Ryan hates me.

He was sitting at the edge of Dean’s desk and moved away as soon as Dean sat me down in his chair. “I wanted to ask you and your partner a few questions about the similarities in the crimes scenes,” my brother said, coolly. He thought whoever killed the cadets had something to do with the break-in at the dentist’s office.

Without giving me so much as a sideways glance, Ryan dragged another chair over for Mark to sit on, then shoved his hands in his pockets and stared down at the floor.

Even though Dean was asking Mark and me questions, I couldn’t stop myself from stealing quick glances at Ryan, and not giving any answers. I had none to really give. I was stuck daydreaming about how Ryan’s tongue had felt in my mouth.

How stunned his face looked when I pushed him away.

How I desperately wanted to pull him back, but was too damn scared. Being with someone else in the same office, again? I couldn’t deal with seeing the Captain every morning now. I wanted a transfer so badly I could taste it. Harris was already saying that I had started a relationship with him, because I wanted a promotion. What would my reputation be after it got around that I was screwing with someone else a higher rank than me?

I peeked at Ryan again. He leaned back on the edge of another detective’s desk, arms folded across his chest. His face looked grim, like he had a lot on his mind, his eyes never looked up from the floor.

Dean fired questions at Mark while I kept my mouth shut, for fear I would embarrass myself and mention the words kiss, tongue, or anything about the damn dreams I had about Ryan all night.

Those dreams were so real my thighs were still tingling. I swallowed hard and tried to pay attention.

Mark was doing most of the talking. He mentioned Nathan’s and hotdogs a lot.

When we were both excused, Ryan straightened up and softly reached out to my wrist, tugging me back toward him. “I need you to tell me about your ex, Brooke,” he whispered. His eyes looked around behind me, “I’m going to need his or her name.”

“His or her?” I repeated.

“Trying to be politically correct here.”

“Well thank you. It’s been all men,” I said, stunned he asked so casually. He didn’t flirt at all like he normally did, and I found myself bothered by it. I wanted him to say something like great there’s more of a chance for me, but he remained quiet, gazing past me. It made my chest ache.

“There’s no need for you to know,” I said softly, shaking my head. “Believe me, this doesn’t have anything to do with him.”

“You went on a date with the dentist, and you worked closely to both cadets. One cadet even had a fight with his girlfriend, because she was so jealous of all the time he spent talking about you.” His tone was flat, and his eyes stared out over my shoulder. He waved to someone behind me and smiled with that flirty crooked grin of his. I would’ve bet it was the gorgeous-haired Martinez. Something strange burned in my chest, and I closed my eyes, pushing the jealous thoughts away.

“That’s not true, that’s…I…but…” I couldn’t focus on the words.

“It’s exactly what was said to me by his girlfriend,” he said, curtly.

“Cage. I promise you that there’s nothing—”

“Why are you so scared to tell me?” he snapped.

I couldn’t seem to stop myself from watching his lips move—the lips that kissed me. Did he think about the kiss at all? Or did he give up thinking about it, because I rejected him?

“Look, Fury. I understand if you don’t want to talk to me about it. I’m sorry about what happened last night. I should have never touched you,” he took a deep breath and raked his hand over his head. “And I promise, it will never happen again. But, at least tell your brother, so he can check shit out.”

“No, that’s…that’s not why I won’t say—” I stammered.

“Fury!” the captain roared in the hallway.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Not now. I didn’t want to deal with this now.

“In my office, now!” he shouted, banging his fist on the door.

Ryan pinched his lips tightly and shook his head, “Just talk to your brother, okay? Or the Captain. Tell someone you trust.” He kicked the chair out of the way with his foot and stalked off toward Martinez’s desk, instantly making me feel like vomiting.

Ugh. Get over it. It was my choice to push his gorgeous stupid lips away. Now, I had to deal with my decision.

“Sir?” I greeted, stepping into the doorway of the captain’s office. He thudded the door closed behind me. I flinched like a scared little puppy with the sound.

“What happened between you and the dentist?” he demanded.

“Harris…” I hissed, fed up and trembling. I didn’t want to be behind closed doors with that man. I didn’t want to feel anything for him or be confused by any of the messed up crap I had going on in my mind.

“Brooke. Your brother told me about both crime scenes. I know you were close with the cadets who were killed. How close were you with the dentist?”

“Harris. I went on one date with him. Two weeks ago.”

I saw the hurt in his eyes.

“I never even kissed him. And it was after we split up.” Why was I explaining any of this to him?

“It’s been a month, and I still think about you. About us.”

“Captain Anderson, I really don’t think we should entertain this conversation any longer.”

