. They'd been commenting that two people as good-looking as Beckett and Camille were going to get together, even if he was such an asshat.

"I let her know that you have the most longevity here," he continued, still eying me suspiciously. "I said that if she has any questions, she can turn to you."

She'd already asked me about the best place to get takeout, if the nail salon around the corner was any good, and if they ever restocked the tampon machine in the ladies' room (no, so I'd given her one out of the stash that I kept in my desk drawer). "I've been helping her when she needs it," I acknowledged.

"Just as she can help you," he said. "I understand that you're hesitant to call someone a mentor—"

"I'm totally willing to learn from anyone," I told him, which was the phrase I'd rehearsed about this issue.

"Good," he told me. "Because I'm very pleased with her performance here."

"I think you already told me that."

"Good," he repeated. "I'm also aware, although you may not be, that she's getting married soon."

No, I hadn't been aware of that. "I didn't notice a ring."

"Not everyone feels the need to wear jewelry. I'm telling you that because—" He interrupted himself to sneeze into his elbow. Then he swore sharply, saying the F word, and my eyes widened. I'd never heard him talk like that before, but then I saw the problem. There was red splatter across his sleeve and dripping in a bright rivulet down onto his top lip.

"Oh!" I said. "You're bleeding!"

"It's a bloody nose," he said, in case I was confused by the source. I wasn't, but I was almost immediately nauseated by it. "It's fine," he told me, but he was batting around on his desk like he was searching for something and as he did, more droplets spattered onto some papers he had neatly stacked there.

"Oh," I gasped, as my stomach twisted in revulsion. He needed a tissue and I needed to leave before I threw up, adding to the misery. "I'll go get you…" I ran out as I said the words, right to the lunchroom to grab some paper towels, but all that seemed to be in there were coffee filters. By the time I went to the bathroom and then back to his office, he was gone, but the blood was still on his desk in a disgusting spray pattern and some was also on his chair. I waited for a moment to see if he'd reappear but he must have taken the stairs again to make his exit, because he was gone for the rest of the afternoon. I also went to the gym for the first time in a while to check for him, but he didn't show.

That night, I had plans with my roommates to go out for a while—it was a job, not fun. It may have seemed like they were taking advantage of me by living in my apartment and having their parties, but actually, we all benefited from the relationship. Like tonight, I would get paid for my presence, so I did my hair at the gym and then dressed up when I got home. We headed out together.

"Smile," Elissa mouthed to me at a club a few hours later, a place I hoped was our final destination of the night. I showed my teeth and she nodded at me, seemingly satisfied. The deal was that the guys had to believe that you were enjoying yourself no matter what. At the first bar we'd visited, we had to smile as her "date" told us all about whiskey and its history, and at the second one, Leni's guy told us how successful he was as an entrepreneur and we'd had to nod and grin like chimps about that, too. By the time we arrived at this third place, it was late and I was tired of fake smiling, but I went in with the rest of the group and said I'd hold down a table as they danced.

Leni looked like an angel as she spun around on the floor, but I knew my roommate too well to be fooled by her appearance. As I watched, she took the drink out of her "date's" hand and sipped, laughing. But then, she pretended to stumble and spilled it, almost emptying the glass. She put her arms around his neck and cajoled him into laughing about it, too, before she led him back to the bar. The liquid on the floor represented his second order of the night, and he was going to be in for a lot more before she decided that it was time to leave this place.

Her goal wasn't to get drunk herself; she had other reasons to keep their glasses empty. Yeah, she looked like an angel, so celestial and pure, but she was smart and she was calculating, and her "date" had only scratched the surface of how much he would have to pay at this club. For the "girlfriend experience" that she provided, it was already a couple thousand, and on top of that, Leni's boss Ruslan had an arrangement with the management. When she and Elissa brought people in, it was with a guarantee that the tab would reach a previously negotiated dollar amount. The club paid Ruslan for their presence because they traveled with a party of attractive women, and the management also gave him a cut of anything spent above that minimum liquor purchase. In other words, Ruslan got money from their "dates" and also from the club, whose owners were double-dipping themselves with their cover charges and giant markups on the drinks that Leni and Elissa ordered (drinks that, of course, the guys were paying for).

Ruslan was here tonight, which was stressful for everyone. Leni and Elissa were working even harder than usual to show off in front of him, and I was trying my best to avoid his gaze. Ever since I'd paid him back, he didn't like me much. He'd wanted the money, of course, but he'd also wanted me to work for him like they did. And I wouldn't, and I'd maxed out my credit cards, sold my shoes and purses, and gotten loans from places with interest rates so high that they made me want to weep. I'd even sold the jewelry that my grandmother had given me…it was gone, now, and it didn't matter.

