“Alrighty,” she says, getting up.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask her.
“I need some food and a bathroom,” she says.
It is something I can’t deny her, so I show her the bathroom and wait in front of it.
I almost expect her to have already fled the scene, but then she comes back outside.
“You are aware you can track me with the monitor, yes?” she asks.
“I am,” I say. “But I don’t trust you.”
“You better not,” she says, laughing. She walks to the elevators.
“Ehm—“ I say when she presses the button.
“Food,” she says. “I am hungry. You are welcome to join me.”
“I have lunch with me.”
“Join me anyway,” she says. “We can talk about your cold case file.”
I will so regret this, but I get in the elevator with her.
She walks out of the building with her newly issued credentials.
“This is fun,” she says. “Never thought I’d walk in and out of here with my own card.”
“Can easily change.”
“You are a ray of sunshine,” she says brightly.
“I know what you’ve done,” I say. “I have every right to believe someone like you won’t be reformed.”
She leans in on me while walking.
“So, since when are you jumping into bed with your colleague?” she asks me silently, and my eyes widen.
How does she even know?
What else does she know?
My hands clench into fists.
“I don’t,” I say coldly.
She chuckles and asks, “Who’s the liar now?”
And I have to revoke my earlier statement. She will cost me not only my career, but also my sanity.
Five minutes later, we turn onto White Street, where she holds her hand to a pin system at a door without a number, and the door opens automatically.
I follow her inside.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“I need different clothes,” she says as she opens the elevator and presses the button with the word penthouse on it.
