Of Death & Virtue

chapter fourteen :: i should warn you

While getting ready, I question if this is a good idea. I stare at my reflection in the mirror in the bedroom, my eyes not quite looking right. There's not enough makeup in the world to cover the nearly-black bags under my eyes or the dark spots forming on my cheeks and jaw. I bring my fingers up and delicately brush over them with my fingertips as if they'll hurt. They're a little sore.

I run my hands down the red dress I found deep in the closet. It was one of the few things in there that wasn't ruined by the bloody sheets. The majority of my wardrobe had to be trashed.

For a moment, I just stare at the dress. The almost skin-tight dress. This is not a date, I try to remind myself. It can't be a date.

This won't do, I think as I shake my head. The dress is only going to give him the wrong idea. I have to change. But as I return to the closet, the buzzer at my door rings through the apartment. I freeze. Shit, he's early. I glance over at the clock. Or I'm late.

With once last frustrated glance in the mirror, I snatch my bag off of the bed and head for the door. The call box rings once more as I approach it.

"I'll be down in a minute," I say into it before leaving the apartment.

Downstairs, Drake waits in the vestibule. When I exit the elevator, he glances up. His eyes skim over me, but it only lasts a second. He quickly straightens his face. He thinks I didn't notice, but I did.

I always notice.

Together we walk out onto the street. I start to head for his car but he doesn't. I turn around and narrow my eyes. "Aren't we taking your car?" I ask.

He gives me a playful smirk. "I thought we could walk,"

"Walk?" I choke on the word. He chuckles silently. "Have you seen my heels?"

"Come on, Jennifer. I've seen you run in heels. Remember the guy you chased and tackled at the Captains' Gala?"

I try to resist rolling my eyes. "Of course I remember."

Drake holds his hand out, and I glance worriedly at it. "The gallery is only a few blocks away. I don't know about you, but I could use the fresh air."

Fresh air does sound nice. And it's a beautiful night for late March. I nod and approach him. But my eyes never leave his hand. Does he really want me to take his hand? I curl my fingers in and start walking down the street.

Neither of us says anything for a while. I let the cool night air fill my lungs as I walk. I try to not look over at him. The regret I felt earlier has come and gone — as much as it pains me to admit, it feels really good to be standing here next to him. No badge or gun. No titles. Just Jennifer and Drake.

Just us.

On the block of the gallery, I clear my throat. Drake glances over but I don't. "So, will Silvie be here tonight?"

I see him shake his head. "No, not tonight. She was here the night they first displayed her piece though." I feel his strong gaze on the side of my face. "It was the 13th."

The hairs on the back of my neck stand. The night we arrested Jackson. "Oh," I finally look over and he slows to a stop just outside the gallery. "Did you know? That it was happening that night?"

He nods, and I feel a pit cave in my stomach.

"I wish you would have told me. I —"

"You would've told me to leave," he says, and I feel the need to argue but I shut my mouth. "And you would've been alone that night."