Jamie Brodie 01 - Cited to Death

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 blinds. I rolled over and looked at the clock. It was 9:30. Shit. I'd slept longer than I'd intended. My bladder was screaming at me to get up.
    I swung my feet over the edge of the bed, sat up, and was overcome with a wave of dizziness. God, I felt terrible. I sat there to clear my head and took stock. My head hurt a little. My rib cage hurt a lot. Every breath was a reminder of the strain my rib muscles had been under yesterday. I had random bruises on my arms, a couple from IV insertions, and a couple that I couldn't identify. Probably got banged on the stretcher or something.
    And I had no clothes.
    The dizziness passed, and I stood up. I was dizzy again, but not as bad, and I walked into the bathroom. My clothes from yesterday were folded and stacked on the toilet lid. I sniffed them; the smoky smell was gone. Pete had washed, dried, and folded them. I sighed. I could get used to being treated this well, and that was a problem.
    I took a longish shower, letting the hot water beat on my ribs and the steam penetrate my lungs. I washed my hair again; I might be imagining it, but there seemed to be a smoky smell still hanging around in it.
    I got dressed, and realized I had no toiletries. Crap. I looked around and didn't see anything. I walked back out into the bedroom and saw that I had missed another thoughtful gesture from Pete. On the top of the dresser was a new deodorant, razors, and a tube of travel toothpaste. He'd left a note as well: "I had these already, help yourself."
    I could really get used to this.
    I had to get out of here.
    I was eating breakfast when Pete got home. I'd put my clothes from yesterday back on, but I felt overdressed. He came in and dropped his computer bag at the door. He looked tired.
    "Hey. You found your clothes."
    "Yeah. Thanks for doing that for me."
    "No problem." He got a bottle of Coke out of the fridge and leaned on the counter. "I figured that was easiest. And they smelled like smoke."
    I washed my bowl and spoon and remembered