Page 60 of Crash Course
Cilla’s only response was to touch her nose.
Rohan stood. "I hate when kids are sick. Give me a while. I’ll do some phishing."
With that, he left the table, striding into his office and closing the door. More than likely, he’d be in there for hours.
Sorry, bro.
"It would certainly suck," Phin said, "if these people are getting toxic sludge."
Cilla nodded her agreement. "Agreed. How fast will we get the samples back?"
"I’ll see if we can rush it." He checked his watch. "I gotta go. I’ll talk with y’all tomorrow."
Phin grabbed the duffel before heading out the door.
Alone at the table, Cruz spun his chair to face Cilla. "Here we go," he said.
"Here we go."
"You scared of what we might find?"
"Terrified. But I’d rather know the truth. Even if it changes everything."
The following morning,Cilla pushed through her office suite’s entrance a little after 8:00, her mind gloriously busy with all things Cruz Blackwell. His refreshing honesty and bluntness, she had to admit, offered an odd sort of comfort that relaxed her. Parsing her words drained her. With Cruz, she didn’t have to check herself every time she wanted to voice an opinion.
Then there was the body.
The.
Body.
He wasn’t one who opted for second-skin shirts that put cut muscles on display. Hiding those muscles under loose clothing didn’t exactly seem his style either. Cruz had found the perfect middle ground of fitted clothing that let the world see broad shoulders and sinewy forearms. All of which sent her hotness radar pinging and her imagination running wild.
And her without a fan.
Oooh-eeee.
Entering the suite, Cilla found Layla, as usual already at her desk pounding away on her keyboard.
"Morning," Cilla said.
"Hiya." Layla swiveled from the keyboard, grabbed a couple of folders, and handed them over. "Ed’s notes on Kalper. He said you’d be happy."
Excellent. By now, her investigator knew her well enough to gauge her reactions to certain information.
And she liked happy. Particularly when it involved a murder case that, right now, looked like it would wind up with her client spending the rest of his life in prison.
She held up the folders. "Thank you. I’ll look."
"You need anything?"
"Not unless you can get me an extra twelve hours in a day."
"Sorry. Still wouldn’t be enough."
True that. Would any amount of time be enough?
She entered her office, unloaded her laptop and phone, and set the tote and her purse on the sofa before moving to her desk.
