Page 56 of Falling For You

"What did Hollywood want?"

"Shrink the perimeter before we have readings back."

Knox watched Handler's cruiser for a second. Then he shook his head and turned back to the scene.

Andy had told me enough about what it was like working under him. Every department had guys like Handler. Firefighters got the same thing. One guy who cuts corners or freezes on a call, and suddenly every crew in the city is answering for it.

But at least our problems stayed in the house. A cop like Handler had a badge and an audience. Every time he pulled rank or talked past someone or treated a scene like his personal stage, he was telling the public exactly what kind of department they were paying for. And the officers who did it right, the ones who didn't have the rank to push back, had to carry that weight on top of their own.

I turned back to the perimeter and went to work.

Birdie had been losing the fight with sleep for the last twenty minutes. Her head kept dipping forward every few seconds, snapping back up like she thought nobody noticed. The cartoon was still going. She hadn't followed the plot in at least two episodes.

"Bird," I said. "You want to head to bed?"

"Five more minutes."

Her eyes were already closing. She leaned sideways and caught herself with one hand on the carpet.

Barb put her book down and stood up from the armchair. "Alright, sweetheart. Let's head off to bed."

"But I'm not tired."

"You're falling asleep on the floor."

"I'm resting my eyes."

Barb scooped her up. Birdie's protest lasted about three seconds before her head dropped against Barb's shoulder.

"Night, Birdie," Andy called after them.

Birdie lifted one hand off Barb's back and waved without opening her eyes.

Andy and I listened to Barb's footsteps disappear down the hall. The bedroom door closed. Then it was just us.

She flipped the TV to the news, turned the volume down, and leaned into the arm of the couch. I wasn't watching. My arm was resting on the back of the couch and her braid was right there, the end of it brushing against my knuckles every time she shifted.

On the screen, the segment changed. A reporter standing in front of an apartment building, yellow tape in the background, talking about a string of unsolved break-ins. And then there was Handler, badge on camera, standing in front of the lens like he'd been waiting for it. Giving a statement about the department's active investigation, the steps being taken, the assurance that the community was safe.

"Handler shrunk our perimeter on a gas leak the other day before we even had readings back." I nodded at the screen. "And now he's on TV like he runs the department."

Andy's jaw set. She turned back to the screen and didn't say anything.

"You okay?"

She didn't answer right away. Handler's voice was still coming through the speakers.

"Can I tell you something?" she asked.

She was sitting with her knees pulled up, her arms wrapped around them, chin resting on top. She was looking at the screen, but she wasn't watching it anymore. Her fingers were picking at a loose thread on the knee of her jeans and her shoulders had drawn in.

I shifted on the couch to face her, pulled my arm down from the back.

"Anything."

She looked at me.

"Handler and I dated for four years."