2

As I grumbled to myself about full-of-themselves jerks, I followed Nathan to the bureau. Then, after parking, I fell into step beside him as we made our way toward the bureau. Our anger with each other wrapped around us like an afghan wrapped around a Grandma, and after entering the bullpen, he stalked off toward his office. I followed several steps behind, still grumbling. Man, his mood was black this morning, but mine was darker!

Entering his office, I came to a stop, taking in the papers he was tossing with an uncaring attitude toward his desk from the filing cabinet. As he continued to toss papers, I watched as some hit the desk, while others fell to the floor. 

After a few seconds of demonstrating his foul mood, he looked up, barking at me. "Where the hell is the Aikins file?"

"You’re acting like a big baby," I snapped back, glowering at him as I crossed my arms over my chest. He wanted to be an ass...let's see who could be the biggest. 

Eyes rolling and a snarl curling his upper lip, he snapped, "Get the damn file for me without any lip. Okay?" 

I raised an eyebrow and just looked at him without moving an inch. "Can we say, pretty please?" I drawled, my tone that of what one would use with a preschooler.

Nathan's jaw dropped, and his eyes bugged. "Are you fucking kidding me?" 

I shook my head, the movement firm and unyielding. "Nope. You want me to help you find the file, say pretty please." 

He gave another eye-roll before, snarling out, "Fine. Pretty please, Brianna. Will you find the Aikins file for me?"

Marching over to the cabinet where he stood, I shoved him aside. Then, pulling out the drawer marked with the letters A-D, I reached into the A section and pulled out the file needed. Turning, I stomped over to his desk, and slapped the file down on its surface, further disturbing the mess. "Hmm, imagine that—it was in the A's for Aikins. That is spelled A-i-k-i-n-s!" 

Pushing aside all the other papers strewn about the top of his desk, he ignored my sarcasm, however, grunted his thanks. Opening the file, he sank into his chair and dug through the file's contents. After a few minutes, he glanced up to where I was still standing. A dark frown appeared across his features as he eyed me. "Sit, dammit." 

Heat infused my whole body, and the hair ruffled on the back of my neck. "I'm not a fucking dog! Don’t you dare talk to me like I am!" I snapped.

After my outburst, the only sound heard in the room was the slap of paper as Nathan flipped pages. Finally, letting out a breath, he raised his hands, then using his index fingers, he rubbed at his temples, as if his head hurt. Afterward shoving his chair back, he lurched from the seat and stalked over to stare at the wall of flat-screen TVs. 

For seconds, he stood, motionless, gazing at their blank faces, his breathing erratic. Finally, he turned to face me, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. Now, you wanna tell me what the hell’s eating at you?” I said softly.

Nathan gazed at me for several seconds, then muttered, “No.”

~~

Hours later, and using my jeans under my head for a pillow, I was in a restless sleep on the floor when I came to full wakefulness by the splintering of the cabin door. Tucking and rolling, I reached for the gun I always kept near me as I came up on my feet in a crouched position. When my hand had come out empty, I silently cursed myself at the foolhardiness of being so preoccupied I'd left my gun in my purse in the other room. 

From across the room, Nathan's voice slurred, "Brianna? Where the hell are you?" 

As I peered in his direction, I could see his silhouette standing out in bold contrast to the brightness of the moon at his back. He stepped the rest of the way in through the destroyed door and fumbled for the light switch on the wall. 

Suddenly, the room flooded with light, forcing me to narrow my eyes against the glare. "What the hell, Nathan?" I hissed.

Head jerking in my direction, he wove his way over to where I continued to crouch. When he stood before me, peering down at me, he asked, "What you doin' down there?" 

He was so unsteady on his feet, he swayed back and forth before me. "Jesus Christ, Nathan, you're drunk!" I hissed, as jerking to my feet, I grasped his arm to help steady him before he fell. 

Shaking loose one of my hands, he raised an arm, running his fingers through his hair, and with a sarcastic laugh, he slurred with a thick tongue, "That what you call this? I call it anee…anethe—ah fuck, you’re right, I’m fuck-faced!"

Nathan didn’t get drunk often. So, the fact he was now, was alarming.

"How'd you even get out here, anyway?" I breathed, only to find myself aghast when peering damn near cross-eyed at me, he hiccupped out, "My bike—" 

"You rode your goddamn bike?" The tone of my voice betrayed how horrified I was. 

Reaching up, he placed his hands in my hair, as running it through his fingers, he slurred, "Um...hmm." Within seconds though, a puzzled look crossed his features. "I think I did. Wait, no—yeah—maybe?" 

Then with a shake of his head and as if he couldn’t be bothered thinking about it any longer, he gazed at me for several seconds, then placed his finger on the tip of my nose. “Such a cute  little nose," he breathed.

I grasped his hand and pulled it back down. "I’m going to call Tami so she can come get you. You are not driving anywhere else tonight."

“At work,” he slurred.

“Oh,” I breathed as I tried to decide what to do. FInally, heaving a breath, I tugged Nathan with me as I picked my jeans up off the floor, and awkwardly slid into them, at the same time trying to stop him from falling flat on his ass. 

Afterward, pulling him to the kitchen with me, I jerked my purse off the counter, and slung it over my shoulder. Then, reversing our steps, I led him back into the living room and toward the gaping hole that had been my front door. 

Glancing at his pickup parked askew in my yard as we crossed the porch, I shook my head.