A Study In Pink

There was no way this arrangement was going to work. She had already moved my stuff to get what she wanted. Now, she was rolling around on the chair like a bored toddler, upside down with her legs bent over the backrest and her head hanging off the end of the seat cushion.

The file folder had been open in her hands for the last few hours as if she would actually be able to gather any usable knowledge from the useless pages. I was sure she had already memorized every detail, anyway.

She was strange, but I understood her for the most part so far. I had a feeling that she was high functioning autistic when I saw her screwing with her Rubik's cube and moving around nervously. The way she touched certain things with textures was also a clue—if she hadn't told me of her diagnosis herself, pulling down the velvet book to make her feel the fibers had confirmed it.

That moment was nice, calm even.

Then she turned around and moved the order of things when I didn't give her what she wanted. I had to stop myself from smacking her on the ass, for discipline or my own benefit because those jeans were doing wonders? I didn't want to acknowledge the truthful answer.

But regardless of her ability to irritate me so thoroughly, I thought she was cute. Her striking red hair was pulled into a high ponytail that spilled in shiny waves halfway down her light pink long sleeve that sat an inch above her waistband, but she tugged on it a lot to hide her belly button in a nervous tic.

Those magical black skinny jeans had caught my eye more than once, and I made sure to hit myself internally every time, but I never learned my lesson. Her big green eyes seemed to struggle with keeping eye contact, which was another sign of her neurodiversity but her stubbornness had overruled that a couple times whenever she caught me staring. I would silently cheer her on the longer she could handle it, she probably practiced regularly.

The consistent metronome-like sound of the toes of her Chucks tapping together was starting to drive me insane. I wanted to bark at her to sit up correctly but I knew she was doing it to annoy me as punishment for the complete deadend case file in her palms. An exaggerated sigh left her as she hung upside down, I tried to ignore it.

She said earlier that the Captain was her father, and it had only just occurred to me that Jocelyn Fairchild was her mother. The Butcher of Salem herself.

Jocelyn was known to have the same mental skillset as Clary. She was truly a brilliant mind with a tenacity for puzzles, the same as her daughter I was sure based on the cube that seemed to be glued to Clary's hands. They looked extremely similar the longer I studied the woman across from me.

At the time, I was only twenty-one years old and a Uniform when her mother was convicted six years ago. The department was in ruin and nobody trusted the Captain since they didn't believe his own wife could kill and dismember seven people, possibly more since she didn't want to speak up about any other bodies that hadn't already been discovered. She was tricky that way, she always wanted to create puzzles.

Another exaggerated sigh left Clary's rosy lips though she made sure to do it louder this time. I snatched a squishy gray stress ball from my desk drawer and pelted her in the soft abdomen. A startled yelp replaced the sigh. "Quit it," I ordered.

She sat up and spun around to sit normally, squishing the ball between her fingers. "Throwing things is beneath you," she quipped and tossed it back.

I caught it in one hand. "As being childish is beneath you."

Green eyes rolled. "I'm bored. Are we done here yet? It's nearly 6 o'clock." She looked down at her smartwatch with a dissatisfied face. I hadn't realized what time it was, I supposed I was too busy trying to figure her out for the past few hours.

I exhaled through puffed cheeks. "Yeah, we're done here." My computer powered down with a jingle. A thought popped in my head as I stood. "Give me your phone number." My phone slapped into her hand before she could reel back.

Her cheeks pinked and she looked me up and down warily. "Is that usually how you ask for a woman's number? A bit abrasive, don't you think?" She tucked her free hand into her back pocket. I could tell that I made her nervous. Good.

"Oh, you misunderstand, princess. Captain has made it clear that you're my responsibility now as my partner, so I need a way to contact you in case of emergencies or spontaneous crime scenes," I explained while I slipped my arms into my jacket.

"I guess that makes sense," she mumbled and tapped her number into a new contact template before handing it back to me.

"Sweet, do you need a ride home?" I admit the tone that slipped out wasn't the nicest, but I hadn't meant it to sound irritated—I was just still on edge about the whole ordeal of being told my detective vision was getting cloudy. It had been a real kick to the balls.

The tint of her cheeks darkened with a slight cringe and she avoided my eyes with a grasp of her elbow. "No, I have a ride. Thank you, though."

"I…didn't mean it to come out that way," I murmured, chewing the side of my cheek.

