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Liv needed to return to the fire scene, but first she needed a shower, some coffee and breakfast.
When she arrived back at her apartment, she was exhausted, her steps heavy with fatigue. Yet, as she pushed open the door, any thoughts of rest vanished in an instant as she was met with an unexpected sight.
Michael stood before her, his presence a jarring intrusion. Liv's heart stuttered in her chest, uncertainty flickering in her gaze as she took in his appearance. His expression was unreadable, a mask of emotions carefully concealed beneath a façade of calm.
“Michael…” Liv struggled to comprehend what was going on. He had a key—given to water her plants. But not free passage to her space.
The sight of him standing in her apartment ignited a surge of anger, eclipsing any trace of fatigue that had previously clouded her thoughts. Her jaw clenched, her gaze hardening as she struggled to contain the simmering fury that threatened to spill over.
“What are you doing here?” Liv demanded, her voice laced with a bitterness she couldn't suppress.
Michael's expression faltered, a flicker of hurt flashing across his features before he masked it with a practiced indifference. “I needed to see you.”
Liv scoffed, her frustration bubbling to the surface as she took a step forward, narrowing the distance between them with a deliberate stride. “You needed to see me?” she spat, her voice dripping with incredulity. “What is so important it couldn’t have waited until I made it to the command center?”
Her words trailed off. Liv's hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms with a fierce intensity that mirrored the turmoil raging within her.
“I thought I made it clear,” Liv continued, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion. “There's nothing between us, Michael. Nothing.” Her chest heaved with each ragged breath, her eyes locked with Michael's in a silent challenge.
“I know,” Michael whispered as he took a hesitant step forward. “But I had to try.”
Liv's anger surged again. “You had to try?” she repeated, her voice edged with disbelief and betrayal. The audacity of his confession, especially in the midst of Jackson's critical condition, ignited a wildfire of indignation within her.
“How could you?” Liv seethed. “How could you think that now, of all times, is appropriate to bring this up?”
Michael's expression softened, his gaze pleading as he took another step forward. “Liv, I?—”
“Don't,” she interrupted, her voice laced with bitterness. “Don't you dare try to explain yourself. What does this mean for our work partnership?”
Michael's gaze faltered, his expression clouded with regret. “I don't know,” his sadness mirrored her own, “but I can't lose you.”
“You choose now?” Liv's voice trembled. “Amidst all of this, you decide now to do this?”
A flicker of remorse crossed his features as he took a step forward. “Liv, I'm sorry,” he pleaded. “I know it's not the right time, but I couldn't keep it to myself any longer.”
Liv's teeth ground. “There are lives on the line, Michael,” she reminded him sharply. “People are counting on us, and you choose now to?—”
She stopped short, unable to find the words to express the depth of her frustration. She took a deep breath, her anger giving way to a resigned determination. “I'll still work with you,” she conceded, her voice strained. “But only at the office or in the command center. We can't let personal matters interfere with our duties.”
Michael nodded, his expression grave as he met her scrutiny. “I understand,” he murmured. “I'll respect your boundaries, Liv.” He handed her the key.
As he left, Liv couldn't shake the nagging feeling there was more to Michael's confession than met the eye, a suspicion that lingered at the edges of her consciousness like a wisp of smoke. Michael may be holding secrets far more dangerous than she had imagined.
Twenty-Six
Liv's hands shook slightly as she engaged the deadbolt on her apartment door, the echo of her argument with Michael still reverberating in her mind. Despite what happened, she forced herself to push it aside.
With a ragged breath, she shook off the lingering remnants long enough to take a quick shower and change into a pair of slacks and a cozy sweater. Her reflection in the mirror revealed a weary woman, her features drawn with exhaustion but her gaze steady. Liv tied her hair into a low bun and dabbed on demure makeup to hide her fatigue.
Before she could head to the fire scene, however, Liv knew she had a stop to make—a call she needed to make to a friend she trusted implicitly.
Liv reached for her phone and dialed the familiar number, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for Brad Killian to pick up. They had gone through the police academy together, and now he was a detective in the State Highway Patrol’s Division of Criminal Investigation—a resource she needed now more than ever.
“Brad,” Liv greeted him when he answered, her voice steady despite the underlying urgency.
“Hey, Liv. Everything okay?” Curiosity filled his tone.
“I need your help. Are you part of the DCI team investigating the arsons in Waverly Junction?”
