Page 8

O kay, I’ll admit it. Fikes isn’t the worst guy in the world. In fact, to anyone else, he’d probably be the perfect trainee. He’s reserved, observant, knowledgeable, inquisitive, and even a little funny. But to me, he’s nothing but a road block. A deterrent. The unknowing babysitter that is allowing my uncle to sit back and relax, confident I’m not toeing the line and instead being perfectly compliant.

Unfortunately for him, though, I’m good at finding loopholes. In this instance, it’s that I don’t have to spend my hour lunch break with Fikes, and because of that, I’ve managed to slip off to make the quick drive over to Georgia. Being close to the border, it’s only a twenty-minute trip, giving me plenty of time to get to the manufacturer, scope it out, and be back before anyone is the wiser.

Since the other possible place is deep in South Carolina, it only makes sense this is the one Alexi’s using. I’m sure with a little light surveillance and vibes alone, I’ll be able to confirm it, and can simply pull a couple of all nighters to stake things out, see if I can catch a live transaction. What I do after is still in the air. But hey, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

The robotic voice of my GPS prompts me to turn and ironically, it’s over a long bridge that connects the two states.

A weathered rectangular sign indicates when I cross over into Georgia, and right at the end of the bridge, another—this one much bigger and gaudier—welcomes me to Noxus City.

What I can only describe as post-hangover nausea bubbles erupt in my gut as I enter the town I once enjoyed visiting.

For a short while, it served as an escape to the ever-present cloud of grief that hung over me. Allowed me to breathe without being able to still smell my mother’s perfume. Hug someone without wishing it was her arms that were wrapped around me.

And I cherished that.

No, that doesn’t sound right. Maybe the right word that I continuously come back to is addicted. I was addicted to the temporary high, the faded memories, and dulled emotions. I was starving for something other than fucking depression, and the one thing Alexi Babin did was keep me fed.

But of course, just like any good high, the crash was inevitable, and that’s exactly what happened. I crashed. Hard . But instead of dropping into the pits of despair, I found myself hyper focused. I shifted from addicted to consumed. I had decided to dig deeper not only into Alexi, but into Noxus itself, along with the intoxicating effect it has, and since then it’s been my very reason for getting out of bed for the past couple of years. My why. The thing that would stave off the sadness.

Sometimes, however, I think I’m running out of steam, and becoming uninterested. I consider letting this go and focus on the other shit going on in South Carolina that’s arguably much more prevalent. But then I get close again. Something happens to make me realize I can solve what everyone has warned me was impossible from the beginning. Warned me that the end result wouldn’t be worth the journey. A challenge not worth solving.

Too bad I love a good puzzle, especially a difficult one. Not to mention I’m also annoyingly stubborn. It’s long overdue that someone knocks that piece of shit down a peg. Alexi is way too goddamn arrogant, and call it jealousy, but I loathe how the system bends for him. How he can break law after law and walk away from the consequences with a smile and a wink. All the while, continuing to corrupt the entire city like a poison, leaching so much evil into the streets, they don’t even seem to notice anymore.

Even worse, his escalating pissing match with the cartel in Georgia is becoming more of a problem. One that I’m pretty sure will be front and center at every morning’s briefing if it continues. And if that happens, I doubt I’ll have even a second of a lunch break to spare. So it’s now or never.

Pulling in front of a long row of shops, my eyes scan over every last detail. The exterior of the long strip is covered in a deep red brick, with black iron framing both the windows and doors creating an appealing pop of contrast. There’s a cafe, a bodega, a cute bookshop, a salon, and…a florist at the end right where the manufacturer should be.

Glancing at my GPS again, I double-check the address. After confirming, I pull up the internet search, clicking on the website. It’s very outdated, but doesn’t say anything about not being open anymore, or replaced or merged with another store.

Groaning inwardly, I glance at the little florist store again.

An A-frame sign rests out front with a fairly intricate chalk drawing of tulips and advertisement of a current special under the shop’s name. Above it are a few plants hanging from the awning. The bright green leaves trailing over the pots give the storefront a quaint appeal. Even with the overcast sky that seems to be a permanent weather pattern in Noxus, paired with the vacancy of the parking lot that makes it a tad eerie, it’s still cute.

