Chapter Text
DRIFTWOOD PARK- 11:45 AM
Along the way, you had to make two pitstops—your place and Karl’s. Neither of you has your badges or holsters. You inhale, spotting the cavalry. Flashing lights of blue and red swirl. Unnecessary. Uniformed officers pacing and circling. The large crowd of curious onlookers. The media. You shiver. Karl opted to stay in the car. You had rolled your eyes, stepping out into the brisk chill. Your steps are sharp against concrete, like bloodhounds the reporters turn to you. You push through, ignoring microphones and questions. You slip beneath the yellow police tape, flashing your badge—the swaying branches of pine trees in the distance. The clouds in the sky were forming into cirrostratus haloes. The sun was hiding behind. You hear booming voices advising onlookers and media to keep their distance. Your ears pick up the distinct sound of flowing water. You slow your steps, the sound of flashing bulbs, questions being shouted across the way. Your skin begins to crawl anew. The movement of others blurs within your line of sight. A sanguineous colour emerges from the flowing fountain. Death lingers in the air, putrid and rotten. Decaying. It’s seedy and metallic. The Reaper in its cloak passes by, leaving death in its wake.
It was oddly grotesque and beautiful. Naked bodies of bronze. Blindfolded and frozen in place. Arms above their shaved heads. Crimson liquid showered their forms. Sitting side by side in the centre. One was missing a large portion of their lower jaw and tongue. The other is missing their ears. Their chest is open to the world. You can’t break your gaze away from the sight before you. You stare through the open chest cavity, the heart missing, as a pair of blue eyes stare at you, breaking away your awe. You shake your head, lifting a hand to gesture.
“I told you. Once two appear. Two more and so on.” Cauldwell whispers.
“It’s broad daylight.” You whisper back.
“It never stops them.”
You press a finger against your lips, “The victims are twins.”
Cauldwell raises her brows, “You’re guessing.”
“No. The way the bodies are positioned. It’s similar to Castor and Pollux.”
“The constellation?”
You nod, “Gemini, often depicted as twins. Geminorum is Latin for “The twins.” The victims are twins.”
“Huh. Your medical examiner said the same thing. Though I figured with his knowledge.”
“Good.” You look over your shoulder, the camera’s perturbed, and you roll your eyes.
“I’m guessing my chief is hiding or briefly preparing himself to prevent concern?”
Cauldwell turns, “He is. So am I.”
You cock your head, “Can’t we just say it’s a college art project and move on?”
“Sarcasm can only get you so far, Detective Vega,” Caudwell warns.
You blink. “Here I stand, another murderous day gone by.”
“You have been around that man far too long,” Cauldwell advises, resting her hands on her hips.
You move away from Cauldwell, circling the fountain. It was grotesque and beautiful. Talk about beating two birds with one stone. They and by they, the killer has become emboldened. The sun was shining against the glistening, dark, viscous liquid. You watch the extraction of the bodies. Clinical and meticulous. Your spine begins to tingle, the fine hairs on your body rising. You look around—the sensation of being watched like the night beneath the willow tree. Your eyes dance around, staring through the crowd of on-lookers and media—the flutter of wings.
You sigh, crossing your arms. Clinical and meticulous, it is the work of a genuinely sadistic individual. Deep were the wounds and cavities where one’s eyes fell—wounds where one could not hear the actions of the other and the other could not shriek to be found. And like the twins Castor and Pollux. Become the constellation Gemini. Castor and Pollux symbolize duality, balance, unity, and complementary. Now, the question before you, who was Zeus in this ill-fated tale? Who granted the twins before you their death? Rather than immortality?
***
You lean against the hood of your car—the soft buzz of your phone. Elena’s name flashed, silencing the buzzing. You cross your arms. You barely listened to the speech the chief and Cauldwell were reciting to the media. Your fingers are digging into your biceps. The sound of the passenger door opens, followed by steps, the flicking of a lighter and a puff of smoke.