As usual, I was only a member of the friend group tonight. I'd gone out with Leni and Elissa a few times, and I'd made some money doing it, directly from them and not from Ruslan. It was more than I got at my weekend waitress job, and both my roommates thought that I was dumb to continue with that. They couldn't understand why I didn't want to provide the "girlfriend experience" like they did.

"It's not so bad," Elissa had promised. "It's basically the same stuff you do with men anyway. You know, you pretend that you like them so that they'll buy you dinner and drinks, you sleep with them so that they take you shopping. It's just spelled-out better when you do it this way. There's no chance that you're going to actually like someone and get your feelings hurt because he drops you to chase after another girl who's younger and has a better ass. You also don't have to deal with whining because you went out with someone else for a little fun on the side. Plus, the money…and you're not with anyone for real," she reminded me. "Why would you care?"

No, I wouldn't do it, but she was right that I didn't have anyone. I might even have been lonely, except I was working so much now that I didn't have enough time for that. Between my real job, waitressing, and the deliveries, I was crazy busy. That was great, because it meant that I was bringing home more money, although it made me tired and pretty cranky, too. But it was totally worth it; I'd been able to pay Sophie a big chunk so she would (maybe) start to respect me again, and I was paying down other debts as well.

I wouldn't have gone out tonight, except it was hard to turn down a chance at making some more, and my roommates claimed that I owed them. After all, I'd said that they absolutely couldn't have another party at our apartment. It was too hard to hang my wardrobe in my car to prevent it from smelling like a dispensary on fire, as Beckett had described the stench. I also couldn't continue to sleep with my window open. Even though it was getting to be spring, it was still cold at night and I was tired of the incessant traffic noise. On top of all that, I just couldn't deal with the mess both inside and outside in the hallways after they had their guests.

They understood my reasoning, but I had heard them discussing the idea of finding a new place for just the two of them, that it might not work out to live with someone like me, who wasn't actively in their business. The end of the lease was coming up soon, but if they moved out now, then the rent was…it was something I was not going to worry about tonight, not when I was trying to smile.

Elissa spotted me watching from the table and waved hard, directing me to come to the dance floor. I was tired and all, but if I wanted to get paid for tonight then I knew I had to step up beyond showing my teeth in that terrible imitation of enjoyment. This was a nice place, not like their usual spots, so the drinks would be more expensive and everyone's cut would be bigger—I needed to do my part. I nodded at her and slid out of the booth, elbowing aside a guy who wasn't part of our party and probably had no idea that this was a work obligation, nothing fun.

"Juliet, come on!" Elissa called, and I put on that scary smile and joined them. I tried to relax enough to let my body move in a way that was non-awkward and resembled dancing. I also smiled at her "date," a real one but full of sympathy rather than happiness. It was because I felt sorry for him having to pay for a "girlfriend experience" rather than experiencing a real girlfriend, and also because with him waving his arms and shaking his hips in that manner, it made me only the second-worst dancer in the place.

"You're really tall," he said to me, and I nodded. That was true. I forced myself to grin again, since I was getting paid for it.

"Are your tits real?" the guy asked me next, and he reached out his hands, like he was going to experiment and see. "They're gorgeous."

"Don't touch me," I barked, and Leni swooped in.

"Come here and touch mine," she told him, and then I just had to leave. I was exhausted and over it, and I couldn't stay in the club for one second longer. I pointed to the door to demonstrate to Elissa what I was doing and she didn't seem very pleased, but she shrugged. I had come with them, which meant I didn't have my own car, but I wasn't concerned about anything except getting out. I pushed through a small crowd and then I heard my name as I passed by a table.

"Juliet? Is that you?"

I was, and I recognized her voice, too. I supposed that it wasn't so unusual to run into people I knew, but I hadn't expected to see her here. "Hi, Camille," I said, and I surveyed her outfit. She looked great in that dress, sexy but also classy, somehow. I looked down at what I was wearing, a halter top and tight pants that I'd borrowed from Leni to fit in better with her crowd, and I knew that "classy" wasn't a word to describe me tonight.

The guy with Camille put his arm around her shoulders and she smiled at him, a real one. She whispered something in his ear, something that made him glance up and eye me with an expression that I might have called a sneer. She and I hadn't been working together for very long, but I'd believed that she was nice enough; she hadn't acted catty before and I tried not to think that she was acting that way right now. Maybe she hadn't said something rude to her boyfriend, maybe what she'd whispered wasn't the reason that he was staring at me as if I was something he'd stepped in at a dog park.

