"Oh, my God, I feel it in the air
Telephone wires above are sizzlin' like a snare
Honey, I'm on fire, I feel it everywhere
Nothin' scares me anymore"

- Lana Del Rey, "Summertime Sadness"

Chapter Seven

Cruz's new building bordered on flashy.

The attorney general's building was a glass fortress in its own right, but the centrally located high-rise containing his new office just screamed money. It was almost a little too much, and it almost made me jealous of the newbies.

The large lobby was clean and bright, complete with modern technology and security stationed throughout. I recognized a few Greystone team members I'd met last week. A bubbly receptionist greeted me behind a glass desk, and graciously gave me a laminated ID to clip on my shirt, with strict instructions to keep it visible at all times. She seemed to be expecting me.

I'd spent the weekend compiling files on the high-profile cases Cruz had overseen in his eight years of office. He'd objected at first, trying to insist I spend time recuperating, but I'd said the same to him as I had to Oliver—I couldn't sit still for the literal life of me. I didn't think I'd know peace until I was on the other side of the country, or until our faceless attacker was caught.

The work was tedious, ranging from high profile murders to hushed and downplayed data breach cases. I pitied whoever'd be compiling and investigating the suspect lists; it'd taken me long enough just to organize and sort the files themselves. The suspect list from the bank robbery trial three years ago alone would be extensive. I shuddered to think what the drug cartel investigations would turn up, or the white-collar crimes.

The files jostled in my arms as I hurried towards the elevator. A folder precariously slid down.

"No, no, no, no," I whispered. I tried to shift it back as I blindly felt for the elevator button, praying for grace, though I didn't know what deity happened to be responsible for diplomat-wannabes.

Please don't fall. It took forever to sort. Please don't do this to me.

The folder slid a little more.

"Ms. Woodsen, are you—" the voice suddenly spoke from behind me, startling me and causing the folder to finally race to the floor.

But a hand shot out, catching it before it could scatter its pages.

"Oh, thank God," I sighed, turning to see who'd saved me the effort of re-sorting the file.

Sterling stood strong and steady, his eyes blinking questioningly at me; his gaze darted from the obvious relief on my face to the large stack of files I was clumsily holding.

After a moment, something clicked in my brain.

Still with the 'Ms. Woodsen'? What part of 'my name is Avery' did he not understand?

"Thank you," I stated gratefully, if not a little curtly. I shuffled the files in my arms to reach for the one in his hands.

"Please, let me," Sterling proposed. He gracefully maneuvered the loose file on top before taking the entire stack. I thanked him again, rubbing my sore arms and subtly taking the opportunity to look at him.

He looked as handsome as he did on Friday. A black suit and earpiece was the apparent uniform of Greystone, and the choice did him justice. This time, however, Sterling wore a dark green tie tucked neatly into his buttoned suit. I noticed it matched his eyes. It was a nice touch to the professional ensemble, along with the addition of a silver tie clip.

"Are you on your way to see Cruz?" he asked, nodding his head towards the elevator. I leaned forward and pressed the button now that my hands were empty.

"Yes. I finished compiling those files you're holding last night. They're the high-profile cases he mentioned he needed. After I hand those over, I'll be starting the employee list your team requested."

"Your expertise is appreciated, Ms. Woodsen. Romano and I've been working closely with both teams. Rest assured what happened on Friday won't happen again."

His jaw was clenched, and he stared darkly at the elevator as if it'd had something to do with the attack on Friday. He'd been so stony when everything'd happened, so stoic and calm, that this change in expression was a little surprising.

"I don't doubt Greystone, but a lot of enemies are made over the years in a place like this," I admitted quietly. "There's angry people behind bars who still have connections, and some people are released with grudges. That's not even mentioning the friends or family of the accused. I wouldn't be surprised if there are a lot of bones to pick with anyone here."

The elevator finally announced its arrival and allowed Sterling and I to step in. He tilted the files in his arms with ease, pushing the button for the twenty-fourth floor. The doors complied, enclosing us in weighty silence, but after a moment of quiet thought, Sterling broke it.

"We'll get to the bottom of this, Ms. Woodsen."

I turned to him, a little annoyed. "'Avery'. I told you to call me 'Avery'."

His green eyes fell from the changing floor numbers to find my own. He shrugged and apologized. "People say a lot of things in situations like that."

"Do they ever mean them?"

My question teetered towards rhetorical as we lapsed back into silence. Sterling broke eye contact as it turned heavier in the elevator than before, his gaze returning to the floor numbers and his hands tightening on the files.

I said something wrong.

"Life and death situations tend to give things meaning," he finally said.

I stared, a little surprised. I couldn't help it. How many times had he been in life and death situations? Was Friday just another run-of-the-mill occurrence for him? He'd calmed me down so easily, so nonchalantly—like he'd done it hundreds of times with other borderline-hysterical would-be victims.