“Brooke, I want you to take vacation time and stay out of the office for a while.”

“What? I can’t just—”

“Yes, you can. I’ll modify your duty. Stay home.”

“But why?”

He leaned in closely, and spoke low. “Because I really do care about you, and I’m worried. I know I fucked up, and I will never forgive myself for what happened. I was drunk and upset, and there is no excuse, but I really wanted to make this work between us.” He took a deep breath and stepped forward, placing his hands on my shoulders. “I need you safe, okay. Take a few days off and maybe, I’ll stop by. Bring you some dinner. Breakfast in bed. Maybe, we could start over.”

My thoughts spun around. I didn’t want dinner or breakfast in bed. I didn’t want to start over.

“That’s not going to happen, Sir.”

He bowed his head closer to me and brushed his lips lightly against my cheek. “You have no idea what I could make happen, sweatheart.”

Someone knocked on the door, and I jumped clear across the room, reminding me how our relationship really was. For almost three months, we hid our feelings in front of everyone. He was afraid people would say I was sleeping my way up the ladder. But that wasn’t true. I had liked him, really liked him.

I slipped through the opening of the door when he was too busy to notice. My stomach was tangled into knots, and I clutched at it, trying to settle the storm about to spew out of my mouth. When I walked into the 124-room Ryan’s brother Cameron was sitting at his desk. My feet skidded to a stop and for a moment, I was surprised, pleasantly surprised.

“Hi Cameron,” I said, giving him a wave.

“Yeah,” he said, never turning his attention to me.

I walked closer to him, wondering where he was actually supposed to be.

There were dozens of papers strewn across the top of Ryan’s desk, all of them covered with penciled sketches of people that were sitting around the office. True to life, photographic drawings. There was Dean, leaning back in a chair with a phone to his ear. His feet were up, a lace on his sneaker undone. Another one was Martinez, drinking from a cup of coffee. Lipstick smeared along the rim of her mug, just like in real life. I stood stunned. Amazed by the amount of talent that could come from one teenaged boy.

“Oh my God,” I whispered under my breath.

“Hey.” Ryan’s voice was low and somber behind me.

I had to drag my eyes away from Cameron’s hand, to look in Ryan’s direction.

“What did el Capi-tan say?” he asked, sipping at a bottle of water.

“That I’m on paid vacation until further notice,” I said, ashamed.

Ryan eyed me strangely as I moved closer to Cameron. The way the skin around his eyes bunched up as they narrowed put me on edge.

“Did you know he could do this?” I asked, pointing toward all the sketches. Cameron was drawing me now. My eyes were sad, and the corners of my lips were turned down. I looked back up toward Ryan, my face filled with wonder.

“Yeah, of course,” he said, dryly. He scratched at the back of his neck, and twisted his lips like he had more to say.

“What?” I asked, impatiently. “Whatever you need to say, spit it out.”

He tilted his head at me, suspiciously, giving me a nasty smirk. “I guess it’s good to be in close with the captain huh? Paid vacation and all.” I didn’t like the implication, but I ignored it, even when the words burned hot across my chest and made my heart beat faster.

I shrugged it off like his words didn’t just knock me on my ass. “So,” I said, clearing my throat. “Why is your brother here?”

“Because I had no other place to put him; it’s Saturday,” he said dryly, walking past me. “Unlike some people, I can’t just shake my ass and get days off with full pay.” He yanked over a chair next to his brother and sat down, pulling out a file from under all the drawings.

A few desks away, Lydia snorted out a laugh.

I continued to stare at Ryan blankly, not wanting to let his words sink in—not wanting to let Lydia’s laugh affect me. Yet, I was barely holding it together. A sharp ache ripped through my throat, and I gulped back hot shame. I tried to smile, as if it were nothing more than a joke—but my chin quivered, betraying me—and my cheeks burned red, displaying all my secrets.

Ryan didn’t say anything. He just watched me trying desperately not to crumple in front of everyone.

I cleared my throat, and leaned against the nearest desk for support. “Well,” I said, my voice hoarse with emotion. “It looks like I have nothing to do for a few days. Why don’t I take him while you work.”

Lydia blew out her breath loudly. What the hell was up her ass?

“Why would you do that for me?” Ryan quietly asked, standing up slowly. “Don’t you hate me?”

“No,” I said, my eyes blurring with tears. “I don’t hate you at all.”

His eyebrow quirked up, and his features softened. “So, you like me?”

I shook my head and pinched my lips together trying not to scream or laugh or show any of the crazy emotions that were spinning through my head at the moment.