“Do I even want to know where you got a cigar?” You don’t bother looking at Karl.
“Let’s just say I made a few friends last night.”
“You know. If the chief sees you…”
“I’m off the clock. I so happened to be in the area… Back to my new friends of the night.”
You click your tongue, sighing, “What?”
“Marisol was turning a new leaf with the lord’s gospel. One of her… what’s the word… members of her congregation offered me this fine Cuban cigar. For holier than thou people. They sure do like to not practice what they preach.”
You inhale and exhale. Your eyes settle on Cauldwell as she speaks to the media. Questions are shouted from the huddled crowd—gesturing her hand to settle down as a form of reassurance. You push away from the hood of your car, smoothing out your pants.
“I see. Finish your cigar. I want to head to the precinct to look at a few things.”
You adjust your coat—the thick puffs of smoke float in the air. You hear him grunt. Your short steps to your driver's door, slipping inside and hearing the squeak of leather. You rest your head against the headrest. You pinch the bridge of your nose.
It takes two, then two more, and so forth.
Death lingers in the air, putrid and rotten. Slowly falling apart.
***
Precinct-bullpen- 3:17 PM
Hurried steps going back and forth around the room. Shuffling of papers. Fingers hitting keys against keyboards. The obnoxious sound of sipping from a mug. Hushed flurries of voices. Cycling through reports and crime scene photos. Something ties these women together. You couldn’t see the fated red string that tied everything together. What was it that made these women disappear? What or whom was the piece that tied everything together? Your eyes dance from scene to scene—the waft of greasy food in the air. Your appetite is suppressed, and yet the saliva pools in your mouth. Your scraps offered off to Karl. What you hungered for was a mystery like the deaths of the women before you.
Your hand pressed against your temple. Your two named victims were sitting in the ice box downstairs. Those dreaded calls weren’t going to make themselves. You wanted to confirm. Your stomach churns as Amber comes to mind—the hope-filled in her eyes. You stretch your arms over your head, leaning back in your chair. You fish the crumpled number from your coat pocket, lifting the desk phone receiver. Your fingers shake mid-air, and you flex them for a moment. Dialling the numbers blue inked numbers from the slip of paper. You listen to the rings. One. Two. Three. Four.
“Hello, this is Amber speaking.”
You’re quiet.
“Hello?”
“Hello Amber…” Your voice trails.
“Oh! Lee. I’m surprised you’re calling. I just saw the news. I didn’t… Oh my god. Was one of the bodies in the fountain Marisol?”
You inhale, exhaling, “No, but I am calling about Marisol.” You swallow, “I was wondering if you could stop by the station. Maybe bring someone with you.”
“Why?”
“It’s about Marisol. Are you able to come down?”
On the other end of the line, you hear shuffling, followed by the softest “Okay.”
Your eyes bounce around your desk.
“I’ll have Danny take me. Um… okay. Thank you for calling, Lee.”
The line goes dead, and you hold the receiver limply, setting it down in its cradle. You rest your elbows atop your desk, pushing your palms' heels into your eyes.
“Ripping the band-aid?” Karl voices between a mouth full.
You slowly raise your gaze to look at Karl. You watch him as he brings an onion ring to your attention and rips it apart.
“I have to. Since our liaison will be dipping her toes into these cases.”
Karl huffs, “Or you have a soft spot for the girl.”
You purse your lips. You stare down at the pictures of Marisol’s apartment. You had noticed the glittery eyeshadow palette. The shade is something Amber would wear. Silvery and Shimmery. The extra toothbrush in the bathroom alongside extra toiletries. Quadruple the amount of skincare products and feminine products. At first, you had brushed it off. For her to be the one to provide every last detail about Marisol. Down to specific moles and faint scars. The list of particular allergies. It cemented itself further by the pieces of ink staining pages.
‘Amber. Amber. I didn’t think I would have survived if it hadn’t been for her.
