One week had passed since the interview with Colonel Shaw, and Paul was beginning to feel the stress, no closer in proving the man's innocence or, at the very least, shedding some reasonable doubt on his guilt.

Robbie was teaching a class from eleven till two, something she couldn't get out of and was apologetic about, but she had given him a key to her apartment to avoid the massive paper shuffle. Not that he was going to be making great strides while she was away. In all honesty, maybe they both could have used a break to give the mountain of evidence a chance to settle in their heads.

He crossed the courtyard of her complex and was about to let himself in when a young voice called out, "You know Robbie?"

Paul twisted around. A boy was standing one door down, spinning the football held in his grip with a degree of competency that indicated he played with the pigskin quite a bit. He looked days away from the terrible teens, all arms and legs, with big hands that his body had yet to grow into. He reminded Paul of a puppy. Yet, there was something off about the kid. He wore a wool beanie pulled low to his ears even though it had to be seventy-five in the shade, and his skin was so pale the blue veins in his hands stood out like waterways marked on a map.

Paul nodded. "I do."

The boy's eyes narrowed as he moved closer. "You a date?"

Paul wanted to laugh but thought better of it. "Ah, no, we are colleagues." With the kid's frown he added, "We work together. My name is Paul. Paul Sullivan." He offered his hand and was surprised by how cold the kid's was when he shook it.

"Max Fraser." The youngster stretched himself a little taller. "Robbie's boyfriend."

Now Paul had to smile. "Oh, I see. Nice to meet you, Max."

"I like your uniform. A captain, right?"

Smart kid. "Yes."

"My dad was a sergeant. He died two years ago."

Holy shit. He'd said it so bluntly, like the guy had gone to get milk and hadn't come home yet. "I'm sorry to hear that, Max."

Just then, the door behind the boy opened and a girl who looked to be about eighteen stepped out. "Max, your macaroni is—" Her gaze found Paul and her eyes stretched wide.

The football was pointed in her general direction. "This is my sister, Megan."

Paul approached her with his hand out, and like a robot she extended hers with her mouth hanging open. It was the uniform. It always had an effect on women. Well, most women, not the one he was working with obviously. Deciding to have some fun with them, he brought the teen's hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it. "Nice to meet you, Megan. I'm Paul."

She looked like she might faint.

Max snapped his fingers in front of his sister's face. "Shit, Megan, speak."

Megan blushed a beautiful beet red. "Nice to meet you," she mumbled before reaching out to give her brother a slap on the shoulder. "Don't swear."

The boy saw it coming and ducked, causing her to make contact with the back of the hat instead, almost knocking it off. That was when Paul noticed the lack of hair.

Undeterred, Max pulled it back into place with a grin. "Hey, does that trick work on all women?" he asked, staring longingly at Robbie's door.

The kid was smooth. He reminded Paul of himself at that age. "It's always worth a try. But that one"—he jerked his head toward Robbie's place—"might be a little tougher."

"Yeah, Robbie doesn't take me seriously." Max sighed and started squeezing the leather between his hands. "She says I need to meet a lot of girls before I decide on which one I want to marry."

Paul's eyebrows shot up. Talk about your mega crushes.

One of the ball's pointed ends was tapped against the skin-and-bones chest. "But I tell her real men don't need to meet a lot of different women if they've already met the one who makes a difference. Am I right, Paul?"

Jesus. "Exactly how old are you?" Paul breathed.

The youthful laugh felt like a gift. How many of those does he have left to share, Paul wondered.

"Max, you need to eat," Megan pleaded, having regained some of her composure.

"Okay, okay." The boy spun on his heels and headed inside, glancing back once over his shoulder to say, "See ya 'round, Paul. Maybe we can toss the ball sometime, huh?"

Whatever this boy was going through health wise, it was proof that the world was a goddamned unfair place. "That would be great, Max."

Megan hesitated, watching her brother leave, seeming to grow older and more confident with each passing second. "Sorry about that. I hope he wasn't bothering you." She kept her gaze locked on the doorway Max had just walked through. "It's just . . . he's . . ."

"Friendly?"

She turned to Paul with a sad smile. "Yes, he is that." Tears were building in her eyes, and Paul felt the urge to comfort her in some way, but before he had a chance to figure out how, she'd taken a deep breath, given her cheeks a couple of quick pats, and was following her brother inside.

It was suddenly too quiet. Paul waited for their door to close before moving back to Robbie's with its one, two, and a slightly off-kilter five. His heart was heavy as he pulled out the key, unlocked the door, and found himself wishing she were on the other side of it.

)l(

"Agent Westcott?"

Robbie lifted her chin, looking over the monitor on her desk to the student sitting at one of the stations on the far side of the room. Three rows of long tables sat between them, each set up to support seven computers, for a total of twenty-one seats. They were all occupied. "Yes?"

"Can you take a look at this?"

Robbie stood up and made her way over to the only private in her class. He was taking her course as part of his security analyst training for the Navy. At the ripe old age of twenty, he was one of her youngest students, and she had been skeptical about the young man's skill set, but he was smart and eager to please and would likely do well in his chosen career field. In the last few years, the military had been increasing their recruiting in the IT area, making the demand for her class so high there was now a waiting list.

