Page 75 of Justice Delayed

The doorbell rang. Probably Livingston. With a sigh, Brogan yanked open the door. The detective stood on the doorstep.

“Thanks for coming by.” Brogan waved the other man inside, then shut the door. “Would you like coffee or something cold to drink?”

“Coffee would be great. Caffeinated is fine, with one of those little pink packets if you have them.” Livingston paused to peer closely at Melender’s bandaged cheek. “Ms. Harman, I heard two men attacked you outside of your work today.”

Melender avoided Brogan’s gaze, focusing instead entirely on the detective. “That’s right.”

“Melender, did you want some coffee too?” Brogan asked.

She pointed to a water bottle on the counter. “I’m good.”

“I know you’ve already talked to other officers, but would you mind recounting the incident for me?” Livingston pulled a notebook from his pocket and clicked his pen.

Brogan busied himself with inserting a pod into the Keurig as she went over the attack. His heart hammered. She might have come to suffering even more harm, if not for the timely appearance of her colleague. Isadora Alonso’s warning about Melender being in grave danger flashed across his mind.

With the detective’s mug on the counter in front of him, Brogan selected a decaf pod for himself. He lost the thread of their conversation as he replayed the kiss in his mind. Never had a kiss affected him as much as this one had. His brain scrambled to make sense of the whirlpool emotions. Then the swirling coalesced into one, crystal-clear thought. He was falling in love with Melender. His growing desire to prove her innocence had less to do with the potential for a blockbuster story and everything to do with freeing her from her past so she could embrace her future. A future he could see himself sharing with her.

The machine signaled the brewing had finished, drawing him back to the present. He mechanically doctored his coffee, his heart lighter but his thoughts heavier. He was falling in love with Melender, and he had no clue what to do about it.

“Brogan?” Livingston’s tone alerted Brogan that it wasn’t the first time the detective had tried to get his attention.

“Sorry, lost in thought.” He picked up his coffee.

“Ms. Harman was telling me about the box.” Livingston set down his cup and pulled a pair of latex gloves from his back pocket. “I’m glad you stopped her from further investigation into the contents. With the attacks on both of you today, an anonymously delivered box is likely not a friendly gesture.”

Brogan stepped closer to the counter as the detective eased back the flaps to reveal a mound of white tissue paper. Livingston gently removed a handful of paper to reveal a furry blue object still half hidden by the remaining paper.

“Oh, no!” Melender stumbled back from the counter, her complexion pasty, and her eyes huge. “It can’t be.”

“Can’t be what?” Livingston asked.

She wrung her hands together. “It’s not possible, it’s simply not possible.”

Brogan hadn’t thought her face could lose anymore color, but the shade dropped alarmingly whiter. He moved toward her.

In her eyes, the misery and pain in their depths punched him in the gut. Without a second thought, he drew her trembling frame into his arms. “Shh. It’s okay.”

“Ms. Harman. Melender.” Livingston removed the object, which Brogan now recognized as a child’s stuffed rabbit with floppy ears and a faded blue ribbon tied in a bow around its neck. “Do you recognize this?”

In Brogan’s arms, Melender shuddered. She buried her face in Brogan’s shirt, her fists clutching the fabric. He rubbed her back and sent up a prayer for her to weather yet another storm. “Hey, I’m here. You can do this.”

She raised her head to meet his eyes. “It’s…” That’s all she could squeak out. With her eyes closed, she rested her forehead on his chest. Then, drawing in a deep breath, she turned her head to look at the bunny with the missing eye Livingston held in his gloved hands. “It’s Jesse’s blue bunny. He took it everywhere.”

* * *

Jared Thompson fiddledwith the empty paper coffee cup and glanced around once again at the bare walls of the interrogation room. He’d been cooling his heels for several hours. Although he’d been read his rights, Jared hadn’t demanded to call an attorney. Better if he handled this on his own without alerting his father to his whereabouts. But as the minutes slipped into hours, maybe he had miscalculated what the police had on him.

The door opened, and the two detectives who had brought him in entered, each carrying a folder. The man, who looked familiar, closed the door, and then each took a chair opposite Jared. The woman crisply stated the names of those present, informing Jared the man’s last name was Livingston and the woman’s Collier. “Monday, September 2, eight o’clock in the evening.”

She stared at Jared. “Do you know why you’re here?” She could have been asking if he knew the weather forecast, so bland was her tone.

Jared shrugged. “Something to do with that drug dealer’s death, I suppose.”

Livingston drilled him with a hard stare. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

Again, Jared moved his shoulders up and down. “All you detectives look alike to me, you know?”

“I worked your younger brother’s disappearance,” Livingston said.

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