It wasn’t as though Saffi hadn’t considered it. But she wouldn’t fit in with Andino and Taylor’s new friends, whoever they were. It wouldn’t be the same as the three of them getting utterly plastered on cheap whiskey for every occasion they could come up with. And she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from comparingit.
Besides, she’d been dying to get the two of them out of the office so she could finally implement a half-decent filing system.
“Thank you,” Taylor said, breaking her from her thoughts. “I appreciate it, really.”
“Don’t get used to it,” she muttered.
Infuriatingly, Taylor’s smile only grew brighter. “So, what do you make of her?” He gestured at the space where the car had just been.
Saffi shrugged. “I’m not you. I don’t make anything of anyone.”
She liked to think she was similar to her father in that regard. Her job was to gather evidence and the law would take care of the rest. It always did. Inserting too much personal bias into the narrative would only end in disaster. And Saffi did not play losing games.
Saffi bristled at the look Taylor gave her. “What?”
“Nothing, just…you’re not usually that antagonistic. Not even with Atlas.”
“The hell is that supposed to mean?”
A thoughtful expression crossed Taylor’s features. “I can’t tell yet whether you hate her or respect her, but it’s clear she gets under your skin.”
He was already heading back inside before Saffi had the chance to be properly offended.
“You coming?” he asked over his shoulder. It was his birthday; she wasn’t allowed to start an argument with him today and he knewit.
Saffi almost followed him, but when the shade hit her cheeks, robbing them of their warmth, she hesitated. A kaleidoscope of brown and gold. She stepped back into the sun.
“Maybe later,” she mumbled, wondering just how much antagonism it would take to know a woman who did nothing but lie.
Chapter Twenty
May 13, 2026
Knowing that Saffi,Atlas, and Eli had known one another for several years was one thing, but to witness it was something else altogether.
Dimple found it was much easier to pinpoint Atlas and Eli’s bond. It was apparent in the way they anticipated each other’s needs, passing over documents without having to ask—without even having to look. There were several instances when Dimple had been certain the two of them were on a collision course, only for them to slide past unobstructed, a hand clapping over the other’s shoulder in a quick greeting to confirm that, yes, they had known the other was there the entire time.
It was slightly more challenging, however, to pinpoint where Saffi came into the picture. At first, Dimple had attributed her years abroad to the apparent chasm between her and her coworkers. But then she’d witnessed Eli handing his phone over to Saffi, his parents on the other end of the line. And how eerily similar Saffi’s and Atlas’s thought processes were at times. There was also the mirroring: three pairs of legs crossed at the exact same time, three nods of approval for the price of one. A casual, almost frosty intimacy.
There was also the matter of the case. Dimple had poked and prodded, but nothing. It truly seemed that Atlas and Eli had no knowledge that Dimple herself was a suspect. Either that or theywere far greater actors than even she. It almost felt like a personal affront that Saffi had been able to keep up with Dimple with one arm tied behind her back.
But if no one except Saffi knew of her guilt, then Dimple had nothing holding her back from killing her. When it was done and over with, she could mourn alongside an Atlas and Eli who were none the wiser. She’d wrongly assumed that Saffi wouldn’t be as careless as her coworkers had been. It might’ve been disappointing if she hadn’t been expecting it. Of course Saffi could only keep up with her for so long.
While Dimple didn’t see much of Saffi when she was in the office, the men were fascinating company when it came down to it. Where trying to glean information from Saffi was a lot like interrogating a brick wall, they were much more malleable.
Eli kept her at arm’s length, but he was at least kind and had something of substance to offer. Similar to acting, confidence was key in undercover work. He taught her how to orchestrate a situation to her liking—that causing a scene could sometimes work to divert attention from herself.
“If you need a reason to speak to someone, the easiest way is to bump into them,” he’d told her. “Literally. Spill a drink or, better yet, make them spill a drink on you. It also works if you need a distraction.”
Dimple found herself using his advice in auditions as well. Treating every scene like the conductor of a symphony. She must’ve been doing something right, given she’d made it through several rounds already.
Atlas, however, was helpful in another way. He stammered through explanations of pressure points that could bring a man to his knees and methods to break out of holds, but Dimple liked him for the opportunity he begot.
It presented itself in the constant tripping over air in Dimple’s presence. When she would try to help him clean up his messes, he’d implore her to stay put and that he didn’t want her to get dirty. When she’d try to help him up, he’d refuse her hand and scramble to his feet with red ears. She’d never been treated so preciously.
Learning the dynamic at Andino and Taylor Private Eye and, more importantly, Dimple’s place in it was a precarious thing. As little as she saw of her, Dimple knew Saffi was watching her like a hawk. As a precaution, she didn’t dare try anything before now.
Eight weeks after being released from the hospital, the wrist brace finally came off. Dimple felt thankful for it as the weather grew steadily warmer. And just in time for the start ofInsomnia’s promotional season.