She knew how unstable I was with Javier—that period of off-cycles. I spent with her. Nothing like the fossilized resin I have read about. But just as beautiful as the gemstone. So different and warm. She’s so… nice. Different? No.’
‘We kissed.’
‘I hurt her.’
‘I’m sorry.’
You have read the report more than once, hit in the face with a bucket of ice water. Those few lines and pages are dedicated to Amber. You clear your throat: “She needs to mourn her. We all need someone who will mourn us.”
Karl nods, chewing. You quietly lift the receiver again, dial Salvatore’s extension and press it against your ear. You cover the mouthpiece, “She gave me her number because she wanted to be the first to know.”
“Hmph,” He grunts, “Whatever makes you sleep at night.”
You shake your head.
***
5:37 PM- Precinct lobby
You chew the corner of your bottom lip. Your hands tucked away into your trousers, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. You spot Danny and Amber walking across the parking lot—a sombre expression on Amber’s face, pausing in her steps, turning away. You watch how she crumbles momentarily, not wanting to know the truth. The barkeep, Danny, stands beside her, soothing her. She was tiny compared to him. A bear of a man. A gentle giant.
You pull your hands from your pockets, resting them in front of you. You grip your wrist. When they walk through the glass doors, you see Amber’s face better: Splotchy and make-up-free. You greet them quietly. You lead the way; your steps echo loudly as you enter a spare room, closing the blinds. You feel hazel eyes pleading for you to speak.
You inhale, extending a hand to the empty chairs lining the wall.
“Thank you for coming down here.”
“Detective… Lee? Please don’t sugarcoat this.” Amber voices quietly.
You lick your lips, “Your—" you clear your throat, “Marisol…”
You stand to the side, allowing Amber time to view Marisol’s body. Your words were careful and robotic. You stand beside Danny in the hallway. Your arms are crossed as you lean against the wall. You listen to sobs from the other room. Salvatore had done as you had asked. You feel Danny’s eyes. You stare at him.
“What gave it away?” He asks.
You kiss your teeth, “The other girls in the back gave off a particular atmosphere. It reminded me of high school. Silly as it sounds.”
Danny nods, “That can’t be the only reason.”
“I don’t think a,” you uncross your arms to gesture with your index fingers to air quote, “coworker would save my things as she did. Also, I found it odd that most of Marisol’s clothes were in the closet rather than the drawers of her dresser. It led me to believe someone lived with her part-time for a while.” You cross your arms again.
“And she gave as much detail as she did on the missing person’s report. Amber cared. We all need someone like Amber in our lives. Whether platonic or romantic,” you pause, continuing, “Marisol had no one. Loneliness is a disease. Marisol was lonely, so she found someone to help her cope. A colourful piece of Amber presented itself to her.”
“Thank you,” Danny whispers.
“Thank me when I find out who did this. Amber had the right to know.”
***
You swirl your drink around the ice, clinking against the glass, resting your glass against the bar top. Sighing. You press your fingertips against your eyes. You roll your shoulders. You had veered off course rather than heading straight to the room. You had slipped into the bar—your typical water and ice. Your intentions were not to keep Alcina waiting; you were decompressing alone. Alone. Why? You stare at your watch, which is only a quarter to nine.
You abandon your glass, fishing out a tip and resting it beneath the glass. You collect your coat and overnight bag. You stride through the luxurious lobby—a quiet ride in the elevator. The ding of the doors opening. Red carpeting and the soft shadows cast by the scones of the hallway. Your steps become light as you reach the familiar door, the keycard in your hand. Your hand rests against the handle, pushing it open. You’re met with the sound of running water. You lightly close the door. You step further into the room. The room smells of her perfume, as though she had crept around like a caged tiger. Her signature scent dances in the air of the room. Soft brown curtains were drawn open to reveal the view of the city. Shimmering lights turning on and off. Dazzling as if it were the stars themselves. The lamp light casts soft shadows in the room. The flatscreen turned on the volume low. It was set to the news. The coverage of the park had been playing all day.
