Ford
MY RESTLESSNESS MASQUERADES AS TRANQUILLITY.
The cops are busy at work trying to trace anything else they can regarding Carson Henry after I profiled him, given the nature of his murder against Chasity Winters, he'll have been done for some form of assault afterwards... surely. They're searching all records—including bank accounts, property deeds and vehicle ownerships, for example—to cross-reference anything to Carson Henry.
Once I had it out with Detective Barrera for omitting the detail of knowing Carson Henry and already being aware of the case file involving Chasity Winters, he relented and vowed there's no more secrecy between us, alleging that it was just standard police procedure to not release all details when they can get leaked to the media and town. While I appreciated that factor, we both know I'm a valuable asset to this investigation, even without the investigator license.
Especially considering Jean Sommers—Jeanette Somerby—has reached out to me and Genevieve in the past.
Any thoughts of Genevieve sting like a motherfucker. Just when I believe I'm on exploring the avenue of distraction, somehow my mind manages to pull off a complete one-eighty and I'm circling back to her and my deceit. Besides, with Harris popping up in my face all the goddamn time, it's no wonder I can't catch a damn break, though I know I don't deserve one anyway.
Another realization regarding Carson Henry and Jeanette Somerby is that they're off the radar on West Point. There are no profiles matching their names, which irrefutably means they're using out-of-town devices where West Point is not mandatorily installed on them. Another hindrance, but by no means will it thwart us completely.
Meanwhile, I'm lounging about the house with Jax and Jeremiah. Renner's given me a few more days relaxation before resuming training, claiming that he's heard about the news of Genevieve and I with Bullet—scandals travel quickly in the legacy, unsurprisingly—and doesn't want me to train while my mind's elsewhere, which will cost me my technique and ability.
"Go for a fucking run or something," Jax grumbles, shooting me murderous eyes as he's got his laptop open on his lap for college work. "You're irritating as fuck as you just sit there quietly."
"What else am I supposed to do?" I challenge calmly, oddly amused by his irrational frustration.
Jeremiah's glance flickers between us as if sensing imminent entertainment, but it's unbeknownst to Jax. He's reclined on the other sofa also with his laptop, though I've failed to detect much typing emanating from him in juxtaposition to Jax.
"Go for a fucking run."
I hum a frown, indulging Jax's suggestion, though I'm adamant with my answer regardless. "I'd rather not actually."
His nostrils flare. "Shouldn't you be grovelling to Genevieve?"
"Baby steps, Jax. She'll come around."
"If you're lucky."
"I believe I am."
Cue the nostril flaring again, and two crimson hues blotch his cheeks in sheer annoyance. "Don't you have college work to complete? In your room."
"All caught up, dude."
That's exactly the truth. With sleep evading me the past few nights and only managing a couple of hours, I've succumbed to completing more assignments and being productive, though I've come to understand that it doesn't do anything to aid my fatigue. It just persists in making my mind unable to relax, but as least I'm not spending my Monday evening by completing assignments on the criminal psyche.
