Of course, it was him. Deven had already ignored his call twice. Once last night when she was too engrossed regurgitating the details of Kennedy’s case on paper. She’d sent him to voicemail with a hasty, in the middle of something, I’ll call you back text. But she hadn’t. Then again this morning, she hadn’t bothered clicking over while she was talking to Benji. Once was forgivable. Twice was pushing it. Three times and Deven knew she’d never hear the end of it. So even though she was anxious, Deven sat back against the leather interior and answered the phone.

“Hey baby,” she greeted trying to keep the impatience out of her voice.

“Hey. I’ve been calling you,” he said without a lick of concern. If anything, he seemed more suspicious. “What have you been up to?”

“Just tired. A lot of back and forth with my mom and stuff for Kennedy.”

“Stuff for Kennedy?”

Deven chewed on her bottom lip trying to pick over exactly what to say without saying anything. “Yeah, just her affairs. Cleaning up her apartment, paperwork and stuff.”

To her relief, Justin’s tone softened with understanding. “Sweetie, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to come this weekend and help?”

“No, that’s not necessary.” Deven hadn’t meant to answer so quickly so she tried again. “I mean, you don’t have to come all this way for that. I’m getting it handled.” She felt guilty for sending up a silent prayer that he took the hint. She didn’t need him getting in the way. Besides, Justin was too busy with . . . well Justin, to care or even try to understand what Deven had to do.

“I’ll let you know if I come in town,” he said. “I’ve got some things to take care, but I was thinking we needed to talk about some things.”

That had Deven lifting an eyebrow. “Things like what?”

“Just us. We just need to talk about it in person.”

Deven didn’t like the sound of that, but she really wasn’t in the headspace to press the issue. So, she diverted. “Okay sure. We’ll talk this weekend,” she promised, though she had no idea if that would be the case. It was a weak stall, she knew, but a stall, nonetheless. And it worked. They ended the call and Deven flipped her phone to silent. She didn’t need any more distractions.

The police station was buzzing with activity as Deven marched through the automatic doors. Ringing phones and static voices through walkie-talkies served as a background to the chaos as law enforcement officials milled about with less urgency than she would have expected. A fleeting scent of weed, leather, and cigarette smoke pervaded the air and had Deven’s nose wrinkling at the pungent odor.