You rest your bag on the lone chair from your last visit. Your eyes drift to the nightstand—Alcina’s watch and earrings resting atop the leather-bound notebook. You stare at the other nightstand, the hotel’s standard phone for room service or other inquiries. You remove your holster, setting it on the small desk. You sit at the foot of the bed, tumbling back. You stare at the ceiling, listening to the sound of running water. Unsure if you were exhausted physically or mentally. Events are beginning to catch up. You drape your arm over your eyes, and your other hand rests on your mid-riff. The rushing water silenced, followed by the opening of the bathroom door. Surging forth are the images of the bodies in the park’s fountain. Hollowed canvases swim in sanguine crimson.
You hear her soft, padded steps and pause. She removes your heeled boots, which fall to the floor with a loud thud. Your arm is draped over your eyes. She watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest. You had removed your holster. Her eyes stared at the gun in its protective holster. She spots a bit of your stomach peeking out. Her fingers traverse toward your simple leather belt. Your hands rest over hers.
“If I didn’t know better. I would say you're obsessed with my belts.” Your voice is mildly hoarse.
Her eyes move up to your face, spotting the tired droop of your eyes. Your eyes take in her open robe and her wet tendrils brushing against her shoulders. The soft blush materializes against her cheeks. The rosy hue of her lips to match. Your tongue wets your lips.
“It’s been a busy day for you.”
You tilt your head, rustling crisp white sheets, “Something like that.”
She cocks her head, “Hm,”
You close one eye. “I don’t know; I had a long night and day.”
She snorts, climbing over to straddle your hips; you have a better view. The robe covered her chest. Your eyes follow the curve of her breasts and down her stomach and are intently invested in the neat thatch of dark hairs on her pubis mons. She covers your view by resting her hands against your stomach.
“Your investigation?”
Your arm covers your eyes again—your hand strokes over the surface of her thigh.
“An ongoing headache.”
She is silent. You remove your arm from your eyes and sit up, your hands resting on her hips. She smells heavenly, a faint warmth of honey and rose.
“I didn’t think you would show up.” Her hands rest on your shoulders, smoothing your navy sweater, index fingers sliding underneath your turtleneck.
Your eyes fleet to the screen behind her, the news running the footage from the park. You rake your fingers against her thighs. You return your gaze to her, the corner of your mouth twitching. You feel the heat of her skin against your fingertips, silky until you brush against silvery stretch marks, tracing them until you slip your hands to bruise your fingers against her bottom.
“I was here. Unwinding in the bar.” You confess.
She chuckles, “Those nerves of yours.”
You chuckle in kind, “They have a way of interfering, yes.”
“And yet you are confident when you wish to be?”
You cock your head, smirking, “When I want to be.”
Your right-hand slides between her legs, cupping the heat she exudes. Her hand slips from your shoulder to the back of your neck, tugging on the neat bun. You look up at her, licking your lips. There is a gentle rocking of her hips against the palm of your hand. Her eyes darken, the ring of her grey irises barely visible. You smirk. You take in the soft lines around her eyes, the pink of her lips, and soft breaths. The room began to feel as though it were a scorching desert. The oasis you seek resting against your hand.
“My confidence seems to dissipate in your presence, and I don’t know if I like it or fear it.”
She tugs on your dark hair and continues to rock gently against your hand. The curl of her lips and whispers, “Perhaps. Your subconscious wishes to yield, and you refuse to give up an ounce of power.”
Your fingers brush against slicked folds, and you rest your head against her shoulder. Her fingers undo your bun. You brush your nose against the plush robe and peer over her shoulder at the TV screen. Cauldwell’s face appears on the screen as she speaks.
“Speaking from experience?” You rasp.
“Hm, of sorts.” She breathes, feeling your slicked digits circling against her clit, slowly.
