For the rest of the walk, we were silent, just the sound of our heels tapping the wet sidewalk echoed back and forth in conversation between us. The crisp autumn air was just cold enough that I could feel the heat coming off Desirae as she walked next to me. I could tell she was somewhere deep inside her head. She had this focus about her. It was intimidating, but attractive all the same.
Even if she was a cop.
No wonder she'd been so adamant about not seeing me again after tonight. At least now I had a little more context as to why. With her looking into the Cassini family, we'd both be smart to say our goodbyes after tonight. As much as I'd love to sit back and watch their empire crumble, I wasn't about to risk my own ass to see it happen.
"I'm right up there." Desirae nodded ahead. "Fourth floor."
As I looked up, I was surprised to see her gesture towards the old brick projects where I had lived off and on as a kid, then more surprised to see the building looked completely renovated to match the rest of the gentrified residential developments downtown.
"Wow, they actually installed fire escapes. And functional balconies?" I peered down the alley and followed the cast iron stairs up to the top fourth floor. "When I lived here with my mom, this building was ready to collapse."
"You can thank your ex," Desirae said as she slipped around to the front of the building.
"Artie?"
"The Cassini's own most of the property from here to the marina now."
"Good to know..." I mumbled, discreetly trying to search the building's eaves for cameras.
Desirae punched a code into a panel along the building and the glass door swung open in front of us. Overhead, the lights automatically flicked on. Clean, white walls surrounded us as we walked in. No cracks or punched holes in the drywall. No piss stains on the carpet. No carpet, actually. Smooth gray-washed flooring filled the foyer. It almost felt sterile. As the elevator chimed, I followed Desirae into the car, trying not to gawk at it all as the doors closed in front of us.
She was one of four apartments on the top floor that took up each corner of the building. Inside, her place mirrored the same open, clean aesthetic as the foyer. Sleek gray cabinets in the kitchen and a marbled granite island with three stools split the living space. I ran my fingers down the arm of a white plush couch that stretched the back wall as I walked over to the wide panel of windows that faced the bay. A sliding glass door stepped out onto the wrap-around balcony. Tidy bookshelves and a mid-century modern desk filled the far corner where I recognized some of Desirae's anatomical artwork hanging.
"I wouldn't wander too close," she warned. "I think I left Amelia hanging out."
And as I glanced down at her desk, I saw why Amelia came with a warning. My heart spiked at a photograph of a decomposing face with an exposed skull. I quickly turned back towards the windows, trying to shake the peeling flesh from my mind, but it took me right back to Gabriel and I could smell those chemicals again.
"How do you do it?" I shuddered, hugging my elbows to my sides. "Take this stuff home with you? Don't you want a break from it?"
"Families of missing loved ones don't really get that privilege. They don't get any real sense of closure until they're reunited with the remains." Her fingers went to her necklace again as she spun the wedding band. "I do it for them."
"Sure, but what do you do for yourself?"
"I—" She let the band fall to her chest as her eyes narrowed on me. "Why don't you take a seat."
"All work and no play makes Special Agent—what was it, Venus?" I arched my brows, watching her glare soften. "A dull girl..." She turned her back to me, tapping the kitchen faucet to rinse a couple glasses. "Venus indeed," I said behind the sound of the water.
Instead of sitting at the island, I bravely ventured back over to Desirae's desk and slid into the leather chair. Bracing myself, I forced my eyes to look at Amelia again. On second glance, she wasn't too bad. If you could get past the flaking sallow skin that stretched taut over the bone. Nestled in a pile of leaves, her skull was detached from any visible body, at least from what the photograph showed. I slid the photo aside and looked over Desirae's drawing.
Heart-shaped face still full with adolescence, broad round nose, playful eyes that lifted in the corners; Desirae had given her a beautiful smile despite the photograph showing the jaw hanging open, but the teeth were nice and straight. The more I looked between the portrait and the photo, the more I could see how Desirae had made the inferences. The girl couldn't have been older than eighteen; it was heartbreaking. I guess I was starting to understand her dedication.
"That was just a quick sketch. More of a reaction." Her tone seemed to waver somewhere between modesty and irritation from me poking around in her stuff. "They just sent me the photos yesterday. I haven't seen the skull in person yet."
"She was young. Black?"
Desirae nodded. "Just got her braces off. You can see some of the marks on her teeth."
I looked closer at the photograph and held it towards the light. "Damn. Good eye." I peeked over the edge of the photo, watching as she set the glasses down on the granite slab. "She's not tied to this case you're working here, is she?"
"No, my forensic work really is just a side-gig. Besides, Amelia's hyoid bone was fractured. The Cassini's tend to favor their guns, right?" Desirae opened the fridge, glass clinking around as she reached inside. "They prefer clean, staged suicides, accidental drownings, random explosions, rather than getting their hands dirty with some manual strangulation." Turning back to me, she held up a bottle of Rosé. "Or so I've heard."
I swallowed hard as my hand went to my throat. Cousin Cal always got creative when he could. "What are the chances you have something harder?"
Putting the Rosé back, she swapped it for a jug of grapefruit juice then ducked behind the kitchen island. Glasses clinked again and a half-drank bottle of Tanqueray appeared as she rose back up. "Hard enough for you?"
