Unicorn

by seaashelll

Jill Valentine has one mission: find Chris Redfield. She hits a stroke of luck finding his sister, Claire, on a vague personal ad. After meeting in person, she discovers Claire and partner Leon want a "unicorn", a term for a third person who joins in on an established relationship. Jill's about as inexperienced as it gets, but with her job at stake, she'll do just about anything.

1. Special Nanny for our Unicorn

(Author's Note: This story is also available to read on AO3)

The best mornings of my life are the ones where I can just stand in front of the mirror, watching my chest rise and fall with each breath.

I savor the clean air, the slowness of the moment, the birds chirping in the background, the occasional car or two breezing past my bedroom window. I savor the bright sun shining its light over my fading scars. I even appreciate my softening features. The way my body feels less and less like stick and muscle, and more like a human being's. Flesh. Curves. Soft skin.

Today I close my eyes for just a little bit longer than usual. I opened the window a couple of minutes ago, and the warm summer air seeps through, embracing me. It smells fresh, of flowers and freshly-mowed grass.

It's been three years since Raccoon City. I hate talking about it, dwelling on it. I wish I could go back to normal. Pretend I'm like every other woman in her late twenties, worrying about things other than countering bioterrorism attacks.

The clock flashes from 8:59 to 9:00, and I remember that I can't live in this moment forever. Sometimes it feels like every battle I've fought means nothing, because I wake up every morning to the sounds of Jarod, my boss, blasting me through my computer speakers. Literally.

"Valentine. Do you copy?"

He still won't tell me how he bugged my computer. He turns the camera and microphone on at will. According to him, I'm on call. BSAA never fucking rests. He claims he only spies in during our daily, um, "meetings", but I don't trust him. I keep a sticker over my webcam. I had to move my vibrator to the living room. Sacrifices.

"Valentine. Get your ass over here. Stop playing with yourself."

I sigh and plop down in front of my computer, slowly peeling the sticker off the webcam, if not for nothing, to drive Jarod crazy.

"Stop with the sexual innuendos. It's not like you," I gripe.

"Stop taking everything I say as an innuendo and get your head out of your ass," he grunts back.

"What do you want, Jarod?"

"Same thing I've wanted for almost eight months now, Valentine. Chris."

"You called me just to tell me that? Trust me, I know, okay? I'm doing my best."

He moves his face closer to the camera, as if that's somehow going to intimidate me.

"You have one job, Jill. We're not paying you to sit in your room and stare out the window. Find him."

I almost slam my hands against the desk, then realize I probably shouldn't. "I'm trying, Jarod. The dude's impossible, okay? He has no family, no close friends, and literally disappeared without a trace. He could be dead for all we know."

"He's not dead," Jarod states matter-of-factly.

"How do you know?"

"Because Chris is tough as shit, and he's also smart as shit. That's the problem. We don't know who he's with. We don't know if he's even on our side anymore. You were the one working closely with him."

"We worked together as a team. You know him just as well as I do at this point." I shift in my seat, hoping I remembered to put on a bra. "I doubt he's betrayed us. For all we know, dude's hiding in plain sight, hoping we don't find him, because he's sick of STARS and BSAA and all of your bullshit, Jarod."

"Watch it, Valentine."

"Suck it, Jarod."

He rubs his head. "Try the sister."

I roll my eyes. "Wow! Try Claire? Thank you, I would've never thought to try to track down his one surviving family member."

He raises his eyebrows.

"I can't find her," I admit in defeat. "I tried months ago."

"Maybe circumstances have changed."

"Maybe the Redfields don't want to be found and we're wasting our time."

"Fine. Maybe BSAA is wasting its money giving you a paycheck."

I fold my arms. "I'm doing my best, okay? One day at a time. If you'd learn to have the tiniest bit of faith in me, like you used to, you wouldn't be bugging my room and shitting your pants at every little setback. We've survived an infected population. We can survive not knowing where Chris is for the time being."