Shoving my gear into park, I exit my car. Glancing around and finding nothing or no one out of place, I head for the shop, hoping the person working can give me some insight as to where or if the place I’m looking for even exists.

When I push the front door of Baudelaire’s open, a bell signals my entrance at the same time I’m immediately assaulted with air so pungently fresh, I’m pretty sure it clears my sinuses from my childhood.

The interior of the boutique is absolutely covered in vibrant greenery. Vines and tendrils stretch from every available surface overhead, while rows of sleek metal bins line the walls, teeming with an assortment of plants and flowers. I can make out some common potted herbs like rosemary and sage, while others I’ve never seen in my life. There’s a long table running down the center, a few vases, some more metal bins with floral stems and a slew of neatly organized ribbon resting on the back.

It’s picturesque, and not unlike any other floral shop I’ve ever seen, but the surprise awaiting me at the back, emerging from a row of beads covering a door, is anything but.

Red curls, barely contained in a bun, delicious curves, accentuated by a knee length white dress, and green eyes that could swallow my soul whole.

Elena stops short when her gaze connects with mine.

For a moment that lasts less than a second, surprise flickers over her stunning face. Perfectly arched brows tic together, lush lips part, and those damned eyes of hers widen. And in that same millisecond, my heart swells and the reason I’m here in the first place slides from my damn memory.

But then, as quickly as her shock appeared, she smothers the tiny emotion out, straightening her spine and moving behind her counter with the grace of a jaguar. “Agent.”

The blockade she puts between us causes annoyance to roll in my gut, but I smash it down as I lift a hand and give her my award-winning smile. “Fancy meeting you here, Red.”

Elena responds to my words with a curt nod. “It is. Quite a way from that charming bar.”

I don’t miss the way her lips turn up at the mention of The Four as I walk closer to the counter. My feet move as if they’re being pulled by an invisible force, and I have to physically make myself take slower steps.

“Not a fan of law enforcement?” I joke. “Or was it the lack of fresh air and clean surfaces?” This, not so much a punch line considering the near sterile environment around me. Everything is orderly and pristine.

She shrugs half heartedly, placing a manicured hand on the counter. “It would be a lie to say the hygienic nature of it didn’t deter me, but I can’t say officers have ever done anything for me, or to me, so I’m rather neutral on that front.”

Somehow, even without obvious tells, I know she’s not being honest—not completely anyway—and Elena’s able to pick up on it. She pushes out a small breath before smirking. “Though, I find them incompetent more often than not.”

“Ah.” I nod. “That can be true on occasion, but see…” I pause, closing the gap until I’m stopped by the thick, wooden butcher top separating us. The air crackles before becoming at least ten degrees hotter. “I’m no officer.”

Her one-sided grin grows as her gaze dips momentarily to my mouth. “I’m well aware, Agent .”

My core tightens at her tone.“So you should have no aversions.”

She cocks a brow. “Who implied I did?”

My mind short-circuits as I lose myself in the mossy green of her eyes. They remind me of a peaceful little patch in the middle of the woods, surrounded by darkness, but glimmer with the faintest glow of the sun.

God, she’s so beautiful.

So gorgeous. So calm. So opposite of me in every way. I want to know more about her. Find out why she’s got my head so damn jumbled.

I speak without stopping myself, thinking about the cafe in the strip. “Come have coffee with me.”

That microsecond of surprise makes another appearance. “Now?”

Gesturing behind me, I make a show of the empty store. “No time like the present.”

She tugs her lips back and forth over her teeth, indecision playing over her features. But just as I think she might say no, she taps a finger on the counter. “I have a few minutes. Let me grab my things.”

I watch her white dress sway against her thighs as she disappears behind beads that clink together from the disturbance, and I’m pretty sure I stop breathing until she returns. When her pretty face emerges again, there’s a small satchel tucked beneath her arm and a cream sweater covering once exposed shoulders.

She nods toward the door. “Shall we?”

With my nerves vibrating with an absurd amount of excitement, I grin and spin on my heels to lead the way to the door, watching as she flips a small sign on the door that reads ‘returning shortly’. “We shall.”

