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“I thought you were quitting.” Landon’s annoying, arrogant tone fills the air, and I scowl around the cigarette.
I fight the urge to put it out in his eye.
The sooner we solve this shit, the better.
Landon’s an insufferable partner.
“I still am,” I say, fighting to sound neutral. My emotions are haywire, and the three cups of coffee, two cigarettes, and one macaron aren’t doing anything phenomenal for my mental state.
He follows my gaze, and we both stand in silence as cars drive past on the main street. I’m hoping he’ll go back inside; I don’t want to talk about the Omega or anything else non-case related.
“Her car is still here,” he says conversationally. “Someone will need to give her a ride home from the hospital.”
“I don’t care,” I say too quickly.
He hums thoughtfully. “I was thinking you should do it.”
Landon’s smart, I’ll give him that. I shouldn’t have let it slip that I found her pretty. I know what he’s doing; he’s probably happy I showed an interest in anything and is offering some type of pity break so I don’t kill myself over these cases.
“You can do it,” I snap, dropping my cigarette on the grass and stamping it out. “Why would I care about her?”
And of course she’s pretty, she’s an Omega.
She’s designed to be beautiful. It’s in her DNA to attract my inner Alpha.
It’s not special.
She’s not special.
I’m sure if I tried hard enough, I could perfect a cookie recipe too.
“I’m going to visit her at the hospital out of courtesy,” Landon says slowly, talking to me as if I’m a child. “Since she came all this way only to be told ‘no,’ then hit by a car.”
He glares at me pointedly.
“What?” I snarl. He’s slightly taller than me, but I’m bulkier, and I’m almost positive I could kick his ass in a fight.
“You like her.” He quirks an eyebrow, daring me to deny it.
“I’m not five years old. This isn’t kindergarten.” I shake my head.
“We actually have downtime tomorrow. Meet us at the hospital, give her a ride home, then get some rest, River. You look like shit.”
I fume internally. I could argue with him. I don’t believe in ‘downtime,’ and I certainly don’t need him telling me what to do.
“I’ll rest when I’m dead,” I say bitterly.
But I hate that he’s partially right. Usually, I don’t have a partner to rein me in, and it feels foreign to have someone else looking out for me.
Unfortunately, I can’t stand my partner, so any gesture of good faith he shows makes me want to vomit all over his polished shoes.
It’s a miracle I don’t.
“Do you have her address?” I ask finally, turning to scowl at him.
He fights a smile. “I do. She’s in Isleton.”
I freeze.
