Page 7 of Aftermath
Not worth it? How could lives not be worth our time and resources? We had the ability to stop another potential death someday, and he refused.
I groaned, clenching my fists.
“Send a team up there,” I tried one last time.
“Drop it,” he snapped.
I didn’t speak after that. I just turned, walking back into the hall, and shut the door behind me. I walked across to the bare wall and leaned against it, letting my head drop back. A few analysts in the hall paused but then quickly hurried along, deciding not to bother me.
I let out a sigh.
Why couldn’t I just let it go? Why did I care?
I didn’t know these people, but I knew there was more that could be done. Already, my mind was spinning with the little information I had, building a profile, making a list of leads to check.
I was sick of watching the world crumble around me, sick of letting innocents be preyed on.
It was our job to protect them, to serve them. A job I had failed before.
I pushed off the wall and walked through the building, making my way to the small apartment on campus. I had a trailer in Virginia, but on days I lectured, it was more convenient to stay in town, so the academy offered me an apartment.
My place wasn’t far from the offices, and I walked through the brutal heat at a brisk pace.
I should drop it.
Like Grey said, this wouldn’t atone for my past.
My career was done. There was nothing here for me, and still, I’d allowed myself to be pulled back in.
The sun was already close to setting, and I could feel the breeze picking up.
I made it back in only a few minutes. I unlocked the door and slipped inside, tossing my bag to the side.
The apartment was a studio, furnished, with a kitchen and a simple, full-sized bed.
I searched through the kitchen for any remnants of food.
When was the last time I remembered to buy groceries? Eight days ago, to be precise. Had I been that caught up in lectures this week?
Books were piled high on the counters, and I brushed them to the side, looking for any viable meal option. I settled on a microwave mac and cheese I found buried in the freezer.
A bottle of scotch I had been saving sat in the corner, and my hand was outstretched for it, but I stopped myself. The microwave beeped, snatching my attention, and I left the bottle behind.
I carried the meal to my makeshift living room—a singular armchair and side table. I had no television, but again, books were piled around me. My latest read sat held open by the arm of the chair.
It only took a few bites of food before I settled back in my armchair. I tried picking up my latest read, but the words just blurred together. Every time I tried, the cold case was at the forefront of my mind.
It was eating away at me.
Why this case? It wasn’t her. I couldn’t bring her back.
I knew Grey was right, but still, the case nagged at me.
The more I thought about it, the harder it became to push aside. If I could just talk to the woman behind the tips, I could just confirm they were dead ends.
It would be as simple as that.
I would be doing the bureau a favor.
