Page 5

Standing, I walk over to the coffee machine in the break room even though I know it’s the same terrible coffee they have every morning.

Man, I really need to convince upper management to upgrade to a Keurig or something. How anyone could do their best investigating on this lousy excuse for caffeine I’ll never know.

Turning around at the sound of footsteps, I see Ava standing there with my leather jacket hanging off her fingertips and brows raised.

“Bean Hive?” She smiles as she mentions the name of our favorite local coffee shop.

“Bless you, my lord and savior.” I grab my jacket and throw it on, following her toward the exit. “I don’t think I could’ve done with this excuse for coffee today.”

“I’ve got you, girl.” Ava pats me on the back.

“It’s on me though.” I stop before she can open the door and give her a look. “You got it last time and it’s my turn.”

“Thanks, Sugar Daddy. I won’t turn down free coffee.” She steps in front of me and holds the door open.

The October air blows my dark tresses around my face. I unwind the elastic from around my wrist and secure my hair back in a ponytail. Bean Hive is a quick walk from the precinct and many of the staff make runs there for coffee throughout the day. I was going to suck it up with the station’s coffee, but I can’t turn down Ava’s offer to get the good stuff.

Beside me, Ava sighs. “You have the longest, prettiest hair and you’ve always got it in a ponytail.” She gives the end a tug.

I shrug, pulling my jacket closer around me when wind gusts around us. “It’s so thick and always gets in my way.”

Despite my statement, I can’t bear the idea of cutting it short.

My dad always told me how much he loved my long hair. Even now, when he doesn’t remember me, it’s my hair he comments on.

Last time I saw him he said,“My daughter is ten and she has the prettiest hair too. It’s halfway down her back. I learned to braid just for her.”

We trek down the street to the shop.

Just before I reach for the door handle, I stop, causing Ava to run into my back. “What’s wrong?” She glances back at the street when I turn and observe my surroundings.

In our line of work, you learn to be paranoid and the creepy crawly feeling spreading down my spine has me on edge. I look left and right and then behind us.

“Nothing,” I mumble with a last sweep of the area. “It felt like someone was watching me.”

Ava pauses, searching the street. “I don’t see anyone staring.”

“Must be my imagination,” I say, but I can’t get rid of the slippery feeling.

Stepping inside, the smell of freshly ground coffee hits me. I let out a happy hum and smile when the owner, Luna, makes eye contact with us, winking as she starts on our order. We find an open booth in the back corner shrouded by plants and wait for our lattes to arrive.

The shop is an eclectic mix of modern and rustic. The red brick walls have various plants hanging on them and the occasional hung photo frame in between with various art pieces of coffee beans that look like bees. A mix of booths, comfy chairs, and natural wood tables fill the room with hanging Edison bulbs illuminating the space.

“How’s your dad doing?” The question pulls my attention away from our surroundings.

“The same.” I trace a whorl in the wood of the table with my fingertip. “I can’t help but hope one day he’ll be magically curedbut that’s never going to happen. They take great care of him. I can’t complain.”

Sensing my lack of enthusiasm on the topic, Ava drops it and grabs a folded piece of paper from her purse, placing it on the table. “You know what you need? Some fun.”

I eye the piece of a paper, finding it impossible to keep the disdain from my face.

“A club? Ava, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, but that’s not my scene.” I grab the flyer and try to straighten it out. It boasts the grand opening of a new night club downtown. “Can’t we just paint pottery? Or go to a movie like we usually do? Our favorite actor is starring in one of the latest releases.” I try to tempt her into a more introverted activity.

Ava is a social butterfly and flourishes in all kinds of settings, whereas I would much rather be at home, curled into the couch reading or at the small gym I like to box at. Boxing has always helped me clear my head and work out any frustrations.

“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes. “All you do is go home and talk to that damn cat.”

I open my mouth to refute, and she gives me a stern look which makes me deflate.