He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it, then opens it again. "Just figure it out. You're a smart girl, Valentine."

"Bye Jarod."

I stick the tape back onto the webcam and turn my computer speakers off. I don't know if he's still listening in or not, but I don't really care at this point.

— —

I spend way too much time in public doing research that should probably not be done in front of other people. Ironically, it's where I feel like I have more privacy. I can go somewhere and feel reasonably assured that I'm not bugged.

I hope.

Usually I start my day with some sort of inkling, some sort of lead or idea or residual thought that fuels me through what will inevitably be hours of fruitless research. But today I have absolutely nothing. The conversation between Jarod and I loops through my head over and over, like a broken record. I'm too pissed to concentrate.

That's how my days usually end. Being too pissed to concentrate.

But it's too early for the day to end, and Jarod's temper is only getting worse and worse. I straighten my back, trying not to lean up against the dusty counter where the computer's perched. I type "Chris Redfield" into a search bar, as if I haven't tried that a million times before. Maybe this time, it'll turn up with something.

Chris Redfield, a fifty-something year old lawyer in Pennsylvania. Chris Redfield, a teenager with a blog that nobody reads. Christopher Redfield, a pediatrician with the worst teeth I've ever seen in my life. I lament that Chris was given such a common ass name, and that he's not a lawyer or teenager or pediatrician with buck teeth.

Yet still no Chris. Not my Chris, anyways.

A lady next to me taps me on the shoulder. I jump for a second and almost screech. Then I remember it's not socially acceptable.

"Hey, can you do me a favor?" she asks. She's probably in her early thirties, bleach-blonde and far too pretty to be talking to me.

My jaw just sort of drops. I have no social skills before 11 AM. Hell, I don't really have social skills, period.

She taps a perfectly manicured nail against the counter, and I watch as a couple of micro dust bunnies flitter under her fingers. It's easier to watch dust bunnies race against a countertop than confront my social faux pas.

"Do you mind watching my stuff for me? I have to pee, like, so badly." She speaks like a high school valley girl, like all those antagonists in bad WB shows.

"Um, yeah," I sputter.

I feel my face fall as she saunters away. She's probably the first person I've spoken to face-to-face in a solid month. Maybe two. How sad is that?

I eye her stuff. A Chanel bag. A coffee cup with lipstick stains on the lid. A tiny bottle of suntan lotion, which has absolutely no use in this dimly-lit room, yet it's open, with some of the lotion oozing through the hole.

In my quest to be nosy-but-not-too-nosy, I peer over to her computer screen. I always hope that one day I'll catch somebody looking at something really weird in public, but it's usually people doing work or research. Like I'm supposed to be doing. Occasionally, someone will be online shopping, but they're never buying anything interesting.

To my surprise, her screen's got an advertisement up:

Looking for a Special Nanny for our Unicorn!

I couldn't imagine trusting a woman who uses suntan lotion indoors to watch a child, but then again, I'm in no position to judge.

Serious applicants only. Email for more details. We hope you can be the perfect fit for us!

I'm just about ready to roll my eyes and focus back on the Chris Redfields of the world when I happen to spot the poster's name.

Claire R.

A tiny, irrational glimmer of hope shoots through my body like a volt of electricity. My heart rate speeds up. Claire R.

Valley Blonde returns, cutting my thought process off, bringing me back down to earth.

"Thanks. Nature called, like, crazy."

"You're welcome."

She closes out of her window, and I realize that if I stare too long, it'll start to get creepy. Then I remind myself that there's probably a million people out there named "Claire R.", and I'm only getting excited because it's been months, and I'm dying for any sort of clue I can find.

I let the thought pass. An hour goes by sitting in front of the computer, or maybe only five minutes. My brain's in a fog. I can't think of anything.

Jarod's going to kill me.

Valley Blonde leaves after some time. The Claire R. post wanders back into my brain. It sits itself down, sticking onto me, the words repeating themselves.

