Page 50 of Cuffed (Everyday Heroes 1)
“If you don’t snatch that man up, I will.”
Apparently, it is.
I groan.
How can I compete with this? How can I fight back when he is single-handedly persuading everyone around me to take his side?
He may think he’s in the lead, but he hasn’t seen me in action yet.
Now I just need to rewrite his damn rules and figure out a plan of attack of my own.
“Are you trying to get officer of the year or something?” Nate asks with a laugh.
“Huh?” I look up from where I’m lacing my boots to see him hauling two file boxes stacked on each other into my family room. “Are those the archived files?”
“Yep. Your patio cover.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Those are some serious boxes.
“There are two more in the car, but please, stay where you are and sip your coffee,” he says, holding his hands out in the stop motion. “I have nothing better to do than haul your shit around.”
“I knew you were good for something,” I say with a laugh as I make a show of sitting back into the couch, propping my feet on the coffee table, and making a loud mmm sound as I sip my coffee.
“Asshole.”
“The one and only.”
He laughs as the screen door shuts behind him while I get up to move the boxes out of the way. I have the lid off and am running my fingers over the tabs of the files to make sure they are the ones I asked for when he comes back in and drops the remaining two boxes with a thud.
“You got some dust on your uniform,” I say as I point to nothing on his chest.
Nate lifts his middle finger as he makes his way to my coffee maker and pours himself some as if he lives here.
Cold Case File #865593: Jensen Darby Homicide - 6/12/2001
Cold Case File #628336: Mimi LaRuby Missing Person – 1/04/1995
“Make yourself at home. Oh wait, you already have.” I say, only half paying attention as he opens the fridge and pulls out the creamer.
Cold Case File #458899: Matthew Larsho Homicide – 9/10/1992
Closed File #713920: Emerson Reeves – Sexual Abuse – 10/23/1997
Nate says something, but I don’t hear him because I can’t tear my eyes off the label on the file.
“These files . . .”
The green folder is several inches thick. Unfortunately, I know from experience on other case files I’ve looked through what it will contain. Evidence. Physical exams. Testimony. Psychological evaluations. Pictures.
Fucking Christ.
Pictures.
“Yeah, what about them?” Nate asks as my stomach revolts at the thought of what is contained in between the covers. The coffee that tasted like heaven minutes ago, feels like acid eating a hole in my stomach. “Is something wrong? They were the ones on the list on your desk.”
“The list?” I ask absently but can picture it perfectly. The list of names where I was so preoccupied with curiosity about Emerson’s past—what happened to her father and how bad it was for her—that I wrote her name down at the top of the paper. I can see it clearly. Her name in block letters with two lines beneath it. How Nate could have assumed it was for emphasis when it was nothing more than me doodling as I thought of her.
“Is everything okay, man?”
