“Does anything have to be bringing it on?” he asked in a dark tone. “Seems like there’s always more than enough strife and ugliness in the world for people to find a reason to choose a different route.”
“Maybe,” she said, “but I’m really not liking these numbers.”
He laughed. “Nobody likes the numbers.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you down there.”
“Good enough,” he said, “but I’ll be going right past your place. I’ll pick you up.”
“Fine,” she said, “give me ten.”
“You got it.”
She quickly dressed, and Simon still reclined on her couch. “You have to leave,” she said, without preamble.
He hopped to his feet. “I know. I know. I was just waiting for you to be done.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “I’d really rather that my teammate not see you.”
At that, Simon’s gaze narrowed.
“No, I’m not trying to hide the relationship,” she said, “but, at the same time, I don’t really want to answer any questions about it right now.”
He nodded slowly. “That’ll do for the moment.”
She wasn’t exactly sure what he was trying to push but figured that, when they had time to talk, he would open up a little bit more about it. Still, she figured that she wouldn’t like it any more than she did now. “That reminds me. How did you know?”
“From one of my jobs. It’s close to one of the houses I was looking at rehabbing. I was texting the Realtor about it, and she said a swarm of cops was around what looked like might be a murder down the street.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Of course you’d be involved,” she muttered.
“I’m not involved at all,” he said. “And, just for the record, I’ve never been involved in something like that.”
She flashed him a smile. “I’m really glad to hear that.” Because she was running behind, she stopped, looked at him, and said, “You need to lock up.”
He nodded. “Go,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Fine,” she said. “It’s not like I’ve got anything here to steal.” She laughed in his direction, as she ran out of the apartment. Down on the street level, Rodney was just pulling in. She jumped into his vehicle, and they headed downtown. “Do we know anything about this one?”
He shrugged and said, “I heard it looks like a murder-suicide and have the address.”
“Do we know anything about the other jumper you mentioned?”
“No, not a thing. Just that there was one.” He looked over at her, with concern. “I hope you’re not getting too worked up about them, are you?”
“Well, I hope somebody is,” she said. “Somebody needs to give a damn.”
“Lots of people need to give a damn,” he said quietly, “but that’s a big issue for one person to tackle.”
“I know, but we have to start somewhere.”
“What will you do? Give mental health workshops or something?”
“That’s definitely not something I would handle very well.”
“Maybe not,” he said, “but I’m not so sure about that. You do pretty good with that psychoanalyst stuff.”
“Hell no,” she said. “I really suck at that.”