“Sure.” Jacob nodded his thanks. He hadn’t met Sarah, had only ever heard Lola talk about her, but even those small details had been enough to piece together that she was a worrywart of epic proportions. Not somebody who’d seem to mesh well with Matthew despite Lola’s thoughts to the contrary. But maybe somebody Lola would go to when she needed to vent about Jacob. Either way, she was his only chance.
“Thanks, man.” He watched Matt turn away and then moved over to his SUV, hopped into the front seat, and put in a call to the station.
He knew that Sarah lived close by and an officer would be able to lookup an address for one Miss Sarah Boyle, who lived within a five-mile radius of Lola’s.
Within three minutes, he had the information he needed. Frowning at the address, he plugged it into his phone's map application. Judging by her zip code, Miss Boyle had either inherited a shit ton of money or was very successful in her career. Irrespective, he hoped that Lola had gone there and that he wasn’t about to make a complete fool of himself over nothing.
But it wasn’t nothing.
A small jolt of alarm resonated through his entire body. It was Lola. And somehow, he had hurt her feelings and made her feel like she was to blame for his unproductive case, for his inability to see beyond his want for her.
He rubbed his chest when his heart clenched uncomfortably. He needed to sort things out, to apologize. He also knew that the truth was that, amongst the distraction, he just hadn’t had the emotional bandwidth to deal with interviewing Jordan Holt, with his big, courageous eyes and brave attempt to keep his tears at bay. Seeing the kid sitting in Kimi’s office had gutted him, and he hadn’t had the hindsight, until just now, to realize that he was internalizing the boy’s situation, blaming Jordan’s terrible position on his inability to solve the murders as fast as humanly possible.
He could acknowledge that he needed to go through the paces, slow down and take time to think things through because getting angry at himself would not bring back Selma Holt, would not staunch Jordan’s grief, and would not help him put the asshole behind bars for life. He needed to focus and, as much as they’d both suffer for it, keeping Lola close and safe would help him to do that more than distancing himself—-he was already too invested for distance.
His maps showed an ETA of seven minutes and, as he slammed into reverse, he thought about what he was going to say to her. The knowledge that he had no fucking idea did not sit well because, ‘Oh, hey, I know this makes no sense but I’m kind of infatuated with you and not coping with my work stress’, didn’t seem like a viable solution—not after her last reaction.
“I just don’t know how to help,” Sarah was telling Lola, even as her best friend sat on her fainting settee, her eyes red and puffy, her back ramrod straight. “I mean, you’ve known this guy for what? A week?”
“Eight. Days,” Lola clarified and, at least to Sarah, it sounded like a justification, like the extra day would somehow compensate for the fact that she was in way over her head.
Sarah was so confused and, if she were honest with herself, a little worried. Lola was the rational, level-headed one between the two of them. She’d never jumped head-first into a relationship before now. Sarah was usually the one who did that…and on a weekly basis. She wondered if Lola had been in her right frame of mind when she’d fallen for the cop. Emotions were weird that way; they usually just got in the way and made a mess of things—something that Sarah knew all about.
“And what was the fight about exactly?” she asked, trying to piece together how Lola had come to be sitting in her house with a box of Kleenex. “I have never seen you cry,” she added, touching her friend’s red, puffy cheeks with both of her hands. “You’re an ugly crier. It’s kind of…vindicating.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come on!” she scoffed, enjoying being on the other side of this conversation for the first time. “You’re pretty, you’re a successful artist,” she counted off her fingers, “you’re in love. Which,—at least in my book—makes you one lucky slut.”
“I am not!” Lola stared off into the distance. “Besides, you’re a drop-dead gorgeous, redheaded heiress.”
Sarah rolled her eyes as one only used to being catered to could. “I don’t know what that has to do with anything.”
Lola harrumphed and sat back on the settee, letting her posture relax fully. “Do you have wine? Or ice-cream?”
“Of course. I’m a single woman who lives alone.” She tapped her foot on the floor, not quite sure if either of those things were what Lola needed. Or wanted.
She knew that the lieutenant, Jacob Simmone, was Lola’s police protection on a serial homicide case. When Lola had first told her over the phone, she’d nearly had a full-on panic attack. How deeply embroiled did one have to be before the LAPD, with their thin resources, dedicated an employee as permanent overnight protection?
When her answers hadn’t satisfied her, and when she’d calmed down enough to think, she’d hired her own investigator to look into things too. As it had turned out, the lieutenant was legit as fuck. The case though…that had been surprisingly well-hidden from the public eye, which coincidentally, Sarah thought for the best.
Zac, her private investigator, was moving fast, probably ahead of the LAPD at this stage. He’d managed to track down where the girls had met and was working on getting a list of other women who attended the meetings, which was proving difficult since they’d all used aliases.
“I’m just really, really frustrated.” Lola’s voice pulled her back from her thoughts.
“You should probably take the protection still, Lol. This is a serial killer and he’s not offing little old grandmas who live alone.” And for completely selfish reasons, she wanted to see how things played out for Lola.
She had learned a lot about her best friend throughout their near-decade-long friendship. Her bestie was kind and caring with the perfect amount of grit and independence, a smidge of fuck-you-attitude, but she was also too…closed off. Too damaged by her weird, manipulative parents to take any risks that might lead her to trust someone fully again, or maybe even have some spontaneous fun.
Ignoring the fact that her own weird, manipulative parents had had the reverse effect on her, she maneuvered over to the couch and plopped down next to Lola so that their shoulders bumped companionably. “It’ll be over soon.”
“It’s only been a week and I’ve already broken down- which you know is not my usual jam. So, how soon is ‘soon’?”
“I personally think that you should just sleep with him. Air out the,” she indicated around Lola’s groin, “cobwebs.”
“Shut up. It’s only been eight months.”
“An eternity really in the scope of things.”
The sound of the doorbell ringing pulled both of their attention down the long, tiled hallway to the front door. Glancing at Lola, Sarah said, “Let me just get that. I’m expecting Zac. He’s picking up something for my brother.” The half-truth slipped easily off her tongue, a skill acquired from years of practice. She was expecting Zac Murphy, who happened to be one of her brothers’ friends—all of which Lola knew already. But Zac also happened to be her PI and the man she’d hired to look into Lola’s…incident.