Page 52 of 4th Silence
“You mentioned practically living together.”
“And?”
“Maybe we can talk more about that. It’s not marriage, but … there’s commitment there.” I waggle my eyebrows. “We’ll call it a trial run.”
He grins at me. “Trial run. You’re funny. Whenever you’re ready, say the word and we’ll talk.”
Then he’s gone, and just like that, I’m outside my comfort zone.
Maybe that’s precisely where I need to be.
15
Charlie
* * *
The headline screams at me from my laptop: “FBI Scandal: Forensic Psychologist Charlize Schock Accused of Misconduct.”
Breathe…
It’s one of a dozen articles splashed across media outlets. I stare at the words until they blur, my fingers hovering over the keyboard as if I can delete them through sheer will. My Louboutins tap an anxious rhythm against the floor beneath my desk, matching my racing pulse.
“This can’t be happening.” I scroll through details supposed “inside sources” shared, alleging an affair with my former Bureau boss, Garrett Hastings.
I feel lightheaded. Dots dance at the corner of my vision. My fingers and toes tingle.
“Shit.”
I’m nearing a panic attack.
Charlie Schock does not panic.
Ever.
Breathe, dammit.
The implications cascade through my mind like falling dominoes. My reputation. My credibility as an expert witness. My FBI consulting role. All of it—built from years of sacrifice—threatened by a lie.
Someone wants me off this case. Someone wants me ruined—someone like Mary.
My gaze drifts to the framed credentials on my wall—my doctorate and FBI commendations—symbols of a career I bled for.
I’ve fought too hard to get here. Too hard to let some tabloid-worthy fiction derail me.
I close my eyes again and grip the edge of my desk. Inhale, exhale. You can handle this.
“Charlie?” Meg’s voice precedes her as she appears in my doorway. She looks brighter, steadier—like someone who slept for the first time in a week. “What are you going to do?”
* * *
I draw a final deep breath. Release my death grip on the desk. “I’m going to do exactly what Mary doesn’t want me to do.” Tiffany’s face flashes in my mind, clear as ever. I close the browser tab with a decisive click and open my case files.
The facts are what matter now, not some fabricated scandal. “I’m going to find who killed Tiffany.”
“It’s okay if you need to take a break to deal with this new wrinkle,” Meg offers.
“When have you ever known me to back down from a fight?” I reach for my notepad and scribble a three-step action plan. Step one: prove Mary’s dirty. The other two steps I’ll play by ear once I do that.
