News spread quickly through the squadron. I could hear whispers moving through both the guys and the girls, usually followed by acknowledgement of Harris standing nearby. The ending of our short relationship was honestly just as embarrassing for me as it was for him—I was definitely no spring chicken anymore, and a thirty-something woman who couldn't even maintain an adult relationship for a month was pretty lame, even if it was with someone well-known to be an asshole.

"What happened?" Brookstone asked me at lunch, her eyes moving from me to apparently Harris off in the distance. "I heard you guys broke up."

"General incompatibility," I mumbled. Brookstone was the kind of person who would go and slither up to a stranger just to get the hottest gossip. I didn't want to give her any material to start with. Even so, it seemed as if the whole cafeteria had eyes on Harris, although this time it was probably less humiliating of a reason than his previous experiences, apologizing to the Russian 'Bruce Wayne' or even to that moron Zed.

Captain Callahan clearly loathed Harris and still held it against him that she'd not gotten the commandant job. She seemed to revel in his misery today, and he could only look at her with a silent snarl on his face. I wasn't sure how their relationship would be repaired, after that tense-as-hell exchange he'd had with her before being busted in the Crown Victoria.

"Why'd you keep running?" a voice growled as I left the restroom later on that evening. Harris was frowning at me, his displeasure obvious. The hallway was empty of everyone. As I tried to walk past, his hand possessively latched onto my arm. "You know how long I laid in those damn tires?"

"No, I don't," I replied curtly, frowning down at his hand. "I have to go."

"Wait—does this have somethin' to do with your sister's party?" he remarked, "'cause I came lookin' for you, but you were gone. The damn valet parked in my car and—"

"Sure you did," I said, yanking my arm away from his grip. He looked puzzled, hurt, and then angry in quick succession. I kept moving before he could start to talk again.

Now he was narrowing his eyes at me, offended by my remark.

"Now, what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Don't act like you were right behind me," I muttered, looking grim. "I have it on good authority that you weren't."

Now he was utterly perplexed, his face all contorted into confusion.

"Huh?"

"Just what I thought," I grumbled with a roll of the eyes, and pushed past him to leave.

"I thought you were old enough to stop playin' stupid baby games," he shot back. "You must've sprinted from the country club. Never figured you'd be gone when I literally left a minute after you!"

"Well, you don't have to be embarrassed about a Corsica-stealing girlfriend anymore," I said, feeling my eyes watering. Before he could see anything else, I quickly strode away from him.

"Wait—Carnegie," he called out, apparently having turned around to try to make me stop in the most impersonal way possible. He did not take chase, however, and remained where he was.

I rubbed away the stupid tears that had formed in my eyes. So he hadn't mentioned asking my sister about our family finances. He hadn't apologized or tried to explain why he'd done such a thing. How the hell did he expect to catch up with me, talking to my stupid family about shit that was none of his business? He probably hoped I'd never find out about his asking questions—this was just a ruse to further convince me that he'd left the party right after I'd left. I wondered what my family had told him about my worth. Apparently it wasn't enough to make him chase after me now to try to win me back. Surely he knew that I was or would be left off any kind of family trust fund and that the only connection I had to wealth was my last name and nothing more.

Tuesday came and went with more questions from fellow cadets, more drills, and a super grumpy, irritable Lieutenant Harris keeping his distance from everyone and barking out orders as if he'd just met our squadron for the first time. I easily avoided him, and he made no attempt to speak with me or engage in any way whatsoever. I was both relieved and annoyed at his decision to leave me the hell alone. At least I was now two days closer to graduating—less than 2 months to go until I could be a cop!

On the way to the showers, I happened to catch sight of Harris pretty far ahead of me limping to the restroom while making a little whimpering noise with each step, holding his baton like a cane with his good arm. Did his falling on the course the other day really mess him up that bad? Did he know I was behind him, and was just trying to get some kind of pity from me? I frowned.

Harris strode right into the restroom without looking back. Perhaps he'd no idea I was there. While in drills today, he had stood in one place, making full use of his bullhorn, and avoided any close contact with any cadet. In fact, it was Captain Callahan who ran beside people, screaming in their faces to pick up their pace. Had he actually hurt himself?

Ugh, why did I care? This was a fling, a slightly extended one-night stand. I knew very little about the guy, aside that he was decent in bed, and how damn vilified he was around here. And yet, he was just a man, hurting his arm, hurting his leg, getting embarrassed, getting angry, getting off…

I took my shower quickly, wondering if he'd break all the rules and walk right in to the showers to talk to me. And if he did do such a thing, I tried to figure out how I'd react. With anger? With accusations? Or would I be flattered? Would we end up screwing up against the wall, covered in steam?

I didn't get to find out. I was totally alone for the whole shower.

On Wednesday, I was startled to find that D squad had apparently gained about ten members. These were cadets I recognized, the far more elite cadets from A squad, probably. All but one of our new members was male and tall and burly, as silent and straight-backed as any military man. I took my usual place in the formation, now flanked on two sides by the new cadets. All the new cadets stared straight ahead, not engaging with any of us in D squad. It was as if they knew something we did not. What, did they get in trouble or something with their squadron? They certainly didn't act sheepish about why they were now here.

The expressions of us D squad cadets must have all been similar, because when Captain Callahan and Lieutenant Harris took their places in front of us, it was the first thing they addressed.

"You may be wondering who our new cadets are," Harris announced, his sudden shrill voice startling some of D squad. "They are here from A squad and will be stationed with us on a temporary basis while an investigation is being conducted."

"What kind of investigation?" I heard people muttering around me. The two A squad cadets near me did not move a muscle.

"That is none of your business," Captain Callahan shot back, her expression hard behind her sunglasses. "What matters now is that you will all be summarily put to shame by these cadets. You will have to work much harder."

"Great," a cadet grumbled.

"Now, wimpiness," Lieutenant Harris chided in a loud voice, "has always been an issue with D squad. O'Malley, Wayne, Norris, Beaner, Bordeaux, Manson, all gone, and we're only five weeks in. Now we have true police officer material in our squadron. I suggest you all watch… and learn."

And with that, Harris turned around arrogantly, as Captain Callahan then explained to us what we would be doing for the day.

So we'd be getting pinned under these A squad hunks under the guise of "self-defense practice." I half-wondered if Captain Callahan scheduled this on purpose so they could try to pin her, or vice versa. It might not be so bad to get close and personal with the new guys. Hell, maybe they'd help me forget the failure of my super short-lived relationship of the last couple of weeks—an embarrassingly short-lived relationship for someone my age.

I caught up with Linda Mullers as we headed for the gym, feeling a definite buzz of excitement in the air amongst our female cadets. Brookstone was practically drooling over them. It was actually rather pathetic to watch, if I hadn't been so pathetic myself.

"What do you think this is all about?" I asked Mullers. "Why would A squad join with us?"

"I have no clue," she said. "Who runs A squad, anyway?"

We thought about the instructors. There was Jones, Hightower, Hooks, and Tackleberry.

"I think it might be Tackleberry," I commented, still considering. He was the super intense cop who had thrown Harris down on the ground and handcuffed him before he'd even had much of a chance to speak, the one who'd seriously considered shooting those skittish horses at the town parade. Had he gotten in trouble for being too trigger-happy?

"Well, guess we'll hear about it soon enough," Mullers remarked. "Word will get around real fast, I'm sure. Just you wait."