She sighs, running her fingers along her brow. “For now.”
I finally allow myself to study her. Really study her.
Liberty May looks tired. Really tired. It’s not the type of tired that sleep can fix – I can tell there’s something eating her from the inside out.
“This really bothers you, doesn’t it?” I ask, keeping my voice low as Detective Walsh begins making his way back through the garage.
“What bothers me?” Liberty asks sharply.
I half-grin. “Me.”
She gives me that look. The one that tells me everything I need to know.
“Just tell us what we need to know, Gabe. And I’ll talk to the D.A. personally and get them off your case for a while.” She crosses her arms, leaning against the door frame.
I shrug. “I’ve got nothing to hide, May.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?” I step closer to her, finally getting a whiff of her perfume. She’s changed it since the last time I saw her.
Liberty narrows her eyes at me, something flickering behind them. She’s enjoying the challenge. “Because you don’t get to call me that anymore.” She says firmly.
I let out a low chuckle. “Right. And I’m pretty sure you don’t get to come in here and throw accusations in my face without my lawyer.” I run a hand through my hair, painfully holding myself back from touching her. “Yet here we are, May.”
She rolls her eyes and finally continues making her way back through the garage to where Detective Douchebag is waiting by their car. “We’ll be in touch, Walker.”
I follow her out of my office, stopping at the edge of the garage as she continues into the parking lot. “I’m looking forward to it.”
She doesn’t answer. Just keeps walking, that purposeful stride of hers cutting through the afternoon heat. I pull another cigarette from my chest pocket and light it, the smoke curling towards the open bay door.
Everyone on the property hears the creaky side door to the apartment open, then slam shut.
The girl steps out, adjusting the strap of her skimpy little sundress as she walks across the parking lot towards her Lexus. Her lipsticks still smudged, and her hair is still a mess. She spots Liberty and offers her a little smile, like she doesn’t realize exactly what she’s just done.
And Liberty? She stops dead in her tracks. No words. No movement. Even with the distance between Liberty and I, I can see the sharp intake of her breath as she profiles the girl.
Long, loosely curled black hair, slim waist with a great rack, around Liberty and I’s age.
Her replacement.
Liberty’s gaze flicks from the girls’ bare legs to the door she just came out of – my door, leading to my apartment above my garage.
For a split second, no one on the property breathes. The girl scurries past Liberty, head down, keys jingling too loudly in the silence. Her heels click against the pavement as Liberty tracks the girl’s movement.
Liberty’s face gives almost nothing away. Almost. I can see the flicker – that old familiar sting of jealousy, anger, whatever it is she’s refusing to name. Finally, her gaze lands on me.
She looks like she’s trying to decide whether to shoot me or laugh. Maybe both.
I lean against the doorframe, taking a drag of my cig. “Don’t look at me like that,” I call out to her.
Liberty narrows her gaze, turns on her heel, and continues on her way towards their black Chevy. The door slams, and I watch as Detective Douchebag looks at her for a long moment. Liberty says something, though I can’t tell what.
