“Not anymore, with Lennon’s updates, but yes.”
“Alright. I will focus on him for sure. Does anyone else have keys or keycards? Aside from you, me, and Cam, that is.”
“The doorman. He brings up my dry cleaning and packages sometimes if there are too many behind the desk, since he can just leave them outside my door and they can’t be stolen.”
“Alright. That is a good direction. It makes a lot of sense,” Brock said, reaching for some bread, breaking off a piece, and swirling it in the dip. “They could come up the elevator without you being notified. Then they could knock at your door. And you remember there being someone at the door.”
“Right,” I agreed, still annoyed that no other memories of that night had come back to me. The best I could come up with was that the second the door was opened, I had been, like, chloroformed.
“What?” Brock asked, seeing my gears turning.
“Could I have been chloroformed? Is that why I don’t remember anything?”
“No,” he said, shaking my head. “I mean, yes, it is always possible to be chloroformed. But it is nothing like what you see in movies and TV shows. It takes several minutes of having that rag over your face to make you pass out. It’s possible, but unlikely. I think the lack of memory is more of a trauma response, your brain protecting you from unpleasant memories.”
“That just… that doesn’t sound like me.”
“Typically, no. But sometimes there is no control, babe. Your brain does it subconsciously. And sometimes it comes back, but most of the time it doesn’t. I get that it’s scary to have gaps like that, but it’s probably something you’re going to have to learn to live with.”
I hated that.
I was such a control freak, to the point that I never let myself get too drunk because I didn’t want to not be in complete control of myself and my image.
I damn sure didn’t want to black out and have no idea what I did the night before.
But he was probably right. If it didn’t come back yet, it likely isn’t going to. So being upset about that is just a waste of energy.
“We’re going to figure this out, honey,” Brock said, nodding. “You just have to trust us and give us some time.”
Him.
I had to trust him.
Because as much as I was sure Sawyer and Tig were one call away, and keeping abreast of all the details of the case, they clearly weren’t the ones working the case. Brock was.
The thing was, I did trust him.
Almost implicitly.
The problem was that I didn’t trust myself. Around him. Especially now that I knew I wore my desire right there on my face for him to see.
That was going to be an issue. Especially since I didn’t seem to have any control over my feelings toward him. The longer I spent with him, the worse it seemed to be getting.
I just had to… distract myself.
No more trips out with him when he didn’t need me to tag along. No more going out to eat, just the two of us.
I was sure there was extra work I could be doing instead. There wasalwayswork that could be getting done. I needed to focus on that, let him handle the case, and keep some damn distance.
Luckily, conversation dipped back to more casual things as our food arrived and we ate.
By the time we were done, I had to admit to him that he was right. It was the best Italian I’d ever had. And I would likely be back weekly if I lived closed, regardless of who owned it.
“Brock, no,” I objected as the server brought the book over to him.
“Miranda, yes,” he shot back as he reached for his wallet.
“This is ridiculous. Technically, you’re working for me. That makes this a business dinner. I should be paying.”