"See you on Monday," I told her, and left the club as fast as I could. I had other things to do, like get my butt home where I would try not to imagine that every noise in the hallway was a police swat unit coming to arrest me for all the non-drug, "information stuff" envelopes that I'd been delivering all over the city. I'd gone to a few locations more than once, but mostly I was driving to new places that I'd never been, despite twenty-five years of living here. I had to put my phone in a special bag that was supposed to make it impossible to track, which meant that I also couldn't use it for directions—I was the last person in Detroit searching grids of paper maps to find my destination, and I had never paid more attention to traffic signs and signals in my entire life as I drove to them. I had no desire to get pulled over and then try to explain what I was doing. I was obviously transporting something secret and bad—ransom instructions? Nuclear codes? I had no clue, and I didn't want to know.

But the money was so good. I was getting paid just as much as Gigi had promised that I would, and slowly but surely, I was making amazing inroads into reducing my debts. I would only have to do this for another few months, and then I could be clear of everything. Everything! I let myself think about what I would do next with my life. I would move, that was for sure. I was considering New York, where I could be like the amazing daughter that I'd heard so much about at my mother's baby shower. I would get away from here and all the memories of the dumb mistakes I'd made, and also away from my sisters who would surely know everything about my problems by now. I had begged Sophie not to tell anyone when she'd loaned me money but she probably would now, because she must have been furious at me. I was shirking my responsibility to take care of my brother's baby so that she had to do it herself, and I was sure that she was both disappointed and resentful.

I ordered a ride and stood near the bouncers while I waited for it to arrive, and I occupied my thoughts with how my life would be once I left this city. I pictured my apartment, another one-bedroom that only I would occupy. My current furniture, the stuff that had gotten ruined by my roommates' parties, was very modern, but I wouldn't buy that again. In my new life, I'd have—

"Hey, Juliet," someone said behind me, and I recognized Camille's voice again. We did talk sometimes at the office, mostly when she was giving me directions or asking questions about stupid things, for which Beckett had told her I was a good source. But we hadn't developed the mentor relationship that he was always gushing about. I was willing to work with her, but to accept her as some kind of guru? No.

That was on my mind, as was how tiny my top was, and also what she had whispered to the man she'd been with, the words that had made him glare and sneer. It was also on my mind that she was basically a second boss. Beckett was in charge of our department but because she had done all those things he admired, getting the internships and joining the clubs and furthering her education and whatnot, she was now in the position to tell me what to do and I had to go along with it. I looked at her tiny self in her perfect outfit and tried to keep from showing that I hated her.

"Hey," I answered calmly, because I was in charge of my emotions, entirely in charge. "Did you have fun tonight?"

"I've never been here before," she commented, and brushed back a strand of her hair. She had such a great haircut and an amazing blowout, while other people, due to their stupid decisions, were trimming their own split-ends and showering in the gym to save money on products. "It was ok, I guess. My fiancé wanted to come because his friend owns it, but I got tired. I've been pulling a lot of late nights since I started at Whitaker."

"Yeah, it's a lot of work," I agreed. "Ok, see you around."

"Are you waiting for a ride? I'm just going to get my car and I could drop you somewhere."

I checked my phone. The time until my driver's arrival had just increased from twenty to forty minutes. "No, thanks. My boyfriend will be here soon."

"Oh, ok. I was hoping we could walk together," she said. "I don't know this city very well."

"Maybe your fiancé is available." I pretended to check my phone again.

"Yeah," she said, and sounded less than confident in that answer. "See you Monday." She started to move down the sidewalk and I easily guessed where she had parked, because there would have been space there. That was because it was dangerous. It was a lot where I wouldn't have gone myself because I also knew that the previous weekend, two people had been held up in that poorly lit block where there was no security, and it had happened right after they'd left this same club.

I watched Camille for a moment and shivered, because it was cold out here and my outfit provided jack for coverage. It probably would have been like a giant blanket if she had worn it, since she was so tiny.

I sighed.

"Hold on," I called to her, which she didn't hear. Since I was really good in heels and my legs were about a foot longer than hers, it didn't take me long to catch up to where she was picking her way delicately across the pavement. "I'll walk with you."

"Thanks," she said, smiling and not startled in the least. "It sounds so dumb, but I'm from a really small town and I get worried here at night."

"You should be worried," I said. "You were swinging your purse around as you walked and you weren't aware of your surroundings. I called to you and you didn't notice, and I followed behind you but you didn't see. You didn't even turn when you should have heard my footsteps. If someone is running, you should figure out why because you might need to run, too."

