Only as she placed her hand to her mouth and spun towards the kitchen sink, a message displayed on her phone caught her attention. It was from Baker.Ah, the license plate!In her guilt-ridden haze last night, Jaime had forgotten to check her phone before she turned in.
Car belongs to Anastasia Grant.
Jaime’s brows rose, her interest piqued as she jotted down the address that followed the name.Anastasia. Huh. Lady A seemed like an Anastasia. Her long, silky red hair. Her striking features. Yeah…Lady A was an Anastasia, alright. A beautiful name to match a beautiful woman.Fuck! Stop!Jaime swallowed down that guilt once more, this time choosing to focus on her next move. Yeah, she’d fucked up… but she couldn’t do anything about that now. Well, except fornotfuck the sex worker. If she could master that, maybe Dream Taylor would eventually forgive her for her mistakes.
The headache behind Jaime’s eyes throbbed, the tension she felt in her neck causing havoc this morning. She was no use to anyone at the precinct, not like this. She had to do what she knew was right… she had to call Max. Perhaps it was a little white lie, but she didn’t have it in her to pretend to be focused withanyonetoday. It simply wasn’t going to happen. Jaime knew she had a job to do, but she also had to accept that the victims deserved a first-rate detective. Not a hot-mess detective.
She lifted her phone from the counter again, attempting another sip of her coffee when she hit Max on speed dial.
“Fraser.”
“Hey, Max, it’s me. I, uh… I’m not feeling good today.”
Max cleared his throat. “What do you mean you’re not feeling good?”
“Migraine… I think. I’m gonna need a couple of days. I think you’re right. This case has gotten to me. It’s fucking with my head.” Jaime knew her calling in sick wouldn’t go down well, but Max would understand. Even if she wasn’t quite at migraine level just yet. “With the anniversary and… everything, it’s too much, you know?” At least she was honest about that. Max was always telling her that taking care of your mental health was important. Especially for a cop. After Taylor died, Jaime’s mental health took a serious hit. Max had been there to pickup the pieces. Jaime just hoped she wasn’t wearing out Max’s compassion.
“Baros, I need your head in this. You’re invaluable when you’re on top of your game, but this? Whatever bullshit this is… I don’t want it here. If you’re too fucked up to focus, then yeah… stay home. Work it out. But just remember that we have victims that deserve justice.”
I never got fucking justice!
Jaime squeezed her eyes shut, willing that thought away. Thiswasn’tabout Taylor, and the sooner Jaime accepted that, the sooner she could be the detective Max needed. “Got it.”
“I’ll take Jackson with me to speak to the victims’ friends and families again. We need to figure out if we’ve missed any connection to them all. Something has to be there that we’re not seeing.”
“Okay. Keep me updated. Couple of days, and I’m full focus.”
“Mm. A couple of days.” Max cut the call.
Jaime knew that could have gone worse, but right now, her mind was on Anastasia Grant. Not the…chamber side of her, just…her. She reached for the scrap of paper she had scribbled on, shoved her phone into the holster on her hip, and grabbed her blazer from the back of the couch as she rushed towards the door.
No time like the present, Baros.
“Nice area.”Jaime surmised as she stopped further down the street than the address on her front seat. “Quiet. Affluent. Clean.” With nothing looking out of place here, it seemed veryDesperate Housewives. Jaime had never watched the show, but Taylor had been obsessed once.
“Oh, you two couldn’t have been more different if you tried.”
Jaime smiled at that. It was true, though. Jaime and Taylor had very little in common when she looked back. When Jaime would rather hit the gym or the punchbag, Taylor would curl up on the couch with chips and a box set of her favorite show. Jaime preferred soul music, but Taylor stuck with trashy pop. Jaime and her Portuguese heritage enjoyed fresh fish and Mediterranean dishes… while Taylor could devour a burger in minutes.
It had somehow worked out in the end… mostly, but Jaime did have to wonder why they’d been suited to one another when they were poles apart. She rested her head back and gave herself a few minutes before she exited her vehicle and hopefully laid eyes on Anastasia Grant.
“Come on, Taylor. Let’s run and then cook something together.”
“I… don’t want to run. But you go ahead, fitness fiend.”
Jaime rolled her eyes, fixing the waistband on her leggings across her lower stomach. “Taylor, seriously. You said we’d start doing this together so we could hang out more often.”
Taylor’s eyes swept up Jaime’s body, a grin spreading on her mouth. “Maybe we could slip into the bedroom and have a different kind of workout.”
Oh, Jaime would love that, but she still wanted to get her cardio in via a run. She would be more than happy to lavish Taylor once she returned, though.
“No?” Taylor asked, sticking her bottom lip out. “I’m telling you now, this all stops when we’re married. It’s bad enough that you work all the hours you can. The least I deserve in the evening is a wife who is at home with me…not running the streets.”
“Babe, I have to keep my fitness up. As much as I know you like to believe I sit behind a desk all day, I don’t. Gotta keep upwith the crazies out there. They may be terrible when it comes to covering their tracks, but fuck me, they know how to bolt when they want to.”
Taylor slid down the couch, huffing. “Whatever. Sometimes I wish I’d picked a girlfriend who cared more about what dip flavor we had with our chips.”
Jaime frowned. Taylor had never said something like that before. It shouldn’t sting, but it kinda did. Sure, she knew Taylor wasn’t overly fond of her career, but that? To wish for a different partner? Huh. “That’s real nice.” Jaime shoved her AirPods in, heading for the door. “And if that’s how you feel, don’t let me stop you from finding someone more suited?—”
