Cited to Death by Meg Perry Page B

comparison to Oliver, Wray, and Goldsmith’s article. I took a deep breath – at least as deep as I was able to – and jumped in.

    About an hour later, Pete woke up. “Whatcha doing?”

    “I didn’t get a chance to tell you. The Welsh-language article came today. I’d run it through the translator and saved it before Harley came in.”

    “You’re working on that now ?”

    “Well, I have to do something. I’m still all juiced from the drugs. The worst of it will wear off in a couple of hours” …breathe… “and I’ll be able to sleep then, but until then I might as well do something. And I can’t do anything that requires concentration or precision. So I might as well do this.”

    Pete just shook his head. I turned back to the article. I’d almost finished with the methodology section. The terminology sounded very similar to that of the Americans’ article, but that was no surprise. If the successful procedure was a modification of the earlier one, the methodologies should be somewhat similar.

    I completed the last paragraph of the section, saved it, and logged off. It was after midnight now. The jitters were wearing off and exhaustion was starting to steal over me again. I decided to check email before shutting down. Nothing important, except for a message from Detective Blake.

    Dr. Brodie,

    We’ve taken a preliminary look at your computer and haven’t found any evidence that it was hacked into from outside the UCLA network. I interviewed Ms. DeLong today, and she denied having done anything to your computer. She was quite upset by my questions, however.
     
    We have several other things to look at, and I will let you know the outcome. Just wanted to let you know that, so far, this looks like an inside job.

    Regards,

    Roger Blake

    I considered that. The possibility of an inside job was the only logical explanation, really. But who at UCLA would want to do that? I didn’t remember any students getting mad at me. And it was hard to imagine Roberta, the unfriendly staff assistant, going to these lengths.

    I yawned. Pete looked up, then laid down his book and stood up. “Okay. Time for bed.”

    I didn’t argue.
     
    I'd been in Pete's bed before, but not this one. He'd upgraded since we'd dated. I slipped in between the clean, soft sheets and almost groaned with pleasure. I wouldn't mind sleeping here for a few nights.

    That thought snapped me back to wakefulness. I couldn't stay here for long. This would be pushing friends with benefits too far, way too much like a real relationship. It wouldn’t be fair to Pete.

    And it scared me. Because, if I was really, truly honest with myself, I was already a little bit in love with Pete.

    Maybe even more than a little bit.
     
    So I couldn't stay here long.

    But where could I go?

    I'd have to talk to our apartment manager. Maybe there was a studio apartment I could sublet or get a short-term lease on while our place was being repaired.

    Finding a place of my own was probably a good idea anyway. When Kevin and I had first moved in together, we were fresh off our divorces (that's what Ethan's breakup had felt like to me). Neither one of us wanted to be alone. Now Abby was there. She and Kevin didn’t have any plans to get married, but even so I was starting to feel like the third wheel, in spite of the fact that my name was still on the lease. But neither one of them would ever ask me to move. At least I didn't think they would. So I'd have to do it on my own.

    No time like the present.

    So I could kill two birds with one stone. Find a place of my own to get out of Pete's house and to give Kevin and Abby more privacy. And I liked our apartment complex a lot; I could get a studio apartment there and still be close by Kevin and Abby in case they needed help with anything.
     
    Okay. I'd try to do that tomorrow.

 

    Tuesday June 5

    I slept late the next day. When I woke up, Pete was gone and the sun was streaming in the cracks between the