The odds were so slim. Practically none. But they weren't zero. At this point, I knew I had to jump on every possible little opportunity available to me.

I type nanny, unicorn, and Claire R. into the search bar. The same post pops back up. It's on one of those free-for-all sites, where you can find a job, an old couch, and a prostitute all in one sitting.

Email for more details.

I get ready to draft up an email, only to realize that an email from Jill Valentine of BSAA might be a little intimidating for someone who's looking for a nanny for their kid. Then I remember that I have no idea what I'm getting into, and that I probably don't want to give away too much about myself.

I'm working like a mad man now. I go to create a burner email address, then get stuck on a name. Then somebody's phone goes off. Dancing with Myself by Billy Idol. So I name the email address billy12345 . Then I remember I'm a girl. So then it's billie12345 . My mind's deteriorating a bit in my desperation to apply for this stupid nannying job.

Hi,

I'm interested in this position. Can you give me more information? My email is billie12345 .

I click send before I have time to question myself.

— —

I literally spent that entire evening refreshing my email over and over again. I think I pressed the refresh button every two minutes. I needed an answer. If it wasn't her, which it probably wasn't, I could at least get the thought out of my brain and move on to other dead ends.

Finally, at 7:54 PM, my billie12345 inbox dings. It's a response.

Great!

As of now, it's just me and my partner. We're looking for someone to complete our family in the best way possible. What is it that you're looking for? I'd love to see if we're on the same page!

- Claire R.

I've never typed a response so quickly in my life.

Hi Claire,

So sorry it's just you and your partner. Do you not have family around?

What am I looking for? I can't tell her I'm searching for a missing man through a UN-sanctioned biohazard response team. That's probably a little intimidating.

I'm really flexible. Just looking to see what's out there and keeping my options open.

- Billie

I click send. I figure it's best to be as vague as possible, just in case.

I get a response almost immediately. Guess she's online.

Billie,

You're too funny! Sadly, my family is not around anymore, but I won't bore you too much with personal details. Not yet, anyways.

There's a blurry picture of a winky face separating the paragraphs. I fixate on the "no family" part. Now this is getting interesting.

What does your availability look like? I'd love to see if our schedules match up.

- Claire R.

My fingers are practically flying off the keyboard. My heart's really racing now. What the hell am I getting myself into?

Claire,

I'm super flexible. I'm willing to go along with your schedule, as needed. I'd love to be a perfect match for your family.

- Billie

I'm tempted to ask about the child, but then I remember that I want to keep it as vague as possible. The longer I can hold Claire R.'s interest, the better.

Billie,

You sound like you might be a good match for us. Can you send a picture? I've attached mine to this email. My partner's asleep so I'll wait until the morning to snap a picture of him.

I click open the picture. It could've been a virus, and my whole computer could've been wiped clean, but I was too far invested.

A picture of a young-ish girl pops up onto the screen. Mid twenties, maybe late twenties. She's pretty in a sort of innocent looking way. Her brown hair's tied up into a cutesy ponytail. Her blue eyes have a sort of cute sparkle to them. Maybe this picture was taken before she had the kid.

Her nose and her jaw look a whole lot like Chris's.

Now I'm really, really fired up. I peel the tape off my webcam, hoping to god Jarod's not spying on me. I take a blurry picture, giving it just enough lighting to see that I'm an actual human being, but not enough detail to reveal my identity fully, just in case.

Claire,

Here you go! Promise I'm real and not a creeper in disguise!

- Billie

Her response takes a few moments. I think my heart's going to rip itself out of my chest. There's a tiny glimmer of hope that it's her, that Claire Redfield has somehow been hiding in plain sight.

Billie,

I love the haircut! It frames your face so well. Super cute. Are you available to meet tomorrow around noon? You can come to the house and have a cup of coffee. No pressure, we can just chit chat and get to know each other before getting into this.

- Claire R.

