Jennifer Lynne is a homicide detective working on one of the most horrific serial killing cases New York has seen in the last decade. When she and her partner get a lead on the suspect, they catch him with his seventh victim. But things go south and...
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After finishing with Jackson, I sit in my car, hands gripped tight on the steering wheel. I don't want to go home, not with what is waiting for me. Even though I still have no idea what happened, I can't stand the thought of being in that apartment questioning if I had done something.
But I don't want to go to work either. My eyes flicker to the clock on the radio. It's just after noon. I bet wherever my phone is, it's probably ringing off the hook. I'll most likely get an earful from Stringer and my partner. Do I have any other choice though? Shit. There's a likelihood that Drake is on his way to kick down my door right now.
I put the car in gear and get back on the highway, heading for the precinct.
There's no demon inside of me, I try to convince myself. I'm just imagining things.
And yet, I can't help but let the thought creep into the back of my mind, planting seeds of doubt.
When I pull into the parking lot, I roll the car into my usual spot. But after turning the engine off, I can't bring myself to get out. I tap my foot anxiously, wondering if what's inside is worse than my interview with Jackson. It can't be, right?
Swearing to myself, I throw the door open and my feet hit the pavement. Even as I walk along the side of the building, the officers outside stare at me. I push my sunglasses up onto my head and give them a look back. What do you want!? As soon as I do, they glance away. That's what I thought.
I head inside, and almost as soon as I enter my unit, people start to whisper. And when they start whispering, I hear a chair skid across the floor and footsteps pound in my direction. I glance up to see Drake rushing over.
"Hey!" He throws his hands up. "What the hell happened yesterday?"
I shake my head. "I don't —"
"I've been trying to get a hold of you," he says a bit quieter once he's standing a couple of feet in front of me. I can see the worry etched on his face, embroidered in his eyebrows.
"Yeah," I itch at back of my neck. "I lost my phone last night."
He waves that off. "Where were you? Where did you go?"
I bite the corner of my lip, thinking about spitting out some excuse, but I quickly change my mind. Instead, I give him a slight smile. "Wow, you were really worried about me, huh?"
A slight blush makes its way up to his cheeks. He doesn't respond, but he gives me a look only I can decipher. The key is the spark in his eye and the curve of his lips.
No, Drake. I take a deep breath to center myself. "Don't go there," I whisper. "You can't go there."
For a second, it looks like he's going to reply to that. I beg him with my eyes to not. I know how it will end if he does. If it weren't for the shit day I've had, I probably would've shut it down anyway, but now is especially terrible timing.