Maybe he had.

I would expect a highly skilled team like Greystone to have only the best, and obviously the best would have experience in the field. But it seemed knowing that, and truly realizing it, were completely different things. There were people out there who really did the action movie things; there were people doing the life and death dance on a regular basis. Kicking down doors, telling soldiers to roll out, steering war drones and shooting guns. Sterling worked security, so presumably it wasn't as Seal Team-esque, but it certainly wasn't a nine to five. I felt a little nauseous.

Sterling also seemed slightly uncomfortable as he shifted on his feet. "I'm sorry, I should've asked. How are you doing?"

I considered my response carefully. I couldn't say I was fine, but I wasn't falling apart either. Or at least, I wouldn't admit to him if I was.

"I'm... adjusting," I decided.

Sterling nodded in understanding.

"Romano said you weren't injured, but I wanted to ask after I..." he trailed off, struggling to find the right word. The corners of my mouth tugged up.

"Tackled me to the floor?" I suggested.

Sterling didn't seem to notice my humor as he grew increasingly uncomfortable. He looked slightly guilty. "I'm sorry."

I smiled fully at him now. "For saving my life?"

"For tackling you," he repeated.

"You tackled me out of the way of a bullet. What am I going to do, be mad about it? You put yourself in danger to save me. Besides, I landed on you, I should be the one saying sorry. I hope I didn't hurt you."

Sterling chuckled, so quiet and quick I thought I imagined it. He looked a little more at ease as he assured, "You couldn't hurt me."

I nodded, knowing he was probably right. I felt a little more at ease, too. We dipped back into silence as the elevator rose another three floors. Then I realized I owed him something else. "I never actually said thank you."

He looked at me, confused, distracted from the steadily rising floor numbers. "Thank you?"

"For Friday. Saving me. Calming me down. You pushed me out of the way of a bullet, remember? We just talked about this."

"It's my job," he reminded. "You don't have to thank me."

"Yes, I do. No matter what your job description is. I know a lot of people wouldn't have been able to do what you did. You saved my life. A lot of people don't do their job even when the stakes are much lower, let alone life and death."

He didn't answer. The elevator doors opened to allow us out, and Sterling was quiet as he followed me to Cruz's office. My hand rose to knock, but right as I did, the door opened. A surprised Cruz blinked back at me, forced to an abrupt stop.

"Avery, come in! Sterling, nice to see you as well. Quentin just called. He's on his way up. I need to step out for a moment, but I'll be back soon so we can begin," Cruz said, sidestepping us both. He didn't wait for a response before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

Sterling placed the stack of files on the desk, and I settled into one of the stiff chairs before it. I was feeling much antsier than usual; I crossed my legs and leaned back, looking around the room while we waited. Cruz's office seemed just as flashy as the rest of the building. The room even included floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city. In the distance, a large rocky hill just shy of being a mountain could be seen picturesquely shadowing the valley. Inside, the office didn't seem to be fully set up yet, but Cruz was understandably too busy to be worried about it.

I couldn't blame him for the mess, but I winced at the large oak desk already covered in papers and files, everything jumbled and lacking order.

I'll have to talk to his team. They should be helping him keep this stuff in order.

Sterling loped gracefully to the chair next to me and settled in. He readjusted his suit as I chewed on my lip, failing to stop fidgeting in my seat. I had so many questions, and I wanted answers. There would be time to ask Quentin and Cruz, but I had questions specifically for him.

"Why was I a suspect?" I blurted out.

Sterling looked at me with surprise, eyes wide.

I thought I had a basic idea why. I was a close member of the team, leaving to go across the country, and it was a suspected inside job. It made sense in a detached sort of way why he'd be suspicious.

But I want to hear him say it.

"Pardon me?"

"You suspected I had something to do with it. I want to know why."

My fingers peeled at my cuticles as I waited for an answer, but Sterling buttoned another button on his suit first.

"Whoever did this knew exactly how to evade our teams. I was informed you were the main point of contact with Greystone, and you worked closely with the teams while you were there. I was also informed you were one of the closest members of Mr. Cruz's team, and one of the only people who'd have the necessary information to pull this off."

"Pull off what? An attempted assassination?"

Sterling shrugged. "We don't know yet. That's what we're hoping to find out."

"I was the person who was almost shot! If I was in on it, I would've been anywhere but the line of fire. Sterling, I would be dead right now if you weren't there."

"It wouldn't be the first time a disgruntled employee wanted to settle a score or was angry when forced from a job. I was also informed you're moving across the country, which would be the perfect opportunity to distance yourself from the case," Sterling pointed out. "For all I know, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, or something went wrong in your plans. Maybe you partnered with a terrible shot. But my actions were precautions, because everyone is a potential suspect."