"Oh. I didn't think to do that," she said. "You know more about danger than I do. You must go out a lot."

"Yes, I have a lot of friends, if that's what you mean." It wasn't, because she meant that I was an unserious person who partied all the time. I understood the message perfectly, and we went the rest of the way to her car in silence.

"I'll drive you back to the club so you don't have to walk alone, either," she said, when we got there. She was just standing in this desolate parking lot, like it was a good place for a chat.

"Let's get in," I stated, since I was in no mood to be robbed. And then, as she tried to pull out of here, I learned that she was never going to be able to make a left-hand turn across a few lanes. It meant she would have to go around the block to get me back to the club, where I would still have to wait for the ride that was somehow still forty minutes away.

"If you don't mind taking me to my apartment, it's not that far," I said, and she told me of course not, she'd be happy to.

"Your boyfriend won't worry?" she asked as she made a very, very cautious right turn and went at least ten miles per hour slower than the rest of the traffic on the road.

"My…oh, right." I'd lied and said that a mythical figure of a boyfriend was picking me up. "No, that doesn't matter," I said, and I did remember to cancel the car I'd requested. She swerved into the other lane when a pedestrian came within a few steps of the curb—still on the sidewalk, but the movement had apparently made her nervous. "Uh, do you want me to drive?"

"No, it's ok. Dax says that I have to get used to the traffic here," she said. "That's my fiancé. I need to get as confident at driving in a city as I am at practicing law."

Confidence had nothing to do with it; she was utterly lacking in basic skills. If she was doing her job like she was currently maneuvering this vehicle, then Beckett was going to change his glowing opinion of her very fast. "You're really close to the parked cars—sugar! That sound was your mirror hitting something." I glanced back. "It looks like their car is ok. Did you have too much to drink at the club?"

"No, it's just that the roads are very stressful here," she said. "I would never, ever drive drunk." As she said that, she swerved almost onto the sidewalk. "That truck was coming right at us," she explained.

"I'm happy to take over," I suggested again, and this time, she seemed to agree with the idea and the car started to slow. "No, don't stop here! Don't you see that crowd on the corner? We don't want to mess with them."

"Oh," she said. "Where should I go?"

I got her directed into a well-lit parking lot and we changed places before I resumed our trip toward my apartment building. Her car wasn't as nice as mine, but I did notice that she had a full tank of gas and there were no warning lights illuminated on the dashboard. "Why didn't your boyfriend walk you out of that club?" I asked conversationally. "Didn't he know where you'd parked?"

"He was talking to somebody," she explained. "He's a promoter, so he's working, too."

She was dating a club promoter? Sugar, that was a choice. "Did you move here for him?" I asked next. "Or was it for the job?"

"Both," she answered. "We both got offered amazing opportunities. I love working for Whitaker Enterprises and I'm learning so much from Beckett. He's an outstanding attorney."

"Yeah, he's something."

"Has he ever told you why he left New York?" she asked, and I shook my head. "I was curious because the firm where he worked is so highly regarded. I mean, people kill to get jobs at that place, and he had made partner so young. It was such an incredible accomplishment."

"It sounds like he worked all the time, though. Maybe he left because he was tired of that."

"Maybe," she said, but she sounded both unconvinced and guarded. Maybe she'd also realized that it was a mistake to gossip with an underling. "Did you grow up here? Is that why you're so street-smart?"

"Yes, but I'm not very smart." Not in the street sense or in any other way, as I had discovered. "I started clubbing when I was in ninth grade, though, so I have some experience."

"Ninth grade? Your parents must have been heavy sleepers." She smiled.

When I was fourteen and a freshman, Nicola had been very busy with college, her job, and the two younger kids in our family. She didn't have much time to watch me, and my mom…well, she was better at other things than with supervision. It was what made me nervous about her and my niece, Esme, except Sophie was now in charge of that situation.

"This is a nice building," Camille noted as I stopped at the curb not too far away from the front door of the Falstaff. "We're looking for a new apartment."

"I don't think there's any space here," I said quickly. The last thing I needed was to have a boss-like person a few floors away from where I lived with two roommates who worked as escorts. I hoped that she hadn't recognized their profession tonight when she'd seen us together, but Camille seemed surprisingly na?ve for someone who was so accomplished (as Beckett had assured me that she was).

Before I got out, I asked if she knew her way to her current apartment and told her several places not to drive, not under any circumstances. I also checked to see if she'd locked the doors after we switched places (she hadn't) and told her that she shouldn't leave her purse in plain view on the passenger seat. "Na?ve" wasn't sufficiently strong to describe her lack of knowledge.

