Page 48 of Getting the Grinder
“Girl.” She gives me a stern look. “Don’t do that.”
She’s about to give me a full-blown lecture when she’s interrupted by Gayle walking into our little section of the office.
“Mara, can we talk in your office?” she asks.
“Sure.”
I’m immediately tense because I can tell my boss is unhappy about something. Was it one of the cases from this afternoon? Did I do something I shouldn’t have?
As soon as we’re alone inside the office Jayden and I share, I close the door.
“This office is terrible.” Gayle shakes her head as she looks around.
She’s right. It’s dark and depressing and even though it’s been years since it was repurposed from a janitorial supply room into an office, it still smells like Pine-Sol.
“We’re not here all that much,” I say.
“Have a seat.”
My stomach churns nervously as I sit down behind my desk, Gayle taking Jayden’s chair. We have the fronts of our desks pushed together so we can share the space for our many files and pass them back and forth easily. When we need to meet with people, we use a conference room. No one but us usually sees this office.
“Our IT people reached out to me about an email that came in for you this afternoon,” Gayle says. “You know there are certain words that get flagged by the system.”
My eyes widen and I swear my heart stops. Surely none of my friends would send a profane message to me here, even as a joke. If all my hard work to make a respectable name for myself here has been compromised by someone’s hairy balls meme, I’m going to lose it.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling sick. “I don’t?—”
She cuts me off. “It’s nothing for you to apologize for. I just need to make you aware. The message gets removed from your inbox when it’s flagged.”
I stop short, confused. “I guess I’ll need you to elaborate.”
The corners of her mouth turn down slightly in a frown. “The message said, ‘You’re dead, bitch.’ We do unfortunately get messages like that in this line of work.”
I pinch my brows together, shocked. “And you’re sure it was intended for me?”
She nods. “The sender thought he was being clever and masking his IP address, but the sheriff’s department has already traced it to a one-block radius of Drake Harn’s address.”
My jaw drops. “Drake Harn? Libby’s husband?”
“Yes, Bruce filled me in on the conversation you had with her, and you did nothing wrong. Domestics are the hardest cases we work on. Just be vigilant, because the sheriff’s department has been unable to locate Drake. Don’t walk to your car alone, keep your doors locked, and report anything suspicious. The sheriff’s department will be patrolling your apartment building.”
I sit back in my chair, still in disbelief. “Patrolling my building? You mean driving past it once every hour?”
“Pretty much. It’s all they’re willing to do at this point.”
I rub the bridge of my nose, knowing there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep at my apartment tonight, even though I’m exhausted.
“You’re welcome to my guest room if you want it,” Gayle says.
The thought of my boss seeing me in my pajamas—or me seeing her in hers—is so awkward I almost cringe.
“Thanks. I’ll stay with a friend for now.”
She stands. “I know it’s alarming, but we all get these messages. Drake won’t be able to hide for long, and he’ll be arrested as soon as he pops up.”
I guess that’s something. “Maybe he’ll get jail time and Libby can have her baby without him around.”
Gayle sighs heavily. “She’s pregnant?”
