Page 19

CELINE

C aptain Barnes ambles over to my desk and taps it with the folded papers he holds. “Witness here for you, Brennan.”

"For me?” I wrack my brain for what it could possibly be for. Running my fingers through the long strands of my ponytail, I give him an imploring stare.

“Well, Detective Waters would be doing intake but she’s out until tomorrow afternoon on vacation so you’re up.” He crinkles the papers, shoving them into his pocket. “Once she’s back she’ll take over.”

I collect a notebook and pen, standing from my desk. “No problem.”

He nods and walks away with a whistle.

Approaching my destination, I spy Captain leaning against the interrogation room door. His thick legs are crossed, and he holds a cup of coffee and a donut, not doing much for our stereotype.

“You okay to take this? Not too busy with the murder case?”

Straightening my posture and righting my jacket I give him a confident smile. “I’ve got it, no problem.”

“Good luck.” Captain gives me a small smile and disappears around the corner.

Turning, I push open the door to reveal a stunning woman seated at the metal table.

She looks up at me with teary brown eyes framed with thick lashes.

Luscious black hair flows in a silky curtain down her back.

Her makeup is flawless save for the black streaks of mascara running down her cheeks, not that it dulls her beauty.

Dressed in a maroon sweater and dark jeans she could say she just got off the runway and I’d believe her.

An intense energy emanates from her. It’s slightly intimidating and pressurized which is odd since her body language is so demure.

“Hi, my name’s Detective Brennan.” I ease into the room offering my hand. “What’s yours?”

She sniffles and takes mine in her respective dainty hand. “Genevieve.”

“I brought you some water if you’d like it.” I extend the glass, and she wraps elegant fingers around it to take it.

“Thank you.”

“Genevieve, I want to help you however I can. Do you feel comfortable telling me what brought you in, or do you need a minute?” Gently sitting in the chair across from her, I slowly place my notebook and pen on the table, ready whenever she is, but not wanting to pressure her.

“No, I’m okay to proceed.” She blows her nose in a tissue and takes a deep breath before launching into her story.

“My best friend Katie and I are like this.” She holds her entwined fingers up for emphasis.

“We text constantly to keep each other updated on our day, no matter how stupid the update may be.” Genevieve gives a watery smile.

“The other night we were out clubbing, and I decided to head home first. I told her we should share a cab, but she lives in the opposite direction, so she insisted on taking her own.” She sniffles and stares at the table in front of her, lost in a memory.

“I got home fine and waited for an update from her saying the same and I just ... never got it.” Tears continue to stream down her cheeks.

“I’ve called her so many times I can’t even tell you and tried to get into her apartment but nothing.

Poof. I’m worried something happened to her. This isn’t like her.”

Genevieve is now a blubbering mess, and I set my stationary on the table. Walking over, I squat down in front of the crying woman and pat her knee.

“Hey, it’s okay.” I soothe her the best I can. “We can take a break for as long as you need.”

Tearfully, she looks down at me apologetically. “I’m sorry. I’m not typically this much of a mess but I can’t shake the feeling I’ll never see her again.” Suddenly, she grips my hands. “You’re going to get her back, right?”

I grip her hands back just as tightly. “I’ll send in my report and start investigating. Detective Waters will take over once she’s back tomorrow so you’ll be hearing from her not me.” I hope my sincerity can be heard and the relief in her eyes tell me it is.

“May I ask you what the name of the club was you were at?”

She lifts her tear-stained face to me. “Vex.”

My heart jolts in my chest, and I try to school my features so as not to give any emotion away. There’s no concrete evidence Vex has anything to do with her friend’s disappearance, but the fact I’ve had a bad feeling, tied with what Luna said, the whole thing is shady.

“Just a few more things and then I can get started on opening an investigation.”

Sitting back down in my seat I cross my jean clad legs and begin writing.

Blowing out a frustrated breath I look back down at my notebook.

Wrinkles litter the lined paper from shoving it into my pocket and my list is completely crossed off except for one scribble. I’ve visited every surrounding business on Vex’s street save for the one I now stand in front of.

None of the establishments knew anything about the situation, and one, ran by a crotchety old woman, refused to answer my questions.

I left quickly afraid she’d take a bite out of my arm with her crazy ass dentures.

Every time I spoke, she inched closer to me and bit at the air like a piranha.

I’m not sure if she was just messing with me or truly off her rocker.

“So fucking weird,” I mumble, my breath swirling in the cold air. At least it isn’t raining for once. “Let’s get this done.” One last place to visit.

The Throwing Wheel is an adorable pottery shop with all kinds of ceramics displayed in the front window.

Mugs, vases, decorative pieces, and more, line shelves showing off both the owners’ and customers’ pieces.

Fake pumpkins and leaves are dispersed throughout the art, and I file the location in the back of my mind for a future girl’s day with Ava.

I’m shit at pottery, but so is she, so it would make for a great laugh.

Last time we did it, I dropped my mug in a bucket of glaze and her piece got stuck to mine in the kiln rendering them useless.

I push open the door and step inside. The smell of clay and earth hit my nostrils and soft jazz plays over a speaker. Shelves of pottery continue throughout the entire room and the buzz of pottery wheels fills the space. It’s a quaint but quirky store full of character.