Desire crackling at the surface. Coiling itself around you both. You press your nose against her neck, a creamy scent against her skin, feeling a stray droplet from her hair landing on your cheek. Her eyes are closed, focused on your ministrations, fingers tangled in soft strands of hair. The other resting on your bicep, tugging on the sleeve of your sweater. Dark red fingernails were shining. You brush your lips against her neck, listening to her breathing. Swiping your tongue against her neck. She bucks her hips against your fingers; your other hand squeezes her hips, gripping the robe. She tilts her head, granting you more access to her neck. You graze your teeth against the delicate skin of her neck. You feel the rapid beating of her pulse. The change in her breathing as you quicken your pace. Your breath was hot against her skin. You bring her to the precipice of her descent, pausing and hearing her groan—the creeping of crimson against her cheeks and neck. You had slipped her robe and scrunched around her waist. Your hand against her back, pulling her closer to you, while the heel of your palm made contact with her swollen nerve. Heat spreads across your skin in large droves. Your lips and teeth were nipping against delicate skin. Her bare skin tingles against the fabric of your sweater: heavy breaths and quiet creaks. Everything in the room blends the dim light and the soft shadows. Faded were the images of the television screen. The flying of your sweater, the dance of lips and tongues, and the colloquial moan and hard breathing. So goes your bra, quiet thuds against the floor. Your chest brushed against her. Yielding warm flesh tingled at contact. Cupping bountiful flesh in the palms of your hands, kneading them. Fingers that tweaked pebbled peaks, circling and flicking. The hard bite against your bare shoulder as you dipped your slicked digits inside of her. You urge her with whispers against her ear.
“Right here.” Your fingers curled inside of her.
She answered with a moan.
“You like that?” You curl them again.
Her fingers clawing at your shoulder blades, “Yes.”
“Look at you. Your hips are moving on their own, Alcina. Keep going; you're doing just fine. Riding my fingers.”
She huffs a laugh, “Just you… Oh.”
You smile against her ear. The clenching of your fingers and the loss of rhythm. The desire to reach the point of no return, where one is spent and content. Lost in murky depths of fog. Your ragged breathing, and you feel her tense. The unsteady rutting of her hips. A guttural fuck escapes her.
Falling backwards into the plush mattress, the weight of her on top of you as her skin sticks to yours—the heaving of your chests. Your face is hidden in her midnight hair. You wipe your hand against the discarded robe. Exhaustion settling in. You hear her soft laugh, her hair moving away from your face.
“What you lack in confidence. You make up for in little spontaneous bursts.” She whispered.
You rake your fingers up and down against her back. You whisper back, “I guess.”
Her warm palm against your breast. She sits up. Your hands rest on her hips. Both of her hands rest against your chest. Gently squeezing. She slides one hand down your rib cage and against your stomach. You see the flutter of her stomach as she chuckles.
“Little spontaneous bursts.”
Her hand undoes the buckle of your belt, followed by the button of your trousers. She drums her fingers against your stomach. The backs of her fingers grazing over your navel. You inhale.
“Yes, well, maybe something else will burst.”
She provides a pearly grin and clicks her tongue.
***
You moan into her mouth, listening to the unhinged sounds from between your legs. Your thigh between her legs. The rutting of her hips against you, the deep thrusts of her fingers as her thumb brushes your swollen nerve. Your free hand fists the sheets beneath you. The other loosely wandered against her back. You pull away from her mouth. Her lips trail to your ear, swiping your lobe.
“God.” You moaned out.
She smiles, “I could be. But that would be a bore.” She nips the side of your neck.
You roll your bottom lip into your mouth.
Her fingers slow, and so does her thumb, lazily circling. The heat of your skin dances wildly. The sheen of sweat, of your ragged breaths and your chest heaving wildly. Your fingers glide against her spine, and you pull the sheets. Her mouth returned to yours, swallowing the pending sound of a moan. The motion of her hips picking up speed against your thigh. Her fingers slip out, hastily circling the abused nerve that pulsated at her touch. Your entire body felt like a burning piece of coal, burning brightly at Alcina’s touch. Burning brightly until you crumbled.
