Page 78 of Shadows of Justice

Special Agent Genevieve Schaeffer.

Tomorrow, I report for two weeks of orientation for the Violent Crimes Against Children program. Justine must have an unfathomable amount of faith in me because whatever she did, I was hired on the spot—despite my less-than-perfect record.

I meant what I had said to her on the phone, however. I’m ready to do things right, and to be a part of a new system, helping those that can’t help themselves. I’ve had enough of risk, of being an avenger.

Sugar—or Grace—and I are holding each other accountable. We’re both playing by the rules and being “boring, predictable good girls.” We still write letters, even though we have cell phones. I think we both just look forward to the routine. She’s out of rehab and has taken a job as a counselor’s aid in a shelter for women.

She’s my hero.

I still see Dr. Halliard every other week. I don’t know when you’re “finished” with therapy, because we’re always evolving as beings. And sometimes the new growth doesn’t agree with the old, so then those two parts of you have to work that shit out. I imagine that means that I’ll be a lifer of therapy, but I have a hard time finding something wrong with forever working on myself.

My iPhone chirps in my pocket, and I read the text message that just came through.

Looking forward to hearing about your first day, Special Agent! Just wait until I tell you about my new partner—the fucking cabrón.

Carlos is the kind of person that sticks around through all of a friend’s transitions in life, and I’ll be eternally grateful for that. I’m babysitting for him and Estefania next week so that they can have a date night, and I’m actually looking forward to it. The more time I spend around their family, I start to feel like their normalness could rub off on me.

I hear a contented sigh and look over at the meatball who’s taken up residence on my shag rug. Doughnut, my ornery English bulldog, lays balls-out in the warm sun. I adopted him the day after I quit Pasadena PD. Dr. H thought it would be helpful in a few ways, and per usual, she was right. I’m reacquainting myself with trusting dogs again, and when I wake up screaming from the occasional night terror, Doughnut lets me spoon him and chases the bad thoughts away.

Because who would a cop—or ex-cop—be without love for doughnuts?

He might not speak to me in romantic foreign languages or cook me fantastic dinners, but he’s still overjoyed to see me when I come home, and you can’t beat that.

Yes, I still miss Leo.

It’s embarrassing how much I think about him, but I do. Hero by Enrique Iglesias came on in Starbucks the other day, and I sniffled into my coffee the whole way home. There’s so much I want to tell him. So much I didn’t get to learn about him. I know I could probably use my new position to find him, but I’m leaving those urges at the door with this new job.

This actually is the new and improved Viv.

My apartment is in boxes, as at the end of this month I will be moving out. I haven’t found a place I love yet, but I don’t have much else to do, so I’ve been getting on it. I’ve toured a few apartments, all of them much fancier than this one thanks to my new salary. None of them have just felt right yet. They’re all too new, too shiny, nothing out of place or imperfect. I don’t feel at home in any of them, because I’m not all shiny and new. I like my mismatched furniture and my multicolored windows, my kitchen with two inoperable drawers and my shower where the hot is really cold and the cold is really hot. But, Mrs. Gonzalez is moving to Texas to be with her grand babies, and she was the last reason I had to not move on from this place.

So, here I am—surrounded by boxes, the spice of dog toots tingeing the air.

A knock at my door brings me out of my contemplation. Doughnut snorts and hops up, his lip caught on his overbite. He really is an ugly fucker, but I love him so much more because of that.

I open the door and a pimply-faced guy around seventeen is standing on the doorstep, a rectangular box in his hand and a name tag that says “Hi, I’m Marcus.” The emblem on his shirt is a smiling cactus wrapped in a veil of flowers, and the logo reads NatureHaven.

“Hi, I’m Marcus,” says Marcus. I bite my lip to conceal my smile.

“Hi, Marcus,” I say. “That for me?”

“If you’re Genevieve Schaeffer, then it sure is!” he says with a smile, his mouth full of metal. Despite them being just braces and not a grill of black diamonds, my thoughts still jump to Trismo for a split second. I tamp the dark memories down and breathe sharply through my nose, rolling my shoulder.

“Thank you,” I manage to say, and take the box from him.

“Just sign here for me please, ma’am,” he says, holding out an iPad with a stylus attached by a string.

I sign my name on the line and we say our goodbyes. Doughnut waddles over to me, probably to see if I ordered take out. He sniffs the air as I set the box on the table.

“No snackies for you, fat boy,” I croon at him, earning me a wagging of his nub that results in a back and forth convulsion of the entire hind end of his body.

I open the top of the box and carefully lift out the contents. I set it on the table and take a step back, my heart hammering in my chest.

It’s a succulent.

A succulent in a vibrant emerald green vase.

The box tumbles off the table as I burst from my apartment, throwing the door open and running down the stairs, not even bothering to put on shoes. I reach the street and look around and spot Marcus crossing the street.

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