A class is in session, and I hear the teacher instructing the attendees on how to throw a clay cylinder.

Quietly walking toward the middle of the room, I try not to disturb anyone.

They all seem to be doing a great job molding and forming their shapes by cupping the clay and cleaning their wheel surface with a sponge as they go.

The class is men and women of all ages, some couples, some friends, and others on their own.

An older woman smiles up at me as I walk past. Pieces of grey hair escape her bun, and I can tell by her skill and technique she’s done this hundreds of times.

“Okay, class, now that we’ve got the cylinder down, we’re going to move on to shaping a mug and adding a handle.” A man’s voice rings out and I freeze where I’m at, not daring to look up.

Wait a damn second.

Sure enough when I glance up I spot none other than Zavier.

My neighbor Zavier.

Fucking Zavier who seems to pop up everywhere.

My eyes narrow when he looks my way, not seeming surprised in the least to see me, like I am him.

His long sleeve shirt is covered with a green apron that’s tied at the waist and his hands are caked with dried clay.

A perfectly thrown cylinder rests in front of him and I’m blown away when the owner, an old man who looks to be in his sixties, walks over to Zavier and pats him on the back.

That’s it.

I speed walk over to my victim and give him the death stare. Fisting his apron in my hand, I drag him away from the students and over to the kiln in the back corner of the room. He grins the entire way like he enjoys me yanking him along like a dog on a leash.

“What are you doing here?” I hiss the accusation.

His smile widens, flashing perfect white teeth. “I work here.”

“Since when?”

Zavier popping up everywhere is nothing short of suspicious.

He pouts his bottom lip, thinking. Picking at a piece of lint on his shirt, he answers, “Today.”

I throw my hands in the air. “The other day you were at the fucking bowling alley.”

He shrugs, unbothered. Reaching between us, he picks up a strand of my hair and twirls it between his fingers. I should bat him away, but for some strange reason I don’t.

“I work a lot of odd jobs,” he finally answers. “Pays the bills.”

“You…” I sigh, planting my hands on my hips. “There’s something strange about you.”

His smile somehow gets even bigger than it was before. “Oh, darling, I’m so glad you noticed.”

Darling?

“Anyway”—he removes the apron in one lithe motion and hangs it on a rack beside us—“since we’re both here, how about dinner? Hmm? Get the date started early?”

I narrow my eyes.

“No. Ava might’ve coerced me into a date with you, but it’s not supposed to happen until tomorrow.”

“Oh, come on,” he cajoles, undeterred. Cool fingers skim my arm, sending shivers down my spine. Not bad shivers—not the ones I get when I know something strange is up. This feels good. Too good. “It’s dinner time. You need to eat.”

I stare at him, trying and failing to come up with a decent enough excuse. My shoulders sag in defeat. “Fine. But only because I’m hungry.”

“Excellent. Shall we?” He leads me toward the exit with a hand on my waist. For a moment I allow it to happen, enjoying the warmth of his arm and strength of his side against mine.

How did we go from me dragging him across the room to this? It’s like he puts me under some sort of fog every time I see him. It only lifts when I’m no longer in his vicinity.

When we step outside the shop, I finally come out of my fuzziness and pull out of his grasp.

“Wait. I’m not ready!” I shout in exasperation.

“I still need to do my job! I have to ask the owner if he saw anything that could help my case. It’s the last stop and then I’ll go home and get ready, okay?

” Knowing Zavier won’t take no for an answer I plead with my eyes.

“Well, I have to stop back by the precinct first and pass off my notes to the detective that’s taking over the case.

” His smirk grows and I resist the urge to stomp my foot. “Besides, aren’t you working?”

Zavier crosses his arms and watches me in silence, brow lifted in silent accusation.

“I promise.”

“I don’t believe you.” He sounds like a toddler fighting with his mother which I most certainly am not.

“Zav, are you fucking kidding me?” I think I’ve cursed more in the last five minutes than I have in the last month. This is what he does to me. The smug bastard with his perfect face, adorable glasses, and kissable lips.

I find myself wondering what it would be like to kiss him which is a worrying stray of my thoughts.

Silence continues to greet me, and I look back up into Zavier’s emerald eyes to see excitement bursting in them.

For a second, I’m worried he saw right through my inner monologue, but then he smiles the creepiest clown grin I’ve ever seen and bobs his head from side to side while doing a little shimmy dance.

“What’s happening?” My arms shoot out in self-defense as I lean away from the clearly unhinged man in front of me.

“You.” He squeaks out and puts his hands up in front of his mouth to rest on his chin like a little kid.

“Me? I’m failing to see the point.” Tapping my booted foot on the ground I watch him continue to flail in confusion.

“You. Called. Me. Zav.” A girly sounding teehee comes out of his mouth and I roll my eyes.

“I’m going inside now. Goodbye ... Zav.” I throw the last part in as I enter the building, and the door shuts behind me, but not before I hear the second squeal, he lets out causing me to shake my head in amusement.

Where did he come from? It’s like this man dropped from the sky from some alien planet.

Plastering on a smile, I introduce myself to the owner and ask my questions, all while steadfastly ignoring the man that comes back inside and resumes his class like nothing happened.