Late evening rolls around, and he finds himself sitting at home at the dining room table in utter silence. Footsteps moving in his direction shift his focus back to reality. His eyes drift upwards to meet her glance.
"Does the name Trixie mean anything to you?"
Her face twists, and she offers a paced exhale. She shrugs, "Sounds like the name of a dog, or a lady of the night."
He furrows his brow, "Maybe both."
"I am certain that I will regret asking. What does this have to do with the price of tea in China?"
"That is the name of my new partner's geriatric dog."
"How old is her dog?"
"Fourteen," he recalls.
"And how old did you determine your new partner is?"
"Garrett is twenty five."
"An eleven year old named the dog, what do you really expect? It probably doesn't mean anything."
"You're probably right."
"You're being summoned," she points towards the stairs.
He shoves the chair away from the dining room table, "I am headed up." He turns to head for the second floor.
"Bobby?" She calls after him.
"Yes?"
"Not everyone is a mystery that needs to be solved. Some rabbits don't need followed down the proverbial rabbit hole."
"You're only saying that because you don't want me keeping you up with the light from searching the recesses of my mind, or the internet."
"I mean it. Let this one go. Some people value their privacy."
He looks up from the paperwork on his desk to find his partner studying him. She momentarily drums her thumbs on the surface of her desk.
"You move like an old man with that paperwork."
"I am an old man. I creak when I move," Goren answers.
"It's Christmas eve let me finish the paperwork. Certainly you have more important things to attend to."
"I find it disconcerting that you seem to know more about me than I do about you."
She winks at him, "Which is why I outrank you."
"Garrett are you a cyborg?"
"I wholeheartedly deny that. You love the tease of a puzzle so much you've nearly lost the ability to ask a direct question," she calls him on his bullshit.
"I just want to know how a twenty five year old becomes a Sargent, and lands in major case. Do you have dirt on someone who is obliged to pull strings for you?"
"I work my ass off. There is no secret to it. My parents died when I was fourteen. My aunt took me in. I didn't know how to cope, so I followed the only model I knew. I graduated high school by sixteen. I had my bachelor's degree by nineteen. I don't want to let the gifts my parents left me go to waste."
He nods, "That is why you are always the first one here, and the last one to leave?"
"Precisely. You can search for my motivation all you want, but all you'll find is someone who is just as hungry for justice as you are."
"I can respect that," he responds as he peers into her light brown orbs.
"Hopefully you respect me enough to allow me to polish off that paperwork."
"My typing pace infuriates you," Goren offers her a grin.
"More than nearly anything else in the entire world. Not only because of the pace, but also because I know you have a family to get home to. So get out of here."
He nods, "Merry Christmas, Garrett."
He collects his coat from the rack, and turns to head out.
"You can call me Bailey," she responds from her office chair.
He stops, and turns in her direction.
"Bailey, if you don't mind me asking, where are you planning on going for Christmas?"
"Nowhere. I signed up for the overtime roster."
"Bailey," he stops at the end of her desk, "I know you don't need me to tell you this, but burnout is…"
"A bitch?"
"Yeah, for lack of a better word. Don't give all of the pieces of yourself to this job."
"Aside from a geriatric dog, this job is all I have."
"There are usually left overs for what I am certain is a year after Christmas dinner. To the point that the dog won't even accept them after a while. No one would miss them if I brought you a plate."
"That is unnecessary."
"Consider it a personal favor to me."
She nods in agreement. Her honey brown eyes sparkle for a moment as she taunts him, "I'll put it on your tab." Her pearly whites reveal themselves as she tosses an ornery smile in his direction.