Page 47 of Can You Take It?

“I like that you care.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m just looking out for my own skin. Last thing I need is a psycho targeting me because of you.”

“Ah, so you’re just being self-preservationist. I see how it is. But seriously, thanks for the concern.”

She waves me off, clearly done with the conversation. “Whatever. Just get going. I’ve got a whole pile of waiting room magazines to ignore.”

“Sounds riveting,” I say, heading for the door.

I walk inside my office and give Emily a nod before closing the door behind me. Through the one-way mirror in my office, I catch sight of Izel. The glass lets me see her while keeping me hidden from her view. She’s pacing back and forth in the waiting room. She’s fuming, and I can almost feel it from behind the glass.

She plops herself down on one of the chairs, and I shake my head. I’ve seen criminals with less attitude.

Emily glances at Izel and smirks. “Trouble?”

I nod, my lips curling into a smile. “You have no idea, Em.”

While we explore the case files, I keep glancing at Izel more than I should. She’s a firecracker, and her presence alone is enough to light up the room. But today, there’s something different about her. Maybe it’s the way the morning light catches her hair, or how her eyes gleam in the light.

Just as I’m in the middle of ogling her, Emily doesn’t miss a damn thing. She leans in and mutters, “You’ve got it bad, Rick.”

“What are you talking about?”

She smirks knowingly, glancing back at Izel. “That smile on your face. I’ve never seen that before. You’re grinning like a fool.”

I realize I’ve been smiling like a lovesick moron, and I quickly wipe it off. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Let’s get back to work.”

Chapter 15

IZEL

September 14, 2014, 11:18:09 PM.

I’m still sitting in the waiting room, and my body is shivering, partly from the cold and partly from god-knows-what else – maybe fear, maybe gratitude, or just a mixture of it all. The lady officer hands me a set of clothes.

She’s got a kind smile, and her eyes show a level of understanding that surprises me. I take the clothes, and my fingers tremble slightly as I clutch them close. I’m grateful for the gesture, even though I’m not used to accepting help from anyone.

I start to change into the clothes, and I reflect back to how I got here. Running through the dark streets, barefoot and with dirty clothes, was like a nightmare in itself. But I pushed through it. I had to, to get here.

I’d sprinted as fast as my legs could carry me, driven by the hope that officers like these would help me, that they were the good guys.

I haven’t seen much television in my life. But one thing I know for sure is that officers are supposed to be the people who help others, who keep them safe.

As I huddle in the waiting room, one officer approaches me with a steaming cup. It’s brown and warm, and I’ve never tasted anything like it before. The scent alone makes me want to cry. I take a hesitant sip, and it’s like a damn explosion of warmth and flavor in my mouth. It’s a simple act of kindness that brings tears to my eyes.

I’m still sipping on that brown liquid, finding some solace in its warmth. But then, I overhear the officers talking, and it’s like a punch in the gut.

“So, she’s the granddaughter of the Montclairs?” one of them says with a hint of surprise.

“Yeah, that’s what the old man said,” another one replies, shaking his head.

“Montclairs? You mean the rich folks up on the hill?” he muses.

“Yep, that’s them. It’s a real mess, this whole situation.”

I can feel the blood draining from my face. The Montclairs, my so-called family, have always been a dark cloud hanging over me. And now, the officers are discussing what to do with me. Being associated with them isn’t something to brag about. It’s a curse I’ve carried my whole life.

“So, what’s the plan? Send her back up there?”

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