Pulsating and throbbing and left with an unbearable ache that wasn’t ready to be quelled.
The dormant beast curled and wagged its tail. Undefiant. You were undefiant to Alcina. Falling into a starry abyss as you cried out for the fifth time in one night. She wasn’t far behind with hers. Her arousal stains your thigh, the ardent heat lingering from her wet cunt. Your arousal stains and prunes her digits. Steadying your breaths and the sudden motion of being scooped into Alcina’s side. Exhaustion finally encapsulates the room. The hushed murmurs of the television served as white noise. Her fingers brush against your scar. You close your eyes, unbothered.
***
The warmth of her hand rests against your scar, and sheets rustle. You blink a few times, stretching. You turn your head and stare at the dark skyline—no shimmering lights to glance at. You sit up, holding onto the thin sheet covering your chest. Alcina’s hand slips away, falling onto the mattress. Your eyes fall on her; you sit quietly. You use your pinky to brush away her hair from her face. She makes a sound from her throat, her brows furrowing. You pull your hand away. You press your back against the quilted headboard. You hit your head against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. Your hand finds its way into frizzy locks, soothing her scalp with your fingertips. Understanding that the realms of dreams and nightmares overwhelm.
She hums, followed by the raspy sound of her voice, “You’re awake.”
You pull your hand away, “Light sleeper.” You whisper.
She rolls over to lie on her back, the mattress creaking, her eyes falling on the screen, “Your current case is still being aired. You’ve quite an appealing backside.”
You snort into your hand. She looks up at you.
“You’ve seen all of me at this point, and you use the opportunity to compliment my backside.”
She sits up and places herself against the headboard, smiling. “It looks extra appealing on television.”
You laugh now, “I suppose so.”
You both stare at the screen, which shows footage of your chief and Cauldwell answering questions. You chew on your bottom lip, sheets rustling. She clears her throat, reaching for the remote in the nightstand drawer. She shuts it off, your blurred reflections appearing against the dark screen. You inhale. She presses her cheek against her shoulder.
“Will you be extra busy with your investigation?”
You sigh, “Possibly.”
She reached over and shut the lamp light off. The room was shrouded in darkness. The sheet was pulled aside. You feel her lips pressing against your shoulder, trailing against your collarbone, pausing at your scar, and murmuring, “Then I should take advantage until you’re called out again.”
You sink away from the headboard, and her silhouette follows you.
“Well, what would you recommend we do about that, Dr. Dimitrescu?”
“Ah, using my title, Natalie.”
“I wanted to test it out under different circumstances.”
She chuckles, hooking your leg, “Is that so?”
You blink.
“What else did you look into?” She asks.
“I haven’t had the time to…” You pause, watching the shadow of her fingers disappear into her mouth, “Should I be digging deeper into you?”
“You have already explored me. Unless you feel the need to.”
Her wet fingers trail down your navel, “Are we done talking?”
You chuckle, “Yes.”
***
You stir from your slumber with a strip of morning light hitting you in the face, followed by the soft buzzing of a cell phone. You bury your face into the pillow, groaning. It stops. Alcina nudges you. You mumble a response into the pillow. She nudges you again. You turn over, blinking, staring at the outline of her breasts. She falls back into the sheets.
“It’s your bloody phone.” She murmurs.
You groan, stretching, running a hand through your hair. You look over your shoulder. She’s curled up, face hidden behind the curtain of hair. You lick your lips. You push your tongue against your cheek. Your eyes dance around the well-lit room. You sigh, slipping out of the bed. You take the liberty to close the curtains, and along the way, you collect your clothing. You halt in front of the lone chair facing the bed. You slip your hand into the pocket of your coat. Tapping the touch screen of your phone. A missed call from an unknown number. You turn around and stare at Alcina. You press the top half of your phone against your lips. Sighing, knowing sleep wouldn’t return, stripping away the matted stickiness from your skin with a shower.
