She doesn’t reply, so I tuck my phone away and knock on the deputy director’s door.
“Come in.”
Inside his tidy office, he’s standing behind his desk, his long fingertips braced off the table. In his brown suit and slicked-back hair, he looks like a banker or a skeezy lawyer, but I brush that thought aside.
“Big day, I heard,” he says while sliding a desk drawer open.
I rock on my toes, just so the tension in my calves has somewhere to go. “Yes, sir.”
He pulls out a familiar clear plastic package and sets it on his desk. “Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.”
The sting beneath my breastbone is so sharp I clench my fists. “Cooperation, sir?”
“There’s been a report that you’re under the influence.”
“From whom?” My firm tone is too much for this stuffy office, but there’s no controlling it.
He nostrils flare. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
I eye the piss test with its clear sample cup and the instructions.
“It’s for your safety and the safety of others,” he adds. “I’ll need your weapon and badge while this gets processed.”
He’s suspending me? Biting back my retort, I remove my Glock and hand it over. Giving up my badge is much harder, like I’m slicing off a piece of my soul only to watch him light it on fire. My fingers shake as I set it on the desk.
I can’t look him in the eyes as I grab the kit and spin for the door. I’m half surprised he doesn’t follow me to the restroom, just to make sure I don’t figure out a way to cheat.
Does he really think I’m using on the job?
I make quick work of completing the test, then with the kit tucked under my arm, I wash my hands, avoiding eye contact in the mirror because I don’t want to see the growing distress I’m sure is written all over my face. Who in the hell made this bullshit claim? And why? Is it somehow related to today, or something else?
It’s been an intense couple of weeks on the job, but that’s not my fault. What have I done to bring this on?
Outside the restroom, I’m in such a hurry to get back to Deputy Director Shay’s office that I nearly crash into the person coming from the opposite end of the hall.
“CJ!” Linnea gasps.
Even the fleeting glance I get is enough to stop my heart. She’s too pretty for this harsh, industrial space. For this universe. “You’re still here,” I manage.
Her gaze has dropped to the plastic bag tucked under my arm. The look she gives me when our eyes meet again is pained. “What’s going on?”
I try to hold on to the idea that this could all work out fine. As soon as my test comes back clean, I can carry on with the life I’m building. The one I want with her at my side. “It’s nothing.”
The instant I say it, I want to yank the words back because only someone guilty would say them. So I force myself to try again. “I got tagged for a drug test.”
She rubs her lips together, those troubled eyes now edged with fear. “Are you okay?”
This feels like too generous of a question, and I chew on it for too long. Because I’m not okay. I think I was until I spotted this drug test. Or maybe I would have cracked later tonight, or at 2 a.m. from another dream about Molly or those two precious little girls we pulled out of the trailer.
I exhale a trembling breath. I’m starting to feel like I’m failing, and that’s a dangerous place to be.
“Can I call you later?” I ask Linnea because she’s got her backpack slung over one shoulder and her coat folded over her arm. Right now, the best place for me to be is alone. I’ll shut myself in my room and queue up some movies. Going to a meeting would probably be the best plan, but I don’t trust myself to not accidentally swing by a liquor store on the way.
She hitches her backpack strap a little higher. “Don’t you need a ride?”
“I found one,” I lie.
I’ll call Bear, and if he’s not around, I’ll call Dane. He’s a couple of hours away but I know he’d try to get here in time, probably talking me off the ledge the whole way. If both of those ideas don’t pan out, I could try to get ahold of someone in the bunkhouse. At least make sure Jasper gets fed and turned out for the night. Meanwhile, I’ll start walking.