James forced himself to wake up to his alarm the next morning. He’d slept through the night, with only vague nightmares at one point that were thankfully fading now. He didn’t feel rested, but that made sense. He couldn’t expect miracles.

He sighed and got up, taking a second to make the bed. It was a habit he was attempting to solidify with mixed results. But honestly, he was coming up on forty, so he should really make more of an effort there.

The headache seemed to blossom as he stood up straight. James groaned, pressing a hand to the hot spike of pain in his head. Whatever, he’d felt worse at work plenty of times and there was too much to get done to skip it. It was fine, he’d take some medicine before he left.

Amelia was in the kitchen when he came out of his room. “Good morning,” he said, dodging Graham’s remaining boxes as he passed the fridge.

“Hey,” she said. “Want some breakfast? I’m making oatmeal.”

Oatmeal sounded good, even with the hot September morning trying its best to press through the kitchen windows. She’d even made a pot of it, rather than just tossing oats in a bowl and putting them in the microwave like James did in the winter. As he poured a cup of coffee, she got him a bowl and tipped some blueberries over the top. He noticed that it was a heavy pour of blueberries, but he wasn’t going to say anything except thank you. And then he was going to finish it.

“You’re on at nine?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m planning to go over the Rodrigues case with Bradley before he leaves. I think it should be a fairly simple one to wrap up today.”

“Great.”

He took a bite of oatmeal, which suddenly felt too heavy in his mouth. He made himself swallow it, then picked a couple blueberries and ate those.

Again, no miracles to be seen here. But progress was good.

“Riley texted me this morning, she wants to meet up.”

“Why?”

Amelia shrugged, jabbing at her own oatmeal with her spoon. “I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t answered. I don’t know if I’m going to.”

Good, that beat immediately agreeing to meet up with this girl. James’s head was pounding and he got some water to try to hydrate. But he clearly didn’t look great because Amelia frowned. “What’s up?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said as his stomach tried to reject the oatmeal he’d just given it. “Just waking up, I guess. Did she apologize?”

“Kind of. But I don’t think I want to meet up.”

“Good, don’t. You-”

His phone pinged with a text from McGovern asking about the reports for the historical cases he hadn’t sent yesterday. Fuck that, he wasn’t at work yet. James shoved his phone away with a little too much force. “Um…” Amelia started as she watched it skid across the table.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m just…maybe kind of a mess. I don’t know.”

He finished his water and got up to get more, searching the shelves for ibuprofen while he was up. There was an old bottle tucked on top of the fridge, so he took two.

“Did you and Bradley have another fight or something?” Amelia asked.

“What? No, nothing like that. Well, how pissed he was made me kind of realize how pissed I should be. Do you really think they’re playing me? Like, the Foundation?”

“Not so much?” she said, looking a little uncomfortable as James’s headache doubled behind his left eye. “Not as much as Bradley thinks. But they benefit from you worrying about us. And I don’t blame you,” she added quickly. “My worst nightmare is the idea of something happening to anyone on the team. But I think they know how to give little nudges like that without making it obvious. And I think at least some of them know that the blame for what happened lies with them and they’re trying to ignore it.”

His pulse was sloshing in his ears as James nodded. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Amelia asked.

“I feel like hell,” he admitted. 

“Take a sick day.”

“What? No, it’s not that bad. I can handle it.”

“James.”

She sounded exasperated and he had to admit that the idea of climbing back into bed was far more appealing than going to work and staring at his computer screen. “Alright,” he said.

He needed to be official about it though, so he called the main line. “North County,” Bradley greeted in a monotone after four rings.

“It’s ‘Thank you for…,’ never mind,” James said. “It’s James.”

“What do you want?”

“I’m calling in sick. I feel like hell, I won’t be in today.”

There was a long pause. “What?” James asked finally, pressing a hand to his eyes.

“Nothing,” Bradley said. “I’ll pass that along. To your fucking roommate.”

“I’m being official about it.”

“Is she there now? And is she the one who told you to stay home?”

“Be nicer to me, I’m sick.”

“Is it the flu?”

“No, you yelled at me so hard I died.”

“Tell us if you need anything.”

Then he hung up before James could answer. He hung up the phone, then went back to bed, ignoring the text from McGovern.

***

James woke up to the sound of movement in the living room For a second, he was back on medical leave and it made complete sense. Someone was out there because there was always someone out there. They didn’t need to be, he felt bad that they were. But they were there to make sure he was okay. 

But that was six months ago. He’d definitely heard something over the fan that was buzzing on his bedside table and that wasn’t Amelia out there. James reached for something, anything, to use as a weapon. His hand wrapped around the baseball bat he kept under his bed for the rare occasions he got to go to the batting cages. Barely breathing, he grabbed it and slid out of bed.

If it was Adele, he wouldn’t give her a chance, he’d crack her skull with the bat before she even saw him. Same with her creepy uncle. His heart hammered, making his headache worse as he stepped toward the doorway, pushing his bedroom door the rest of the way open with the tip of the bat. 

They weren’t in the living room, but he could still hear movement in the kitchen. Not Amelia. And the front door was open.

He gripped the baseball bat in both hands, keeping it above his shoulder in a batter’s stance as he crept toward the kitchen. And then he rushed through the doorway to see Bradley putting something in the fridge.

Before he could put the bat down, Bradley turned and saw him. His eyes widened in horror as he yelled, dropping the container in his hand, which exploded and sent its contents spilling across the kitchen floor. Heart still pounding, James dropped the bat.