When you step out from the vapour of steam enclosed in the bathroom, you find her on the other side of the mattress, the hotel’s phone pressed against her ear.
“Yes, thank you. That will be all.” The receiver returned to its cradle, and she stood.
You stare at one another.
“I ordered room service.” She advises, wiping her hands against the robe.
You cock your head, nodding, slipping off the towel from your head.
“Work?”
“Oh, no. It's an unknown number.” You lick your lips. “I have time.”
“Hm. I’ll be a moment.”
You nod. She saunters by—the soft click of the bathroom door. You sigh. You scratch the side of your neck.
***
She stares at you, watching you fiddle with the eggs on your plate. She tilts her head, her eyes dipping to the black T-shirt, a sliver of cleavage on display. She lifts her mug, taking a sip. She trails her tongue against her bottom lip.
“It’s a simple breakfast.”
You lift your gaze and purse your lips, “I know.”
“You’re unaccustomed to lingering.” She asks.
“No, and yes.” You roll your bottom lip into your mouth, saying, “It feels intimate.”
“Ah!”
You quickly wave a hand, “Not that it’s bad! It’s nice.”
She spots the creeping blush against your cheeks. You avert your eyes back to the plate before you take a sip from your mug. She licks her lips,
“Natalie?”
“Hm?”
“You have something or someone on your mind.”
You look at her again, blinking.
She had thought as much the night before, your short confession of having arrived earlier. Only to waste time at the bar downstairs. Overworking oneself as though they were a candle burning from both ends.
You rub a hand against your jean-clad thigh.
“Something like that… Say, I have a question.”
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, resting her mug on the tray. She crosses her arms. Her tongue peeks out at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes flicker down to your plate and back to you. You yield, taking a few bites.
She inhales, “What sort of question?”
You clear your throat, “Are you a doctor practicing medicine or the kind of doctor with a fancy degree? Or a mad scientist?”
She clicks her tongue, opens her mouth, and snaps it closed, her lips in a thin line. She calculates how much information she can bombard you with. There was a limit. Getting too personal would lead to problems. There was no right way of navigating this.
“I know. I’m a detective, and I should look into this on my own. It doesn’t hurt to ask. You live in a mansion in the ritzier part of the city.”
She raises her brows, blowing a breath from the corner of her mouth, “I used to practice medicine.”
“Hm, used to?”
Her tongue roves over her teeth; she cocks a brow.
“I can’t assume you stopped practicing because of your daughters. I mean, they could be a factor.” You state.
She finds this amusing; she presses a finger against her lips. She sniffs, removing her finger from her lips.
“They were part of the reason.” She whispers, and she looks away.
You shift against the mattress; you lift your glass of orange juice, sipping.
“I… I nearly,” She sniffs, clearing her throat, “After the accident, amongst other things.”
You raise your hand, “You don’t have to go into detail. I was curious.”
“I also was left an inheritance.”
You nod, “Makes sense. Was Karl left out of it?”
She chuckles, “I won’t disclose that.”
“I see. Well. Thank you for…”
She cocks her head, “Don’t.”
“Right. Um. I’m going on a hunch here, and you’re probably not free next weekend, right?” You stand up, sticking your hands in the butt pockets of your jeans
She curls her lips upward, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. Her eyes rest on your bare biceps. She fiddles with the collar of her robe. She has felt your arms wrap around her, the ripple of your biceps and shoulders.
“I’ll let you know.” She whispers.
You shrug, collecting your bag and coat. You pause.
“You should go, Detective. You have things to look into.”
You cock your head. You toss the hotel keycard onto the bed, and with two fingers, you salute her quietly as a form of goodbye. You hear her soft chuckle and the rustling of sheets, followed by the door clicking as you leave.