The code he had up on his screen was a colorful mixture of letters and symbols, textual input for the mock website he was working on. "Watch," he said as he clicked the mouse. A countdown timer appeared at the bottom of the home page, along with a faded picture of a clock in the background.

"The clock is a nice touch. Well done."

The cheesy grin was good to see. When he'd started her class, there had been a lot of "yes, ma'am, no, ma'am," but after a few weeks, the formalities had relaxed a little.

"Do I get an A?"

"You put some hands on that face and get it to tic, and I'll consider it."

He tilted his head back with an "ahhh," making Robbie laugh as she glanced at her own clock. Ooops. She'd gone over. Again. "That's it for today, folks," she called out.

Private Montgomery stood and started packing up. "Who's that guy?" he asked, and Robbie swiveled her head around. Paul was at the doorway, ankles crossed, hands in his pockets, doing a one shoulder lean against the frame.

"He's a lawyer I'm working with," she murmured as she held Paul's stare, surprised to see him at her classroom door. How long has he been there?

"Cool."

Paul waited in the hallway as her students filed out. He nodded and smiled to each of them until Captain Page stopped and shook his hand. The two of them must have known each other because they talked for a little while before Paul came into the room.

"Hey, teach. It looks like you've got a way with the young ones."

"Ha, ha, very funny," Robbie said, clicking open the file of pictures on her computer. Since he was here, she might as well show him what she'd found.

"I can't say I blame him. With such a smart, pretty teacher, I'd be infatuated too."

Robbie's eyes snapped to him, but he had his back to her as he looked around the room. Stop. He probably says those kinds of things all the time. Don't read anything into it. Yet here she was, holding her breath, waiting for another page to turn. Get a grip. "What brings you here?"

Paul pivoted and walked over. "I was in the area. I'm meeting with Plummer. He wants an update on how the case is going." Worry lined his brow. "Or not going."

"I may have something." She pointed to her laptop.

Paul bent down beside her, pressing his left arm up against her right one as he leaned in to get a better angle of the screen, causing a heat to roar through her. Robbie cursed her body's lack of restraint, overwhelmed as it was by an innocent touch. She had planned to put the images up on the smart board at the front of the room, but not anymore.

"Elizabeth's photos," he said. "Is this the memory card?"

"Yes."

He ran his eyes over the collection. "They're all of her. Isn't that odd? Who took the pictures?"

"Someone who chose not to be in any of them, I'm guessing. I matched them up with their printed counterparts, but this one"—she clicked on the photo in question, bringing it to full screen—"is missing from the pile." It was a picture of Elizabeth sitting at a table with what looked to be a menu in her hand.

Paul shifted even closer to the screen, and Robbie took the opportunity to admire his profile, the gentle slope of his nose, the long lashes, the strong chin, the—

"And?" He turned to look at her with only inches between them.

Oh, God. What should I do? Shift back? Give him some space? Her next thought took her right back to her high school's corridors and all the teasing. What would normal people do?

Although the silence made it awkward, Robbie held her ground and his gaze, proud of the small victory when he finally eased back and she could function again. "Look." Zooming in on the rectangle in Elizabeth's hands, THE SEAHORSE became a readable blur. "And there's this." Robbie picked up her phone, found the picture she was looking for, and showed it to him. "Elizabeth's calendar. See 'The Seahorse' written on Wednesday the 15th? That was two months ago."

"And you think that's why the picture is missing?"

Robbie shrugged. "It's worth checking, isn't it?"

"Yes, definitely." He straightened to his full height, looking down at her.

"There's a restaurant with that name in Fredericksburg, about thirty minutes from here." She clicked to expand the web page she had found earlier. "From what I can tell, it looks like the picture. I can go tomorrow. Maybe tonight we can—"

"I won't be around tonight. I'm going out. I could use the break."

The words sank from her ears to her stomach and landed, sitting like a brick at the bottom of a pool. "Oh, okay." She kept her eyes trained on the monitor, afraid they would give too much away if she looked up.

He blew out a giant exhale and added, "I'd better get to my meeting."

Normally, she would have insisted on going too since it was about the case, but she didn't have the energy to start an argument. Instead she nodded, still unwilling to look at him. She did raise her head to watch him leave, though.

Paul had made it all the way to the doorway when he stopped and wheeled around. "Would you like to join us?"

What the heck?

"It's at this bar in Stafford. It would be you and three guys if you don't mind the crappy company." He cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh. Ah, yeah, sure." Her heart soared and then stopped, wondering what she could wear, hearing Joanne Thomas's raspy voice in her head state, Not your mother's clothes. "Text me the details and I'll meet you there."

He gave her a smile, a thumbs up, and then he was gone.

With her focus back on the screen, she did one more search, her fingers typing out CASUAL BAR OUTFITS FOR WOMEN and clicking on the first result—Pinterest.

Shit. She needed to go shopping.

END OF CHAPTER TEN

What do you think of Paul asking her to join him and his friends? A little time away from the case should be interesting!

Coming up: Mark receives some bad news😳and Robbie gains another admirer, forcing Paul to admit something to himself.😘

Dedicated to @xxKatVxx , author of Lethal for all her wonderful support. Thank you❤️

All votes ⭐️⭐️⭐️and comments 💬💬💬are appreciated!