"Definitely."
She poured a generous amount of gin into both glasses over ice then topped them off with a couple splashes of grapefruit juice.
Parting ways with Amelia, I joined Desirae at the island. "So do you give names to all the unidentified people you work on?"
As she took a sip of her drink, she nodded. "I go alphabetically. Already looped back around to A's with the girls, no surprise really." Something shifted in her tone again. Her stoic facade dropped and I saw a hint of vulnerability. "It's kinda stupid, but I hate the way most of the officers talk about them. Like they forget that the body they just found was a living, breathing, person with family and friends."
"That's not stupid at all," I assured her as she slid a glass over to me. "I love that you continue to humanize them after death. I think it's incredible how dedicated you are. I just worry how that must affect you, being surrounded by all that death. Not letting yourself escape it."
"You don't have to worry about me, Kirby," she murmured into her drink. "I always find a way to escape. Or someone to escape with."
Whatever vulnerability I got a peek of, she quickly concealed it with innuendo. A page straight out of my own book. Her dark umber eyes flitted over the edge of her glass as she took a sip, fixing on me. Heat flushed through my body and I quickly mirrored her to hide any blush behind my glass, letting the cold gin wash down my throat. Pine and fruity florals lingered on my lips as I rubbed them together. I broke away from her gaze and glanced down into my drink, shaking the ice around. "What do your uh, escapees think of your work when you bring them home for the night?"
"Well, I don't typically bring them home. Too hard to get them to leave."
I coughed a little on my drink and bit back a smile. "Should I have asked for a to-go cup?"
She tipped her head towards the balcony. "C'mon."
I watched as she sauntered over to the windows, sliding the glass door open to step out into the night. My eyes fell to her hips, then to her thigh, trying to find the outline of her gun, but her jumpsuit hid it well. She caught my gaze as she turned back to me.
"Are you coming?"
"Yeah. Yes," I mumbled, grabbing up my glass to hurry over to the door.
The cool northern breeze off the bay sent a shiver through me as I walked over to the railing. Lights from boats on the bay dotted the water, mirroring the cityscape. I'd never seen the lower east side so golden at night. The last time I'd seen this view, the bayfront held nothing but dilapidated buildings and abandoned industrial sites. I could almost see the docks from here now that half those buildings were gone, but the old loft warehouse Artie and I used to live in blocked off most of the marina.
"You can sit if you want." Desirae's voice beckoned from behind me, tugging me away from the bittersweet nostalgia. "This won't take long, I just have a few questions for you."
I should've seen this coming.
Rolling my eyes, I turned around and leaned back against the glass balcony railing. Desirae had relaxed into a rattan loveseat, a chair matched next to her with a table in between. Overhead, a couple strings of patio lights washed her in a warm glow. I took a long swig of my drink and kept my feet planted, despite how much the stilettos were killing my toes. "I think I'd rather you arrest me than interrogate me."
"Don't tempt me."
"Look Des, I was just involved with Artemisia. Her parents hated me. It was your typical beautiful rich girl meets trashy poor girl, like basically the plot of Titanic minus the whole 'iceberg, right ahead,'" I quoted with my best British accent. "Although, one time when we were sailing, we kinda got trapped on a little island off the coast of Tunisia when ol' Mungibeddu decided to erupt. Basically same vibe, different climate."
"Mt. Etna?" Desirae took out her phone and her thumbs started tapping fervently against the screen. "That's interesting."
"Is it?" Shit. And just like that, I'd already said too much.
She sunk deeper into the loveseat and kicked her feet up over the back cushion, not looking up from her phone. The screen's blue light illuminated her soft features; the prominent apples of her cheeks, the delicate slope of her chin, her fleeting eyes. As she crossed her ankles, the slit-leg of her jumpsuit fell open and I could see her garter holster again with the nose of her gun tucked safely inside.
"Well, I too have questions," I slurred slightly, my mind already starting to buzz from the gin. "For you."
"Go ahead," she mumbled, still tapping away at her phone. "Shoot."
My eyes instinctively went back to the gun on her leg and she finally lowered her phone with a sly smile.
"Is this making you nervous?" she asked as she slid her hand between her thighs. The tear of velcro ripped against the quiet hum of the city sounds. And the pounding pulse inside my ears.
"Not sure nervous is the word for it," I muttered into my glass and took another long swig.
My attraction to her was clearly clouding my judgment, but as much as I knew I should just shake her off and leave, there was a part of me that wanted to know more. To at least hear what she had on the Cassini's and how deep Landon's been involved. Especially after everything that happened tonight with Gabe's body. I shivered just thinking about him again.
She rubbed at the back of her thigh and gently set the holstered gun on the table. "What did you want to ask me?"
Making a rash decision, I ambled over towards the loveseat and slid in beside her, trying to ignore how smooth her dark legs looked next to my head. "What uh, kind of FBI-ing do you do?" FBI-ing? Jesus. "Investigating, I mean."
As I raised the glass back to my lips, she watched me closely, quite amused it seemed.
"I'm working with a specialized unit currently. I can't say too much about it, but generally speaking?" she paused, eyes fixed sharply to mine. "Art Crimes."