“What the fuck?” Bradley demanded, his back pressed against the counter.

“What the fuck?” James repeated. “You’re in my house!”

“I’m helping Graham pick up his kitchen supplies!” Bradley said. “Your cousin asked me to drop this off while we were here. I texted you! We both did! He fucking called you!”

“I didn’t see it,” James said, suddenly weak as the adrenaline left him shaking.

“Now you don’t check your messages?” Bradley demanded. “Jesus Christ.”

He went for the paper towels as James got them. “Give me those,” Bradley said. “You’re sick, go away.”

He grabbed the towels out of James’s hands, his own shaking as he did so. He tried to stem the tide of soup that had spread from the refrigerator toward the table. The floor was crooked, so it had already gotten pretty far, and his hands were shaking so hard that he was having trouble mopping the soup up. James got the old, worn dishcloths he’d stacked on the counter and began to help. It was chicken soup and the rich broth soaked into the cloth.

He got up, wrung out the towel, then came back as Bradley attempted to get the larger chunks of carrot and chicken up, but kept dropping them. “I’m fine,” he said quickly. “Just give me a second.”

“Really?”

“No, I’m not goddamn fine. You almost took my head off with a baseball bat.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine, it’s not…you didn’t know.”

He managed to get a handful of soup bits up and tossed them in the trash can before coming back for the rest. By the time Graham’s familiar footsteps came back into the apartment, they were nearly done.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I didn’t get your message,” James said. “Sorry.”

He went to help Bradley to his feet, but Bradley waved him off. “Give me a second,” he said, and sat heavily on the linoleum while James stood, wincing as his head started throbbing again. 

“Are you working at all today?” Graham asked.

“No, I’m taking a sick day.”

Graham looked at him in surprise. “What?” James asked.

“Nothing,” Graham said. “I hope you feel better.”

“It’s just my head,” James said. “I was going to go in, but Amelia convinced me not to. Sorry about the soup.”

Bradley waved him off again. “I thought maybe you were Adele,” James blurted out before he could tell himself not to. “I thought she got in and I wasn’t going to let her take me again. I’m sorry.”

Graham looked at him, then at Bradley, and James wasn’t sure he liked the fact that there was a conversation he wasn’t privy to happening there.

“I get it,” Bradley said, standing up with a shakiness that had James darting forward to help him. 

Bradley attempted to shrug him off, but didn’t fight as James held his elbow while he found his footing on his bad leg. He ran a hand unconsciously over his mouth and nose as he did so, in a movement that was now unsettlingly familiar.

“I’ll replace the soup,” Bradley said, standing up straight.

“No, don’t,” James said, rubbing his forehead. “I’m fine. It was…it was considerate of both of you, and Gabriella. But I’m good, I promise.”

“She had it in the freezer.”

“Of course she did,” James said. “Seriously, I’m alright. I’m just going to go back to sleep. Graham, is that the last of your stuff?”

“Short of anything that got tangled in with yours,” Graham said. “Want me to leave the key?”

“No, keep it for emergencies,” James said. “I’m heading to bed. You-” He pointed at Bradley. “Four overnights in a row, are you going home?”

“For a few hours,” Bradley said. “I’m taking the evening and the overnight.”

“You’re not covering me, right?”

“Yeah, I’m the captain now.”

“Fuck off.”

“No, you scheduled me that way. I’m off for a few hours tonight, then off at ten tomorrow for two days.”

“Good. Sorry for scheduling you like a dick.”

“Do you not remember having a full conversation about it?”

He kind of did, but also this room was far too bright. So with another apology and goodbye, he went back into his room, bringing the baseball bat with him.

***

The apartment was silent behind James’s closed bedroom door when he woke up a little while later. His head felt better as he got up and drank a glass of water. As he did so, he checked his phone. Two more messages from McGovern.

MCGOVERN

Following up on those forms. Please call when you have a moment

And an hour ago.

MCGOVERN

Can you do a call at 3pm?

James had a work line for a reason. He texted back.

JAMES

I’m taking a sick day. Call Amelia on the branch line.

Leaving his phone in his bedroom, he went to take a shower. He almost felt completely better, though he kept the bathroom dark as he cleaned up.

God dammit, he’d nearly killed Bradley earlier. And what was that little face rub movement he kept doing? He’d been doing it since he’d tried to psychically find Adele for James and clearly saw something else, though he’d refused to say what it was. Casey Romano had said something about Bradley seeing what was coming. And hopefully that was just the canceled knee surgery, but James was still a little unsettled. 

Maybe Bradley would talk about it. Unlikely, but maybe. He’d ask about it gently when he got back to work and accept it when he started a brand new fight.

James made himself eat a grilled cheese before going back to bed. As he did so, his phone buzzed again.

MCGOVERN

Apologies. I resolved it with Amelia. Feel better.

***

When James woke up, it was dark. He’d slept nearly all day and his head hurt again. And it took a second, but he realized that his phone was what had woken him up.

There were two more texts, he realized as he reached for it. Probably McGovern again. But it wasn’t him calling.

“Hey, Cel,” James greeted, his voice raspy.

“James, have Lacey’s parents talked to you?”

“No,” he said, his stomach dropping at the fear in her voice. “But I’m out sick today, so they may have called headquarters. What’s going on?”

He expected her to do the same thing as the others, to rebuff him and tell him it was fine. But she didn’t. 

“Lacey’s missing,” she said instead.

---

CONTINUE TO CHAPTER 22