Page 5 of Lost and Found

“Real mature, Wes. And as I said, I don’t have much of a choice.”

“Bet you have more of one than I do.”

She stepped back. “I suppose you want to come in.”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Aren’t you such a peach?”

“That’s me,” he grumbled, walking past her. ‘I’ll head out’ was on the tip of his tongue when he caught sight of the wall behind her covered with newspaper clippings, note cards, and pictures. The cold case called to him like catnip.

He inched closer. The unsolved crime hung in the air. He had no clue why it had her attention, but Bailey had a sixth sense for puzzles that just needed another set of eyes and more resources. She didn’t solve every case she touched, but she had solved enough that her reputation preceded her when she took on a new case without any answers.

The small office wasn’t set up to have guests. In the back, a door opened into a dark room. He’d guessed that was where she recorded her podcasts. Previously, Bailey recorded and offloaded her audio files to a team of production professionals. The system worked for her. Alone. Except when she needed expertise.

A spiral notebook with her loopy scrawl sat next to photocopies of old newspaper articles. File folders were stacked on one end of the conference table. A whiteboard with random notes and to-do lists hung on the back wall. Banker boxes lined the other wall. He wondered how long she’d been working on this project and what had her stuck. He shoved his hands in his pockets and ambled toward the covered wall, unable to resist.

Bailey stepped in front of him. “You never texted me back.”

“When did you text me?” He stepped back to give her more room. “Actually, it doesn’t matter. I didn’t get your text message and just found out a couple of hours ago that we were meeting today.”

“I’m not talking about now.”

“When?”

Her eyebrows lifted as though he were a moron, and obviously he was, since he stood in her office.

“You know when.”

“Then?” He couldn’t have been more irritated. “Do you mean when I was fired?” Setting off a chain of events. Fiancée walked out. Shared apartment lease broken. The color-by-numbers life he’d signed up for, gone.

She lifted her chin defiantly, but her eyes didn’t hold the same boldness. She wanted to stand her ground, to be as angry as he was, but she knew she didn’t have the right.

“No, Bailey. I never got your text. I didn’t have my phone. They took it, along with my gun, badge, and everything I was working on.” His molars ground. “But I did get a restraining order as a consolation prize. I had to stay away from everyone on that case. Including you. Which you know, I’m sure. Even if I got your text message, I wouldn’t have touched it with a ten-foot pole without the Cosgroves making everything in my life worse.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

Technically, she didn’t. Wes knew that. But she’d brought him into her investigation, and that was the basis on which everything he had was destroyed, so he disagreed with every fiber of his being. “What’d the text say? Was it a heads-up that your brother-in-law and his cronies were about to sabotage my career?”

Her fingers twisted into the flowing fabric of her long dress. They knotted almost as though she’d made fists. “I didn’t know what was going to happen.”

“Two I didn’ts in a row. Impressive.”

Her forearm muscles twitched as she tightened her grip on the dress. She wanted to wring his neck but was strangling the fabric instead. “I didn’t—”

“Three I didn’ts. That’s even more impressive.”

She threw the fabric out of her hands and crossed her arms. Her nostrils flared. “You’re an ass, Wes, but I still want your help. I need it.”

He snorted. “Sweetness, you’re going to have to take some responsibility if you want that.”

“I take all the responsibility. All of it. Now are you happy?”

Not at all. He frowned. Wasn’t that what he needed? A simple apology. Not that life would rearrange itself to how it was before he lost his job and his fiancée. But something should have felt different.

Bailey’s defiance faltered. Her chin dipped in a slight wobble, and she let out a breath as if she’d held it for years. “I should have told you that a long time ago. Before I needed your help.”

It wouldn’t have mattered. He wouldn’t have talked to her. Vivian forced the situation on him.