"It's no big deal." She gave a weak smile and scooped up her green backpack with a turn on her heel to the door. I sprinted ahead and opened it for her, making sure she saw me shoot her a wink. She acted like she hadn't noticed but I saw the real smile she stifled.

We walked in silence to the elevator, where I pressed the lobby button and she clicked the second floor.

I raised an eyebrow and leaned on the reflective wall. "So where do you and Cap live?"

"You assume I still live with my father," she said as a statement.

"You live alone?" I asked.

"Is that such a surprise?"

"Only because you seem to be working for free and in this economy, places are expensive," I shrugged.

I knew it was an excuse for my real thoughts—she was a dainty, incredibly beautiful woman, and I knew the monsters that prowled the streets since I was the one to help catch them on a near daily basis. Rape, burglary, assault—every case imaginable was entirely too common these days and frequently came across my desktop more often than I would have liked. I suddenly didn't feel very good about letting her leave my sight, but I guess the police Captain was her father and could keep her just as safe.

"I was given an inheritance," she said shortly, giving a subtle hint that she didn't want to talk about it, though my interest was piqued. Not that we would have been able to discuss any further anyway since the elevator doors opened with a ding and she stepped out like her ass was on fire.

"I'll see you tomorrow, princess. 7 o'clock, don't be late," I said quickly before the doors closed once more.

I had to admit I wasn't too certain she would show up tomorrow. Maybe she would give her father a sad look with her big doe eyes, telling him how brutish the detective was and how unsatisfied she was with the caseload. Good, perhaps I would get my space back and not have to worry about my things getting moved or disordered because a spoiled princess doesn't get what she wants.

But bickering with her was sort of fun—I quite enjoyed pushing her buttons until her face turned the same shade of pink as her shirt. Not to mention her discovery with the Midnight Crawler case was brilliant, truly, though I didn't want to admit that aloud because my ego was already too damaged.

The elevator released me from its steel box into the lobby, where I again had to dodge Natalie's attempt at seductive eyes. It was pitiful, really. I had taken her on one date for the hell of it a couple months ago but felt absolutely nothing the entire dinner. I felt even less with her after she tried to whip out my dick without my permission on the drive to take her home. So I decided not to waste either of our time with a second date. Judging by the way she stuck out her tits every time I was around, she didn't agree with my decision—clearly.

I closed my car door behind me and slumped back against the bench, scrubbing my hands down my face in an attempt to whisk away some of the fatigue that scraped my bones.

Today was rough. I was still covered in drywall and probably a healthy amount of asbestos from that old house. The Uniforms did an awful job sweeping the place, they hadn't even glanced in the attic or they would've found the guy crouched between the trusses with the knife used for the murder clutched in his hand. I narrowly avoided being sliced and diced by falling through the ceiling, which still hurt like a bitch but it beat getting shanked.

I threw the car into reverse and was on my way to back out until I saw a blur of pink out of the corner of my eye. The car lurched with the brake as I watched Clary leave the building and stroll with quick short steps across the parking lot.

Didn't she say she had a ride?

She walked over to the blue bus stop awning and plopped down onto the bench with her phone in her hands and her earbuds poked into her ears, totally oblivious to her surroundings.

I didn't like that. The bus was one of the most dangerous places these days, especially with sunset approaching quickly. But I shook away my worry, because she wasn't my problem. She had proved that she was a big girl and could do things on her own, including but not limited to getting her way whenever she wanted.

Still, my stomach was pinched, so I decided to stay parked and make sure she at least got onto the bus okay enough.

It didn't take long for the hisses and groans of the gray vehicle to make itself known from around the corner until it came to a stop in front of the redhead. She perked up and bounced on her feet up the steps before she disappeared behind the tinted windows. Satisfied, I pulled out of the lot and began the drive home.

But I really wasn't satisfied enough the longer I drove and stewed about the situation with the bus. Did she even know any kind of self defense? Did she own pepper spray? Would she really be able to defend herself if a junkie cornered her?

"Fucksake," I grumbled and pulled out my phone to send a text.

Text me when you get home safe, it read before sending with a whoosh. I had to reread it several times to make sure that it didn't sound weird. That sort of request was totally normal…right? I'm an officer of the law, it should be normal to ensure people's safety. I don't know, maybe I should have phrased it differently.

Just as I pulled into my garage, my phone dinged with an incoming text.

Just got home. Thanks, detective. I sighed in relief and let my nerves cease their tension.

Good god, I hope she doesn't show up tomorrow.