THE ENVELOPE from the private investigator arrives at the end of the day.
I stare at the ugly, orange square. It takes up too much space on my desk. My fingers drum against it. The contents bend and crackle with every tap.
My door opens.
The creak shatters the tense silence. Patrick sticks his head inside. "You busy?"
"Just finishing up." I grip the envelope. Squeeze it tight until it protests. Patrick's dark eyes drop to the package. "What's that?"
"The PI sent it."
His expression shifts in an instant. Brows tightening, he drops his voice to a dark whisper, "Have you… is she…?"
"I haven't checked yet." "Why not?"
"Just haven't gotten around to it," I mumble darkly.
Patrick steps through the door and kicks it shut with his foot. Marching toward my desk, he slams his hands on the surface and faces me with burning eyes. "You're not being a punk about this, are you?"
