Steve hadn't forgotten about Andrea's offer to return for some more information on his ongoing case. Her words had seemed sincere, and this far into the game, with countless possible scenarios ahead of them, it felt like a viable lead to follow up on.
Except for that nagging voice in the back of his head that warned him of the possibility that Mike was right and that she was their killer, possibly setting him up to be her next victim.
Unfortunately, at this point, there was only one way to find out.
His window to head out for an hour came sooner than expected when Mike got called into a meeting with Conden, discussing ways to keep the press at bay during their high profile case; giving Steve precious time to sneak out, and come back shortly after his partner would be done, calling it a lunch break or meeting with a stoolie.
His decision to keep these meetings from Mike for now had more to do with his own curiosity, than to spare his partner the relentless eye-rolling. Then there was the undeniable fact that the Lieutenant would call Andrea to the carpet and tear apart each one of her statements, just like he did with any suspect. And yet, for some strange reason, if her talents were indeed authentic, this treatment felt too much like an undeserved punishment in his book.
A couple minutes after Mike had left the bullpen; Steve casually reached for his beige overcoat, cuffs and revolver, then shoved the case file under his arm. Crossing the office with only Sekulovich noticing, he headed for the elevators, giving himself extra time on his journey south toward Andrea's salon.
Humming a cheery tune as he pushed the down button, Steve reached for the car keys in his black dress pants, his long fingers tracing each token until they found the ignition key.
With a ping, the elevator doors opened and he casually glanced ahead, ready to step inside, when he found himself face to face with Conden and Mike.
Nearly dropping the file in his arm, he took a step back to give both men room to exit, trying hard to hide the surprise, and downright horror, in his expression.
"Going anywhere?", Mike asked rhetorically, his blue eyes scanning his partner intently.
"Meeting with a stoolie.", Steve lied, then coughed, when he almost choked on his saliva.
"Who are you meeting now?"
Knowing that he had raised the Lieutenant's suspicion and would inevitably get dragged into a relentless question-answer game, he pointed at his wristwatch, before scooting past the Chief and his partner, managing a nervous smile.
"One of the old timers. I am running late already. I'll fill you in when I get back."
Quickly pushing the down button, Steve felt himself break out in a cold sweat, as the staring contest between Mike and he continued on for several endless seconds. Those expressive blue eyes seemed to bore holes into his skull, looking for answers to his peculiar behavior, sensing his nervousness like a predator sensed the fear in his prey.
Finally, long overdue, the doors closed again, and Steve leaned against the back wall of the car, sighing heavily, wondering if the charade truly was worth all that effort.
Then again, there was only one way to find out.