Lost the Handle (Nashville Assassins: Next Generation #8)

Chapter 6

Chapter

Six

Emery

“If you go to 15:29 on the video, you’ll see the suspect looks over at the green egg-shaped canister on the counter.”

Ralph, a detective in the Nashville crime unit, hums. “There isn’t an opening.”

“There has to be. He kept looking at it,” I insist, watching the video again. I study the perp, who is very clean-cut and also good-looking. He doesn’t look like a murderer, but I know better. He has the gleam in his eye. The one that tells me he’s hiding something, and it’s my job to find it. It’s insane how he looks over at the egg any time he thinks no one is watching him.

Sorry, buddy. I’m always watching.

With a grin, I point to the screen, even though Ralph can’t see me. “Any time anyone wasn’t looking, he was staring at the egg. He even stood in front of it when you guys got closer to the counter.”

“Ms. Brooks, I’m telling you, there is no opening.”

“Break it.”

“What?”

“Break it. I’m telling you, that egg is important.”

He mumbles something along the lines of me being a nutcase before I hear him smash the egg, and then he lets out a whistle. “Dumb fuck hid the knife here?”

I smile triumphantly. “I bet he made the egg around the knife. Just so he has a trophy of the weapon he used to kill his wife.”

“Sick fuck.”

“Exactly,” I agree, adrenaline coursing through me. This is what makes this job so fucking cool. Catching the bad guys with the equipment I invented.

With Quinn.

I never thought we could do it; it was just some crazy thing we thought up after watching a crime doc and we were lying in his bed in the afterglow. He said the cops in the doc would have caught the dude sooner if they’d had an extra set of eyes. Those eyes became my video recording device that offers a full bird’s-eye view of the scene from the camera the police officers wear. It’s like a body cam on steroids. With the program we developed, we can watch in real time or watch the footage back at a later time. I have groups of employees all over the United States who watch the videos as an extra set of eyes for each crime bureau. But some detectives have my number to use for cases like this. To make sure they aren’t missing something when they feel they are. When no one else sees the little details that make my brain go wild.

I love the rush I get when I see something no one else saw. It used to be a game between Quinn and me. Who found the best evidence. We were both great at it, and it still doesn’t feel right doing it without him.

My eyes move to the time. I expected him back by now.

He rushed out of here after setting my computer on the extra desk he had, saying he had work. He’s been gone for nine hours—not that I’m tracking or anything.

I exhale before I tell Ralph, “Book him, Detective.”

“Will do. Thanks again, Ms. Brooks.”

“Anytime.”

I hang up and glance back at the time. Is he still at work? Is he out with Ava? The jealousy that burns through my body is downright pathetic, but I can’t help it. I don’t want him with her. I want him here with me. While he’s mine in my head, he isn’t mine in the real world. Since I can’t live in dreamland, I gotta live in reality and fix what I broke.

Tough pill to swallow. Thank fuck, I’m a badass bitch.

I spin my phone on the desk, biting the inside of my lip as I wait for my balls to drop to call him. I haven’t called him in three years. I’ve texted him on his birthday and on holidays, but never called. I also haven’t been back, and here I am.

So, get it together, Emery. Call your man.

I pick up the phone and go to my favorites, and he still sits at the top. Where he belongs. I hit his name, and with each passing ring, my heart tightens further in my chest. Is he going to ignore my call? He’s probably in surgery. Shit. I should?—

Before I can finish that thought, his voice comes over the line. “Em?”

I clear my throat, trying to remember how to speak, but damn if his deep voice isn’t all sexy and rough. Like he has had a tough day and needs me to make it better.

But then I consider I may be the reason for his bad day.

Ignoring that thought, I say, “Hey! I was about to start dinner. I got some shrimp that I was going to grill up with some pasta.” When he doesn’t answer or even comment, I add, “When do you think you’ll be home?”

He lets out a long breath, and I swear I can see his face tightening up while his brows crash together. “Not sure. Not for a while. I’m going over to Posey’s for dinner.”

“Oh, okay.”

“I can bring you back some food, so you don’t have to cook.”

Before I can agree to that and let him know I appreciate the gesture, I say, “Or I can come too.”

“What?”

“I haven’t seen Posey in a while, and I’d love to see Zac again.” Quinn’s silent on the other end, and I almost backpedal, but that’s not who I am. “I can meet you over there, so you don’t have to run home to get me.”

“You want to go to my sister’s, when the last time she saw you, she told you to leave me alone?”

I tsk. “Emotions were high. Posey loves me.”

There is a pregnant pause before he says, “I don’t know, Em. I’ve had a rough day, and Posey has too. I don’t need your drama added in there.”

I scrunch up my face. “Rude. I am not drama. I’m a great time.”

“A dramatic great time, sure.”

“Quinnifer! Why are you being mean?”

He scoffs. “I’m just telling the truth.”

“No. All lies.” I chuckle softly. “I swear I’ll be good. I just want to see Posey and eat some food.”

“Or put yourself around me twenty-four seven,” he accuses, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Um, that’s not doable. One, you’re very engaged. And two, you work, and so do I.”

He actually laughs, a real one that has my stomach doing flips. He mutters, “Very engaged,” and I giggle, pleased with myself. My favorite thing to do is laugh with him. He has the best laugh. It’s all deep and throaty. It’s almost as hot as when he finds his pleasure.

His moan.

God.

I’d pay to hear it.

Or do some real shady shit.

Or even insert myself into every aspect of his life to remind him how great we are together.

Like before.

How our future should be.

The two of us.

Before I start planning our wedding, which would be the exact opposite of his and Ava’s, I say, “So, should I head over? She moved, didn’t she?”

“Yeah. Closer to my mom.”

“Oh, can you send me the address?” Once more, he pauses, and I make a face. “Why so quiet? You’re never this quiet.”

“Because, unlike when we were younger, I have to think before I act with you. Since I’m very engaged.”

I roll my eyes. “Quinn, please. Nothing has changed between us.”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. “Three years, Em. Three. Not minutes, days, or months. It was years. A lot has changed. We’ve changed.”

“Sure,” I agree. “But our relationship is the same.”

“We don’t have a relationship,” he says, and it’s like a knife to my heart. But instead of hiding his knife in an egg, he holds it close for his next cut. “I don’t even know if we’re friends.”

I try to play off my heartache. “We’re best friends, Quinn. Nothing changes that.”

I hear him swallow, and I close my eyes. “Call Posey and ask her if it’s okay. I can order extra food.”

The line goes dead, and I purse my lips. This is going to be more difficult than I thought.

I really did hurt him.

Just means I have to try harder.