An invitation to go to her house. It's either really exciting, or the perfect way to get murdered. But I'm too far in now.

Claire,

Would love to! Send me your address and I'll be there at noon.

- Billie

It takes her a few minutes, but eventually she sends me the address. I map it; a cute bungalow that's only about fifteen miles from my apartment.

Perfect.

It's late, and the pressure behind my eyes tells me it's time to go to bed. I'm excited. I usually know better than to jump to conclusions, but there's a tiny, microscopic chance, and that's more than I've had in months.

Sadly.

— —

I take "not meeting until noon" as an opportunity to sleep in, for once. The warm sunshine coming through my window feels so nice against my body. My blanket has never felt so comforting before in my life. I keep my eyes closed. Part of me is comfortable, and part of me knows that once I get out of this bed, the nerves are going to kick in.

I'm about to go meet a stranger at some random residence under the convoluted hope that she's Chris's sister.

What the hell am I doing?

By about 10:30, the nerves overtake the comfort of my bed. Rationality almost kicks in, but I'm not ready to give up just yet. Just in case.

I notice the light on my webcam is on. Jarod's probably been trying to get ahold of me for a good hour or so. I throw an old tank top and shorts on and peel the sticker off my webcam, hesitating before turning my computer speakers on.

"The hell are you doing, Valentine?" Jarod blares through my speakers.

"Sorry. I was asleep," I fake-apologize.

"Are you being serious right now?"

I debate telling him whether I have a lead or not right now, since this whole thing is still, um, totally crazy. Instead, I just sort of continue the fake apology.

"I'm not feeling real well," I lie.

"You look fine to me."

I lean closer to the webcam, his favorite intimidation tactic. "Lady issues."

Like every man on the entire planet, he recoils in horror. "Tee-em-I, Valentine."

I shrug.

"Just, um, give me a few hours to get myself taken care of, and I'll get back to you later this afternoon?" I don't mean for it to sound like a question, but it kind of does.

Jarod rolls his eyes. I don't know whether he's buying my bullshit or not.

"Fine. Go take care of yourself." I can tell he's trying to keep from laughing.

I roll my eyes. "The innuendos, Jarod. Gross. Stop."

The tape goes back over my webcam, and my speakers are off.

By 11, it occurs to me that I should probably have some sort of backstory, to avoid completely embarrassing myself. I remember they're looking for a nanny, so I quickly scribble down some made-up children and made-up babysitting experiences. I nannied a five year old last summer, a ten year old the school year prior, and a couple of toddlers, for good measure. I hoped she wouldn't ask too many questions, because I literally know nothing about childcare whatsoever. In fact, I knew nothing about this kid or the situation I was about to get into, because I was too damn stupid to ask. All I knew was that her name was Claire, she had no family, and she wore a ponytail at some point in her life.

By 11:35, I've almost completely talked myself out of it. That is, until an email pops up on my computer.

Billie,

Looking forward to seeing you in a little bit! Remember, there's no pressure. Let's just have a cup of coffee and chit-chat. We're probably both a little nervous right now!

- Claire R.

It's too late to back out now. I grab a backpack and my revolver. Probably overkill, but you never know what situation you're going to find yourself in. Then I remember the little scrap of paper just as I'm leaving.

Brandon, five. Caroline, ten. Ella and Mia, toddlers of an undetermined age. What's the age range for toddlers again? I'll just say they were toddlers.

My hands tightly clutched the steering wheel the entire eighteen minute drive from my apartment to the address that Claire R. sent me.

You'd think I'd be used to venturing into the unknown, with everything said and done, but it's these moments of planned uncertainty that are the worst. The moments when you're consciously throwing yourself into an unknown situation. I've never been the impulsive type, either. Then again, Jarod's never been as big of a hardass as he's been recently, so people can change.

