Athirdsigh comes, and I can’t take it anymore.
“Is something up?” I ask.
“Huh?” she murmurs.
“You seem… distracted.”
“I just love this place, that’s all.”
“And that makes you sad?”
“Who said I was sad?” she snaps.
I say nothing, tightening my grip on the steering wheel.
“Sorry,” she murmurs.
“You don’t have to apologize to me, Elle.”
Not now, not ever.
“Just being out here, it makes me wish I had my camera.”
Ah, that’s right. Details from the case return to me. There wasn’t much of an investigation, since Conti’s DNA was all over the scene. And anyway, I wasn’t on it for long. My resources were needed elsewhere. But I remember she had her first show that night.
“You’re a photographer?” I say, feeling like a deceiving ass.
“Hmm,” she murmurs. “The way the light filters through the pines, the way the trees catch some of it, turn it to shadow… it’s sort of, I don’t know, like life.”
“That’s too artistic for me, Elle. You’ll need to explain.”
She looks at me. Cheeks flushed. Vulnerability in her eyes. “It’s like hope is trying to glow, as if it’s trying to… to flood the world. But the trees are standing guard, making sure we don’t let our hearts open too much.”
My heart aches. I feel a tug in my chest that’s new and confusing and shouldn’t be there.
I’m a stone-cold killer. I’m a monster who kills worse monsters. I shouldn’t be feeling anything for this woman.
“That’s what you see when you look at those trees?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“That’s… special, Elle.”
She laughs. “Or maybe I’m just a wannabe. Ooh, look at me, Miss Artistic. Maybe they’re just trees.”
“To me, they’re just trees. To you, they’re more. And that means something.”
She shrugs. But I can’t leave it alone. Drawing out that spark in her felt significant.
“What made you want to be a photographer?” I ask.
“It’s not very interesting.”
I want to bellow. She shouldn’t downplay herself like this. Shouldn’t act like she’s not interesting.
“It is to me,” I tell her firmly.
“Why?”
