I returned the door to its former position. “He’s sleeping on the couch, Thomas. Jesus, do the math.”

He leaned in and whispered, “I’ve been on that couch before, too.”

“Oh, fuck you,” I said.

I pushed the door to shut it, but Thomas held it open.

“I told you if he bothered you to let me know.”

I crossed my arms. “He wasn’t bothering me. We had a nice night.”

His eyes flickered, and his brows pulled inward. He took a step toward me and kept his voice low as he said, “If you’re worried about how you’re perceived, you shouldn’t have let Sawyer spend the night.”

“Is there something you need?” I asked.

“What did he say to you? Did he discuss the case?”

“Why?”

“Just answer the questions, Lindy,” he said through his teeth.

“Yes, but I don’t think it’s anything he hasn’t said to you.”

“He wants to make Abby an asset.”

I nodded.

“And?” he asked.

I was surprised that he was asking me.

“Your brother won’t allow it. Besides, I don’t think she can be trusted. According to the file, she has helped her father numerous times despite their volatile relationship. She won’t turn him in, except maybe for Travis. We’d have to arrest him first though. Then, maybe she’d play.”

Thomas sighed, and I inwardly cursed myself for thinking aloud.

“You would have to arrest him,” Thomas said.

“What do you mean?”

Thomas nearly whispered, “It would blow my cover.”

“You’re not undercover. What the hell are you talking about?”

Thomas shifted his weight. “It’s hard to explain, and I won’t while I’m in the hall and while Sawyer is pretending to be asleep on your couch.”

I turned, and one of Sawyer’s eyes popped open.

He sat up, grinning. “To be fair, I was asleep until you knocked on the door. This couch is comfy, Lindy! Where did you get it?” he asked, pushing down on the cushions.

Thomas opened the door wider and pointed to the hall. “Out.”

“You can’t kick him out of my condo,” I said.

“Get the fuck out!” Thomas yelled, the veins in his throat bulging.

Sawyer stood up, stretched, and then grabbed his things off my long rectangular coffee table, his keys scraping against the glass as he did so. He stood between me and the doorjamb, just inches from my face. “See you Monday morning.”

“Thanks for the help,” I said, trying to sound apologetic while still remaining professional. It was an impossible balance.

Sawyer nodded to Thomas and then left us for the hallway. Once the elevator opened and then closed again, Thomas looked at me with a stern glare.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, stop. You are trying too hard.”

I walked off, and Thomas followed me inside.

I retrieved the saltines from the cabinet and held them out. “Breakfast?”