I was saved from utter humiliation when Cameron jumped out of his chair and shoved a picture against my face. He leaned on me, unaware of any personal space, and mumbled words I couldn’t make out. He shook the paper in his hand until I took it from him.

The picture left me breathless.

It was a pencil sketch of me and Ryan, looking at each other—there was passion in our eyes, fire and feelings. In just a handful of shapes and lines, Cameron had captured every emotion I had.

My fingers trembled when I handed the picture to Ryan, who tightened his lips and spoke through gritted teeth. “Looks liked he nailed us.”

He looked at me over the top of the paper, brows knitted closely together, probably wondering what the hell was going on in my head.

“Let me see what Mr. Picasso drew,” Lydia squealed, cutting between us.

“Here, look at the one of you,” Ryan said, pulling the picture of us away from her before she could catch a glimpse. He threw the sketch of her into her hands and folded the one of us together and stuffed it in his back pocket.

He lifted his head back toward me and asked, “You’d really hang out with him today?”

“Of course, I would,” I whispered.

His shoulders slumped in relief, and he nodded, breathing in deeply. “That would be a life saver. I’ll bring back dinner.”

“Okay,” I said, cheeks burning.

He looked down and laughed, “Okay, then.”

Ryan stayed unusually quiet as I packed Cameron’s belongings up. Every once in a while, I would look back toward him and see him watching me from the corner of his eye. I wanted him to look at me. I liked his attention, and I acknowledged that to myself. I liked his smile when it was pointed in my direction. I liked the way his gaze roamed my body. I liked the way he flirted with me. I just plain liked him. The problem was I didn’t want to. Because I seemed to have this stupid, stupid thing where a man smiling at me felt like a future, and I fell so easily and blindly into love—when all the guy was doing was simply smiling.

Cameron was quiet on the ride home. He sat in the passenger seat, belted in, rocking back and forth. He only became vocal when I drove past a fast food restaurant, and repeated over and over the word fries. Smiling at him, I slowly said, “I want fries.”

“I want fries,” he yelled.

So, that’s what I got him.

By the time we got back to my apartment, he had eaten three servings of fries and two cheeseburgers. He still had some chicken tenders left, and he clutched them in his hands, tightly, as I walked him to my front door.

But, something was wrong.

I stopped him mid-step, before he could climb up the front porch steps. “Cameron, sit on that chair,” I whispered, pushing him up the steps and down onto the chair. Without him seeing, I drew my gun.

My front door had been kicked open.

Wood splinters were scattered all around the porch. Slowly, I pushed the door wide open, spilling light into the front foyer. Stepping through as quietly as possible, I took one last glance at Cameron, who was happily munching on the remainder of his food, and walked inside like I was trained to do in a hostile environment: Eyes, muzzle, threat.

There was a small antique table Dean and I inherited from our grandmother we kept in that front room, now it lay on its side with its drawer dangling from one corner. The coat rack was toppled over it, and our extra jackets and hoodies lay like bodiless beings all across the floor.

Up the stairs my brother’s apartment door was untouched, yet my door, the one on the lower floor was hanging off it’s hinges. A cold wind blew in with me and tingled at the base of my neck.

I was instantly on a call. Burglary, possibly still in progress. I didn’t stop to look at my ruined belongings or what was taken. I looked to clear the house and make it safe. I’d deal with the rest later. The break-in itself would have been simple, unremarkable if it weren’t for the messages left behind, and the chemical scent of fresh paint that filled the air. I doubted anything was taken at all.

This was someone sending a message. A direct message to me, now.

Once I knew the house was safe and empty, I lead Cameron into the foyer and let him sit on one of the steps leading to Dean’s part of the house. I didn’t want him to see what was in my apartment. My front door was spray-painted with the word, “Whore.” All the walls in my apartment were too. My television was smashed in, glittery shards of glass sparkled and glistened over my rug. All of my furniture was tossed over, paintings and pictures ripped off the walls. My vibrator hung from the ceiling fan. Pages of books were shredded into confetti. My refrigerator opened, all its contents spilled out onto the floor. None of that bothered me—not even being called a “whore”—not yet anyway.

What bothered me were the hundreds of pictures scattered over every surface of floor or table in my home. Pictures of me in the sexy lingerie I had worn when Harris and I spent a night away on Fire Island. The pictures of me dancing for him, posing for him, having sex with him—I looked like a porn star—like some dirty, filthy woman just screwing some anonymous dick.

The thing was, it looked purposeful; you couldn’t recognize him in any of the pictures.

Only me.

And to anyone who didn’t know I had been falling in love with him, I definitely would have looked like a goddamn whore.

I stumbled back, heart slamming hard in my chest, all those filthy pictures—everywhere. Why would someone do this to me?