The house is a bit bigger than what was pictures. It's not too big, but not too small; friendly in a charming sort of way. The faded olive-green paint on the outside gives it a sort of rustic look that most people would probably find abhorrent, alongside the browning grass and the small layer of weeds painting the cracked driveway. A lone SUV sits in the driveway. It's got a couple of dents on it here and there, nothing to raise any eyebrows. I'm in a nice neighborhood; one of the little housing developments that middle-class families flock to as soon as the pregnancy sign says "positive".

Here goes nothing.

I don't even make it to the doorbell before the front door swings wide open, revealing a ponytail and a shaking body and a set of glimmering, hopeful eyes. I wish mine looked like that.

"Um, hi! Are you Billie, I assume?" Her voice cracks. The way she shifts her weight around, you can tell she's not used to being nervous.

Her face is so familiar. The nose, the lips, the jawline. Almost as if I've seen her before. But I know I haven't.

I nod. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be nervous too or not.

Claire shoots her hand out. It's shaking so badly that I don't even know whether to return the gesture or not. Her eyes plead with me, so I do.

She whips her hand away as soon as I start to pull mine forward. "Um, do you want to come in?" Her voice is a little stronger than it had been, but still fueled by nerves.

I step inside. It would've been the perfect opportunity to scope the scene out for danger, but all I can do is focus on her face. All of the features. Every last little detail.

She sticks her hand back out. "I'm Claire. Claire Redfield."

I thought I'd heard it in my imagination at first. Time stopped, I think.

Is this real? Did my stupid impulsivity pay off? Maybe my mother was right about a woman's natural intuition. Or something like that.

"Billie," I sputter. My knees are weak. The room's spinning. I want to grab her hand as tightly as I can, like she'll somehow escape if I let her go.

Claire Redfield is standing right in front of me. She'd been living fifteen miles away from me for who knows how long. She'd been right under my nose the whole time.

Maybe Chris is, too.

She shoots me a look, and it takes me a minute to realize she's expecting me to tell her my last name. I almost say "Valentine", then remember that I'm supposed to be undercover. I mean, nobody said I had to be undercover, but I'm too far in.

"Um, Easter."

Billie Easter? That's really the best I can do? I kick myself in my head.

"It's really nice to meet you," Claire beams. She's relaxing. She's probably going to Google me later. Good luck with that.

We wander further into the foyer. There's a tiny end table perched next to a set of double doors; probably an office. A glock sits on top, shining under the comfy incandescent light.

Claire shrieks, opening the little cabinet underneath and shoving the gun inside. She doesn't have to know that I've got one in my backpack.

"Sorry. My partner, Leon, he's a cop. Sometimes his little 'artifacts' get left behind." We both know she's lying. She was just as nervous as I was.

I glance up above the end table. A cute portrait hangs above it; Claire and a tall young man with a mop of dirty blond hair clinging to his head. He's chiseled and, in perfect honesty, quite handsome.

"That's you and Leon?" I ask.

She nods. "I know. He's a looker." She laughs nervously. "What do you think of him? Do you like what you see?"

I'm not really sure how to respond, so I just sort of nod awkwardly and wander over to the next picture. It's Claire and Leon with a pretty little blonde girl. They're each kissing one of her cheeks. It's cute, if not a little staged.

I point to the picture. "This is?"

Claire taps her nails against the frame. "That's my daughter, Sherry."

"Oh." I remember this is what I'm supposed to be here for. "How old is she?"

Claire rolls her eyes and laughs. "Fifteen. She's out with friends right now. I haven't been able to keep her at home for more than twenty-four hours a time since school got out."

Fifteen? A fifteen year old needs a nanny?

Claire completely misreads the look of confusion on my face. "I know what you're thinking," she jabs. "I didn't have a baby at, like, ten or anything. She's adopted. It's a long story. I'd love to tell you sometime."

Words lose me. I have no idea what to say, or what I'm about to get myself into.

She grabs my wrist quite firmly, as if I'll be the one running off if she lets go. "I brewed some coffee. It's a single origin from Colombia. You'll like it even if you're not a coffee person. Let's sit in the living room and chit-chat."