In my short, yet somehow extensive time on Earth, I’ve had my fair share of lovers and even more potential partners. I’ve always been a fall-hard-and-fast type of girl because my family ingrained a loving nature into me early which caused my heart to sew itself to my sleeve. Oftentimes—or maybe every time—I end up with it becoming a broken mess, only repaired by a hard drink of gin and dancing with Jenna at The Four until I find someone else who catches my interest. Or until I pass out on my bed crying to sad songs. Or taking out my frustration in a rage room. Or eating croissants until I’m bloated enough to resemble the gluten intolerant version of Violet, from Willie Wonka.

No matter how I end up moving on, it’s all a toxic ass cycle that I always repeat despite my better judgement and education about the human psyche. But also, what else is a girl to do?

Besides the occasional aerobic classes and my comfort shows, I’m always finding myself bored, which is either dangerous or expensive. So I either find a new partner to fill the time, or shove myself into work in an attempt to fill the void. But even my job sometimes loses its luster.

Which brings me back to Elena. She’s something new and exciting and will likely turn into my latest distraction.

It’s not healthy, I’m well aware, but self realization is the first step, right?

My eyes find the gorgeous woman at my side as we make our way down the sidewalk. Her profile is striking, strong, and elegant. I wonder how someone who has such a stature found herself so connected with nature. So content with dirt coated fingernails and heaving heavy bags of soil—in a lace dress and six-inch heels, no less—but can’t stand germs. Quite the contradiction I think. But also, with her, it’s probably not.

I concoct my first question as Elena turns toward a shop only two down from her own. She grips the handle and smirks as she pulls it open. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe the saying is something about taking a picture as it lasts longer.”

I pause, a goofy smile taking over my face. “Not as proper as that, but yeah. Also, I think you’d be a little freaked if I busted out my phone and started snapping pictures.”

Elena considers this for a brief second before nodding once. “Perhaps.”

Together, we enter the mom and pop coffee shop and are immediately greeted by an older woman behind the long counter. The aroma of toasted vanilla and earthy coffee beans saturate the air, while the low lighting paired with the worn, yet overstuffed leather couches compliment the dark interior and number of vining plants. I immediately recognize them as the same kind trailing the ceiling of Elena’s store.

“Good morning, Mrs. Ward.” Elena greets the woman behind the counter with a genuine smile, and I find myself jealous that this woman gets a sincere version of her.

Mrs. Ward glances from Elena to me, then back to her again. I can see the metaphorical wheels spinning beneath her silver hair, the thoughts and questions formulating before disappearing with another.

Elena must see the woman’s confusion as well, because she gestures to me. “This is a newly acquired associate of mine, Federal Agent Frances.”

I lift a hand, my gaze drifting to the glass display of muffins and glossy breakfast pastries before snapping back to her. “ is fine.”

The woman’s responding smile is warm as she glides over to the stand and opens the back as if already anticipating I have no intention of turning down a pastry. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, . What can I get you?”

My eyes skim over the dozens of treats before I make a decision. With a quick glance at the menu and then at Elena, I gesture for her to order first.

Her emerald irises seem to shimmer as she turns to Mrs. Ward. “The usual for me, please.”

The woman tips her head once before looking at me expectantly. “Uh, I’ll take a caramel apple-spiced coffee with a plain croissant.”

“Coming right up.” She rings us up and I rush to pay before Elena has a chance to dip into her small satchel. I smirk as she rolls her eyes and thanks Mrs. Ward.

“I’ll have it right out.” With that, she turns and I’m left with Elena, who now looks amused. At least, I think she’s amused. This woman is quite the damn conundrum.

“Would you like to sit while we wait?” Her eyes flash to the seating nearby and I nod, following her over.

She bypasses the fluffy couches in favor of a small bistro table with two metal chairs. I’m unsure if I should read into that as though she has no intention of staying or not, but my heart squeezes either way.

We sit, and I become intensely aware of how the surrounding air is simultaneously so thick it’s as if I’m close to choking while so thin that no breath is enough. The sensation is both foreign and uncomfortable, and for the first time, I feel as if I’m out of my element.

It’s unsettling, though not in a way I want to escape but one I want to explore, to understand.

I should probably see all these things as red flags, sense that these emotions are indicators that this—whatever this is—is nothing but trouble. But instead, I lean forward, propping my chin on interlocked fingers and smile because, after all, red is my favorite color.

“So, Elena. Tell me about yourself.”