“To go over the case notes before tomorrow.”
She rolls her eyes, huffing, and I think her percentage might be about to drop back down to eighty.
“Let’s go.”
“Are you sure you don’t need to check with the detective first?”
“Shut up!” she snaps.
???
Katie takes us to a café a few blocks down. We park surprisingly easily, and she waves hello, smiling at one of the café workers as if she’s not a wolf in sheep's clothing. She must come here at least semi-regularly, chatting with the barista as she orders us both a coffee, getting my order right without having to ask me. She moves purposefully around the tables before reaching an empty booth at the back. Maybe she’s trying to pull a power play because of the coffee I made her on Sunday morning. Or maybe she’s just ordering my coffee. Who the hell knows with this trickster? I’m almost tempted to ask her if she spat in it as she slides it over to me, but I don’t.
Looking over murder case files is not strictly suitable for the café she settled on. The exposed brick and hanging lights create more of a cozy vibe. There are a lot of unnecessary cushions here. And even though we’re tucked into a booth at the back, we’re still getting a lot of stares. Someone even went as far as to thank me for my service when I arrived. The woman behind the counter making the coffees shoots me a flirty smile as she trails her eyes down my uniform.
I’m not going to say this doesn’t happen a lot, because a lot of people have a bit of a uniform kink. Cops, firefighters, armed forces. Hell, I get it. The power, the guns, the rage. Getting fucked by someone in a uniform is like opening a door to danger. A part of the world you’re mostlyprotected from.
I don’t necessarily seek out these women; they let themselves be known when they see me. But I would not have pegged Katie as one. She’d never given any indication that she liked a soldier. But from the way her gaze keeps dipping down to my uniform, as it has all day, I’d say it's information that’s new to her as well. Although perhaps Detective Biceps also has a uniform?
I clench my jaw, watching her take a sip as she spreads out the case files.
“Usually, I start by going to the crime scene. I watch the initial interviews, sometimes in person, sometimes a recording. But I go to the crime scene and get a feel for the place.” She coughs, waiting for me to say something. I don’t know if she’s waiting for a fight or a snide comment, but I don’t give her one. “Okay, well then, once I’ve been cleared, I will do my first assessment of the suspect. Interviewing them, trying to work out what kind of person they are. We generally don’t go into the specifics of the crime at this stage. I try to get more of an idea of their background, their reactions to certain stimuli. I ask them what they remember about the crime, how they felt.”
“Makes sense. You’re not interrogating them. The police do that.”
“Exactly.”
“I assume you’re privy to more information on this case than I am, but I appreciate you sharingwith me what you know and what you’ve been told.” I throw her a bone because working with Katie is going to be a hell of a lot easier than working against her. Besides, I think she may have had enough of my teasing today. The dark gray circles under her eyes would certainly indicate so.
She pauses for a moment, assessing me. Perhaps I’m the one who's being interviewed now. After a split second where her eyes drop yet again, she continues.
“It will be different from what you’re used to, I’m sure. For the most part, you would have a report on what happened to those you’re treating. In this case, we have to work out what happened, not only from the evidence but also from the suspect’s friends and family members. We need to establish what kind of person they are.”
“We both took forensic psychology, Katie.”
“Yes, but you studied this, what? Twelve years ago? I’m just going through my process.”
I take a deep breath. Reminding myself that I need her to work with me on this, not against me. I don’t relish the fact that we’re on her territory and not mine. She has the upper hand, and she knows it.
“You’re right, I’m still sore you beat me on Professor Kendrick’s final, that’s all.”
That blast from the past awards me a smile. Katie may not be manageable. But there are some things I know how to do to sweeten her up.Namely, insinuating that she has won, or admitting that she’s smarter than I am. The latter one hundred percent being annoyingly true.
“Professor Kendrick was a fuddy-duddy who chose cheat questions to trick us.”
“And yet you got one hundred percent on that final.” I arch an eyebrow at her, and she rolls her eyes.
Sighing, she says, “I visited him a few weeks before and asked him for past papers so I could get a better feel for the types of questions we’d be receiving.”
Relief floods through me. “Thank God you said that. I thought you were going to tell me you visited him a few weeks before and gave him a blowjob.”
“Jonesy! What the hell? I would never. Not with Professor Kendrick, anyway. Dr. Hans, however. Good lord, I would have stroked that man’s ego.”
Jesus Christ.
“Gross, princess. I don’t want to think about you stroking anything.”
She laughs, taking a sip of her coffee and wiping a stray drop from the corner of her mouth. Soft lips that I’ve only had the pleasure of tasting once. One time was all I’ll ever have because I royally messed it up, and if I haven’t found a way to make her forgive me in eight years, I’m not going to find one now.