"Right."

She pours us cups of coffee, somehow managing to perfect the balance between cream and sugar in one try. The only person I ever knew who could do that was Chris. Which makes the whole experience that much more jarring.

"Retrospect, this probably would've been way less awkward if we met for lunch or coffee or somewhere public. I didn't think about it. I was just excited to find an actual unicorn. And a pretty one, too."

I take several sips. Now I really don't know what to say.

"Um, thanks. Yeah, I guess that would've, um, made more sense," I ramble softly. "So do you have, um, any other kids?"

She sort of rolls her eyes, as if she doesn't want to talk about kids. "Not at the moment. Leon and I are thinking of trying when Sherry's off at college. We don't want her to spend her high school years feeling like she has to babysit a baby sibling, you know?"

I've never been more confused in my life, and I've seen some shit.

"So, um, you made the post, special nanny for your unicorn..." I'm at a squeaky whisper at this point.

Claire freezes. "That's the code, isn't it? For couples looking for a third person to join them?"

You know those movie moments where someone hears something so shocking they spit out their drink? That about happened to me. Thankfully, I threw my arm in front of my mouth just in time to catch the drippage.

She rubs her face. "Oh. God. This is awkward...did we, maybe, have different understandings of what's going on here? If this isn't what you're looking for, you're more than welcome to go."

It takes me a good thirty seconds for the reality of the situation to fully wrap itself around my brain.

I found Claire Redfield, hidden in plain sight, looking for a threesome on a sketchy-ish website.

I've battled literal monsters before. Somehow, all of this was more shocking.

I look between Claire and the door. My options flash before me. I can tell her that this was a gross misunderstanding and walk out the door, losing the only lead I've managed to find in ages. Or I can stay and play along with, um, wherever the fuck this is going.

I stay.

I shake my head. "Oh, no! That's, uh, that's what I thought you were looking for?" It sounds more like a question than a statement. "I just wanted to make sure that, um, you were using it as a, you know, as a code, too."

Her whole body relaxes. "Oh thank god. Don't judge me, but I think I would've literally died from embarrassment."

What about me?

"Understandable," I reassure her. "Me too."

She slumps in her chair. "So, uh, tell me a little bit more about yourself, Billie. What do you do? It's gotta be pretty badass if you have a flexible schedule."

I'm still in a state of shock. My brain's not fully capable of coming up with a palatable backstory.

"I write," I manage to mutter. I've never written anything substantial in my entire life. Do high school essays count?

"Oh, wow, a writer!" Claire looks genuinely excited. "That's so cool! What do you write?"

The STARS team once told me I'm the worst liar in the world. I'm wondering if Claire will catch my bluff, too. Maybe she'll chalk it up to nerves.

"I um...It's classified." I sound like a bitch, so I soften up. "I'll be able to tell you once I, uh, get to know you better."

"Oh. I get it. Trust me. Leon and I have been in our fair share of classified situations."

I want to ask, but I know better.

We continue conversing. I relax a tiny bit. She dominates the conversation, thank god. She tells me about the joys of parenting a teenager. I tell her about how my upstairs neighbors at my apartment drive me nuts because they play music at 2 AM. She shares a horror college story, and so do I. Small talk. Boring things people talk about at dinner parties. As if this whole situation were normal, and not totally fucking bizarre.

Finally, after a while, she shifts forward in her seat, changing the subject.

"So, I have to ask. What is it you're looking for?"

"Looking for?"

She giggles. "The unicorn stuff. What sort of, um, setup were you hoping to find?"

"Um." I don't know what to say. I don't know how any of this stuff works. I don't know what the hell I'm getting myself into.

Thankfully, she cuts me off. "Leon and I, we love each other, but we came into this relationship under some, um, crazy circumstances. It's been a whirlwind. So we're kind of looking for someone to ground us? Does that make sense?"

