cushion with disappointment heavy in my heart and kidneys.
"I wish they would've been a little more useful," I grumbled.
"Perhaps they were, and didn't mean to be," Garrison spoke up.
I glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"You said something about this Servino guy smoking, right?" I nodded my head. "And you described the smell as roadkill?"
"Yeah, fresh roadkill, too. What about it?"
Garrison nodded at where the officers had gone. "They smelled like that when they came back, but I know they didn't smell like that when they left."
I glanced at the closed door through which they'd left, then looked back to Garrison. "Are you sure? I didn't smell anything."
"I have a good sense of smell, but it all makes sense."
"It does?"
"Just think about everything they said. Cranston admitted he and that other officer knew what the Bandanna gang members looked like, and Cranston is in charge of the case and would have access to the police report."
I shuddered in my seat on the couch. "So you're saying that the inside cop is the guy who's supposed to be helping protect me?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Not half as afraid as I am."
He sat himself down beside me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "You still have me," he pointed out.
I nervously snickered. "Yeah, all one hundred and fifty pounds of you."
"One-eighty, and I have my brains," he corrected me. "That's more than the police can say."
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't help the smile that slipped onto my face. "All right, Mr. Brains, when do we start this Operation Save Tasha?"
"Greg."
"Is that a time zone?"
"No, it's my name. I want you to call me that from now on."
"Greg Garrison?"
"My parents liked continuity."
"I can see where you get your weirdness. All right, Greg, when do we start?"
"Tonight we rest, and tomorrow we'll start."
Chapter 8
The sun was setting when I returned to my apartment after my long talk with Greg, and I flicked on the lights so I wouldn't stumble into any furniture. The coffee table had a grudge against me for spilling coffee on it and sometimes it moved so I'd trip and kill myself over it if I wasn't careful. My long day of rest was exhausting, and I flopped down into my chair with a deep, weary sigh. "All this conspiring is hard," I whined to my empty apartment.
Only I didn't know it wasn't empty.
When I'd gotten really comfortable my stomach decided that was the perfect time to growl with hunger. That reminded me that I hadn't had much to eat that day, not with the whole being-threatened-by-a-thug, another interview with the corrupt police, and plotting possibly the end of me with Greg. Greg. I leaned back my head and sighed. Things were getting heavy between us, and not because I was gaining more weight. He was a nice guy, sure, and definitely brave in helping me out, but I just wasn't sure I was that into him. I would have placed him in my friend-zone rather than my boyfriend-zone.
Another gurgle from my stomach. It was getting more demanding than my boss. I sighed, and hefted my lard butt over to the kitchen. That was located off the hall that led into the bed and bathrooms. I was rummaging through the cupboards searching for my prey when I heard a creaking noise at the rear of the apartment. I froze and whipped my head around to the backrooms. Everything was quiet, but I felt it was a calm before the storm.
I grabbed the closest weapon within reach, a box of elbow macaroni, and crept over to the hallway. The bedroom and bath lay around the corner, and when I peeked around I smacked my head into something hard. It wasn't the wall, though it felt hard enough. It was a large guy's forehead, and he wasn't very happy with my knucklehead greeting. He wore a dark coat like Servino and there was a green bandanna wrapped around his head. His height towered over mine, and his ripped muscles bulged out from beneath his clothing. His large arms swung to grab me, and I screamed and shoved the cardboard box into his
"I wish they would've been a little more useful," I grumbled.
"Perhaps they were, and didn't mean to be," Garrison spoke up.
I glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"You said something about this Servino guy smoking, right?" I nodded my head. "And you described the smell as roadkill?"
"Yeah, fresh roadkill, too. What about it?"
Garrison nodded at where the officers had gone. "They smelled like that when they came back, but I know they didn't smell like that when they left."
I glanced at the closed door through which they'd left, then looked back to Garrison. "Are you sure? I didn't smell anything."
"I have a good sense of smell, but it all makes sense."
"It does?"
"Just think about everything they said. Cranston admitted he and that other officer knew what the Bandanna gang members looked like, and Cranston is in charge of the case and would have access to the police report."
I shuddered in my seat on the couch. "So you're saying that the inside cop is the guy who's supposed to be helping protect me?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Not half as afraid as I am."
He sat himself down beside me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "You still have me," he pointed out.
I nervously snickered. "Yeah, all one hundred and fifty pounds of you."
"One-eighty, and I have my brains," he corrected me. "That's more than the police can say."
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't help the smile that slipped onto my face. "All right, Mr. Brains, when do we start this Operation Save Tasha?"
"Greg."
"Is that a time zone?"
"No, it's my name. I want you to call me that from now on."
"Greg Garrison?"
"My parents liked continuity."
"I can see where you get your weirdness. All right, Greg, when do we start?"
"Tonight we rest, and tomorrow we'll start."
Chapter 8
The sun was setting when I returned to my apartment after my long talk with Greg, and I flicked on the lights so I wouldn't stumble into any furniture. The coffee table had a grudge against me for spilling coffee on it and sometimes it moved so I'd trip and kill myself over it if I wasn't careful. My long day of rest was exhausting, and I flopped down into my chair with a deep, weary sigh. "All this conspiring is hard," I whined to my empty apartment.
Only I didn't know it wasn't empty.
When I'd gotten really comfortable my stomach decided that was the perfect time to growl with hunger. That reminded me that I hadn't had much to eat that day, not with the whole being-threatened-by-a-thug, another interview with the corrupt police, and plotting possibly the end of me with Greg. Greg. I leaned back my head and sighed. Things were getting heavy between us, and not because I was gaining more weight. He was a nice guy, sure, and definitely brave in helping me out, but I just wasn't sure I was that into him. I would have placed him in my friend-zone rather than my boyfriend-zone.
Another gurgle from my stomach. It was getting more demanding than my boss. I sighed, and hefted my lard butt over to the kitchen. That was located off the hall that led into the bed and bathrooms. I was rummaging through the cupboards searching for my prey when I heard a creaking noise at the rear of the apartment. I froze and whipped my head around to the backrooms. Everything was quiet, but I felt it was a calm before the storm.
I grabbed the closest weapon within reach, a box of elbow macaroni, and crept over to the hallway. The bedroom and bath lay around the corner, and when I peeked around I smacked my head into something hard. It wasn't the wall, though it felt hard enough. It was a large guy's forehead, and he wasn't very happy with my knucklehead greeting. He wore a dark coat like Servino and there was a green bandanna wrapped around his head. His height towered over mine, and his ripped muscles bulged out from beneath his clothing. His large arms swung to grab me, and I screamed and shoved the cardboard box into his
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