I hurried to my door but spared a glance over my shoulder, and I saw that she had managed to pull out onto the street and was on her way. Then I took the short elevator ride to my apartment. It was a mess, as usual, and the odors were too ingrained to have dissipated in the period since I'd banned my roommates' parties. Everything reeked, and I would have to get all new furniture no matter where I lived next.

I wondered how Camille's house might look. She did have really nice clothes but she re-wore them a lot, so her wardrobe wasn't as large as it could have been. Also, that car I'd just driven for her was kind of a piece of crud. But maybe she had student loans, which could have added up to a lot even though I knew she was doing very well at Whitaker Enterprises. Not everyone was good enough to get the scholarships that I had received as a swimmer. Maybe Camille was so petite, smart, and prepared, but maybe she owed more than I did, anyway.

At least I was doing something about it…but that train of thought led me right back to my job doing deliveries. The fear that accompanied it filled me again, tricking my mind into believing that there was someone outside the bathroom door as I brushed my teeth, someone hiding in the mess of the apartment. It also gave me a terrible nightmare after I went to the twin bed that fit into the little office, my room. It wasn't a new dream, just the one where I was at work running through the twentieth floor and trapped behind the glass, but it had an added twist that night. Beckett was there with Camille and the two of them talked together as I banged and pleaded to be let out. Then when he'd finally seemed to hear me and turned my way, blood poured down his face, streaming from his eyes, nose, and mouth. In my dream, I screamed, and maybe I did in real life, too. Fortunately, the noise of my roommates and their guests in the living room masked it. They'd gone ahead and invited people over again.

All that meant that I woke up the next day pretty exhausted. It was quiet in the apartment, finally, except…my phone. I had started turning up the volume when my niece was born and my oldest sister was pregnant, too, so I needed to hear in case anything was wrong. Luckily, the early-morning messages I'd just received were not from anyone in my family. It was a number that I didn't know, but the sender identified himself.

"Juliet, this is Beckett Forsman from Whitaker Enterprises."

Made sense since I didn't know a Beckett, let alone a Beckett Forsman, from anywhere else. After that introduction, he continued with some requests for me, asking if I could go to the office today and collect papers and his laptop, and then bringing it all to his house. I didn't understand why he hadn't gathered that stuff himself on Friday night, or why he wouldn't have been able to go in today to fetch it—but the way he was writing made the messages sound less like requests for a favor and exactly like direct orders from my superior. Although I still hated that word.

I got up and got dressed in clothes that were not as formal as what I usually wore to the office, but did have a lot more coverage than what I'd had on the night before. That wasn't hard to top, because I was more covered when I got out of the shower and wrapped in a towel than I had been in Leni's outfit. It had been a long time since I'd come to the building on a Saturday…no, I hadn't ever come in on a Saturday, but there were a surprising number of people around. There were even a few on my floor, like Camille who looked bright-eyed and pleased to be at her desk when she waved to me. At least that meant she had gotten home safely, but the woman was almost as bad at driving as my sister Grace. It was only a matter of time before she did serious damage to that mid-priced, nylon-upholstered car.

It wasn't hard to find everything on the bulleted list that Beckett had sent, since everything in his office was extremely neat and organized. His papers were filed, the cord of the laptop was exactly where he'd said it would be and was contained by a neat Velcro band. Only the dried blood marred the orderly arrangement, and I held my breath, put on gloves from under the sink in the lunchroom, and wiped that away as best I could.

Then I looked at the desk, thinking of how different it was than when Annis had used it. She was a liar, of course, and a shirker and a fraud, but she had loved her kids. There had been pictures of them all over, in frames and taped up to her monitor. My dad's desk, where he'd sat since I was a little girl, was the same. He had all our terrible school pictures arranged so that he could look at them, even the one when Brenna had cut Grace's hair and made it stand up like a troll doll. There was nothing like that in here, not with Beckett as the boss.

I put all his materials into one of the cardboard file boxes that everyone had been using to carry out their personal items when they quit or got fired. It looked like I was on my way out, too, and Camille stood up from her desk and her eyes got big as I passed by. I left her in suspense, though, and only waved. Maybe Beckett could tell her on Monday that I was the one he trusted to get his stuff for him…or that I was the one whom he could order around since he was my superior, I supposed. I balanced the box on my hip and frowned as I took the elevator down, and then I drove toward Grosse Pointe. Now I'd get to see if his house was any more personal than his desk.