Page 48 of Breathe Me In

Chapter Ten

Bree

The process of interviewing thirteen people who might have inhaled the drug cocktail was utterly exhausting. It literally took all day. No one had come forward before we asked the question about not feeling well, but suddenly we had about ten hypochondriacs to deal with and only a few solid nos.

One man spoke about his possible exposure to the poison: “I felt like this lump in my throat, and then I think I had a fever.”

Brad glanced at me, and I closed my eyes. It was almost seven o’clock at night, and my patience was growing thin. I knew I couldn’t deal with these people much longer.

“I thought I was going to have to call 911,” the man continued, “but after I threw up, I felt better.”

“Is it possible you were just hungover?” Brad tried not to roll his eyes.

“Ah,” the man stumbled, like he had never thought of that.

“Three beers and”—Brad lifted the paperwork—“six shots would make me want to vomit.”

The man’s face reddened as Brad’s suspicions hit hard. “Yeah, I’m not sure, Detective, but I think I had a good dose of whatever took those two women down.”

“I don’t think so,” Brad said and licked his lips, “because if you had a good dose, you’d be dead.”

“Oh, I’m not dead.”

I had to hold back my laughter at that response.

Brad stood and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s all for now. Thanks for stopping by.”

“If you need anything else, you’ve got my number.” The guy nearly tripped over his chair on the way out. Brad leaned his weight onto the table and chuckled.

“We have one possible person who actually felt something.” I tried to look at the positive side of this crapshoot. “But it’s still not enough.”

“Nope.” Brad pulled out his phone, and his jaw ticced. “Shit, I have to go. Are you okay to head back home without me?”

“I think I’ll manage.” I gave him a wry look and started to gather my things. Brad stopped at the door.

“Look Bree, about Ronnie.” His face said it all.

“He didn’t do any damage,” I assured him. “I’m just sorry that he’s going through that.”

“Yeah.” Brad tapped the doorframe with his fist. “Hard to see him like that.”

“It is.” I slipped my bag over my shoulder and squeezed his arm as I passed. “He’s lucky to have you.”

“And I’m lucky to have you.” He gave me a playful smirk.

“As partners, you mean.” I slit my eyes at him even as I felt my own regret.

“That too. I’ll call you later,” Brad called out.

“Sounds good.” I waved over my shoulder.

I stepped outside the station and breathed in the fresh air, happy to be away from everyone’s sudden syndromes. Lord, people could be heavy at times. I thought of Brad and wondered if it was Sherry who’d pulled him away. I was sure it was. A movement caught my attention, and I quickly turned to see Hayne.

“I was hoping to catch you.” He leaned against his car with a smile. “So, I heard you like Italian food?”

I hesitated and looked at the time. I wasn’t overly hungry yet, and I wanted to go home and shower and change.

He pushed off the car when he saw my hesitation. “All right”—he tucked his hands into his pockets—“if you’re not feeling that, how about coffee then?”