That doesn't make me feel any better.

"You seriously think I planned for someone to shoot at the crowd, and by chance, just happened to be the one almost shot? That's the most ridiculous thing I've heard. And I'm not a 'disgruntled' employee. You heard Cruz on Friday; I was offered a job to stay but I decided to leave. It was my choice. I had nothing to do with this," I said crossly, enraged and offended.

Sterling's eyes stared out the window. His side profile was shaded and chiseled, jaw sharp and tight. "Cruz assured me you're leaving of your own volition. Your background checks are also clean."

"Is that what made you decide I wasn't the main suspect anymore? My background checks?"

Sterling remained infuriatingly silent. I shot out of my seat.

"Am I still the main suspect?"

He still didn't answer.

"You just said Cruz told you there wasn't an issue! And of course my background checks are clean. They've always been clean. The state does regular checks, I'm trusted with highly sensitive data every day. You know, if I'm nothing but a suspect, maybe I shouldn't be helping."

I readied myself to leave, but the door opened with a click, revealing a somber Cruz and a strained Quentin.

"Please sit, Avery. We have much to discuss," Cruz requested, gesturing to my empty seat as he crossed to his own. Quentin sat next to Sterling, who looked impassive as if he hadn't just accused me of trying to murder my boss. I shuffled and sat.

He cannot seriously be thinking I'm a suspect. I'm not orchestrating the murder of my mentor.

Cruz breathed a deep sigh, his eyes roaming over the tall stack of high-profile cases and pulling it closer. "Thank you for compiling these, Avery. I know it wasn't an easy task."

"We'll start with the cases that resulted in the most media attention, longest sentences, or had complications during the trial process," Quentin stated. "Any issues that happened in court, any additional charges that had to be filed, any death threats. Anything that would drive someone to this."

"Our analysts will start there before moving down to the lower profile cases," Sterling said. Cruz had been lightly flicking through the pile, but he pushed the stack towards Quentin with a grimace.

"There's no shortage of either, but here are our biggest cases from the past eight years. Specifically the large-scale or widely reported cases—you'll find both top tier media circuses and underground take downs in the pile."

"I'm compiling another pile of the slightly less... dramatic cases," I informed. "You'll have it by the end of the day. The employee list might take a little longer due to the extensive number of new hires."

Quentin nodded and stood. "They'll all need to be re-vetted. Derek, we have Omega team stationed here and Alpha at your hotel. Bravo and Delta will rotate shifts with each. Are there any other security points of concern?"

"Not that I'm aware of." Cruz looked at me. "Are you settled in the hotel, Avery?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Amanda and I are a few floors above you. We aren't taking any chances." He looked troubled as he attempted to reassure me. Lately, it seemed trouble brewed as fast as our coffee machines.

I wonder how Sterling feels about me staying at the hotel. I bet he just loves having the number one suspect in the same building.

"Thank you, sir. I'll be leaving on Friday."

"We'll be keeping an eye on you until then," Quentin added. "We have security members in public spaces both here and at the hotel."

I wondered if those were the eyes I felt as I was leaving. If so, they were exceptional at hiding. "I appreciate it, but why would I need security? He shot at the crowd."

"We can't take any chances. It's likely it was random, but we also can't risk the possibility you were targeted. Anyone doing their research would see you hold — I apologize, held a valuable position. You were privy to information a lot of people would like to have."

"I could have been targeted to get to Mr. Cruz?" I choked. I hardly noticed Cruz standing and walking to the windows, turning his back to us.

"It's a possibility, but a very slight one. We don't plan on taking the chance either way. I wouldn't worry, Ms. Woodsen, it's likely it was random. The room was full of potential targets."

"Mr. Cruz may not be the target at all, either. The room was full of higher-risk individuals," Sterling added. "The police are handling that investigation, but we're here to protect Mr. Cruz. Our investigation is independent, but just as thorough."

Quentin nodded in agreement. "Yes. Our job is to protect Derek and his team. For as long as you're here, you're part of that."

For as long as I'm here. If I'm the one being targeted, will they go after me when I'm in D.C.? No, stop — I'm not being targeted.

I blew out a slow breath. "Thank you. I will get those files to you later today."

Quentin nodded at me, glancing at Cruz before scooping up the files and leaving the room. I stood to follow.

"Is there a conference room I can work in, Mr. Cruz?" I asked.

"Yes, Christina can show you."

His back was still turned, and his voice sounded strained. I briefly wondered if I should ask what was bothering him but thought better of it as I turned to leave.

"Mr. Cruz, there are a few security measures I was asked to go over with you," Sterling said as I exited. I didn't hear Cruz's response.

Instead, I closed the door behind me, and headed to find Christina's new desk.