It doesn't, but I nod.

"Like, I know a lot of people just sort of want the one-night-stand-threesome thing, but we were hoping to find someone long-term. Someone who's not just joining us in bed, but also in life." She giggles. "That sounds a little corny, doesn't it?"

I shrug. "It's okay."

"So basically, we were hoping we'd find someone we could build a bond with. We want to explore ourselves in multiple ways. Romantic, platonic...sexual." She whispers the "sexual" part, as if it were embarrassing, as if we weren't here sipping coffee under the pretense that a threesome is supposed to go down in the near future.

"So you want a long-term unicorn?" It sounds so dumb coming out of my mouth.

She shrugs. "I mean, it doesn't have to be a big commitment, but at least for longer than one night. We'd love to take it slow. Explore ourselves, you know?"

"That's exactly what I was looking for," I blurt, hoping I can sell the lie. Maybe my skills have improved, at least marginally.

She beams. "That's wonderful! Wow! I think we both got lucky!"

Did we?

Her phone rings. She shoots up, nearly dropping her coffee.

"Shit. I forgot I'm supposed to pick up Sherry. She's probably super pissed at me right now. Teenagers." She smiles, rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

"Yeah." I pretend to understand.

She walks me toward the door, then pulls me into an awkward hug. "I'm going to talk to Leon tonight and see what he thinks, then I'll email you? Then maybe the three of us can get together and just see where things go?"

"That sounds good."

"It was really nice to meet you, Billie," Claire muses as I swing the door open. She plants a last-minute kiss on my cheek before gently shutting the door behind me.

She smells good.

—

Normally, in weird and stressful situations, peoples' minds race. Not mine. My mind went completely blank for the entire eighteen minute drive home, and the entire two minute walk up to my apartment, and the entire three minutes and forty-five seconds it takes me to change into sweatpants.

I found Claire. No, I didn't just find Claire. I found an in. I have the opportunity to form a long-term relationship with her. Build trust. Then she just might tell me where Chris is. My mission has the tiniest glimmer of hope tied to it.

But I could only have my answers in the weirdest fucking circumstances imaginable.

I don't know if I can do it. Can I really pretend to be interested in this for a long period of time? I think back to all the trainings I had to go to on undercover missions. Nobody prepared me for "pretending to be a couple's third person for potentially sexual shenanigans".

I go to research "unicorns", having to adjust my search terms a billion times to make sure Google knows I'm talking about fucking threeways, not cute sparkly horseys with horns. I find an interesting article on "setting the throuple boundaries" when Jarod calls me.

"Valentine!" he shrieks through my computer speakers. "Where the hell have you been? You've gone MIA all day!"

I grunt. I'm tired of Jarod's bullshit.

"I've been chasing a lead, Jarod," I mutter, wondering if I'm going to regret saying anything.

"On Chris? What lead?" he asks.

"A lead," I reply back in an annoyed tone. "I'll tell you later."

"What do you mean you'll 'tell me later'?"

"If I tell you now, it'll ruin my chances of being able to follow through." A complete lie. I'd just rather not die from embarrassment at the moment.

"I don't know whether I can trust you or not," Jarod groans.

I click out of my unicorn article, wondering if he can see my computer screen, too. Fucking creep.

"Fine. Don't trust me then. That's your problem."

He sighs. "Just...keep me updated? I know you like doing things in the dark, but I'm a lights-on kind of guy, okay? I need to see what's happening."

"Jarod," I mutter. "You are seriously disgusting."

He ends the call. Not even two seconds later, an email from Claire pops up in my inbox.

Billie,

Leon and I talked and, if you're willing, we'd love to pursue this more. Are you interested in meeting up with the both of us? Just let me know. I'd be happy to give you my number.

- Claire

There it was. The penultimate moment lied before me on that retched flickering computer screen. How far am I really willing to go to find Chris?

Apparently, this far.

Claire,

Count me in.