Guilty as charged.
I stared at her in silence, watching the enthusiasm flicker in her gaze.
“What’d you find?” I asked, indulging her.
She rose to her feet, the file in her hand as she walked around the table. The shirt stopped high above her knees, its hem brushing against her alluring thighs.
Before the sight awakened something within me, I looked away almost immediately.
“Listen, the witness places himself at the northern depot at 14:30,” she began, stopping in front of me.
I listened in silence.
“But the transport record for that date shows the depot was under a full lockdown from 13:00 to 17:00. Routine inspection. Nobody in or out.” She turned a page. “So either the inspection record is falsified, or the witness statement is. One of them is wrong.”
I stroked my jaw, settling onto the nearest couch. “There’s that. And there’s also the fact that the witness might’ve misremembered the time.”
“Misremembered? Are you kidding me?”
“It happens. People misremember all the time.”
“Yeah,” she said, her tone sharp and offensive. “But not dockworkers about depot lockdowns. Those usually cost them shift pay. There’s no way they’d misremember.” She paused, holding my gaze.
“What’re you insinuating?”
She crossed her arms. “That someone wrote that statement for him. Same way someone wrote Vetrov’s.”
I stared at her in awe, legs crossed, my mind brimming with pride and respect.
“Tell me I’m wrong.” It was a dare. The kind you make when you know you’ve done the work and tied up all loose ends.
After a moment, I said, “You’re wrong.” Not because she was. But because I was enjoying her analysis.
“Oh, yeah? Then why was the file closed without addressing the inconsistencies in the timeline?”
I let out a quiet sigh, rising to my feet. “Files close for reasons that may or may not have anything to do with inconsistencies.”
She walked over to me, closing the gap between us. “Files like Daniel Vetrov’s?”
I stopped in my tracks, cornered by her small frame. In the silence that followed, I looked at her, catching the flush in her face from the force of the argument.
“Tell me, Karik,” she said, holding my gaze. “How many innocent people are rotting in prison because of whoever you’re protecting?”
Silence.
She stood her ground before me, those hazel eyes boring into mine, defiance flickering in their depths. The stillness stretched on, and with each passing second, the moment built toward something neither of us had planned.
My eyes traced the curve of her mouth before dipping to her chest. Her peaks were poking from underneath her shirt, visible and enticing. The sight ignited a fire within me, one threatening to consume me whole.
Her scent was intoxicating, fanning the flames burning inside me. The longer we stared at each other, the more clearly I saw the desire in her eyes. The air was thick with tension and something darker—something sexual.
I watched her chest heave with controlled breaths, her pale skin glistening under the soft light. My heart raced in anticipation as an invisible force slowly brought our heads together.
She was tense, and for some bizarre reason, so was I. I leaned in closer and closer until I could mirror her face. She didn’t pull away. She didn’t push me back either. Her fresh breath was warm against my skin, my lips barely an inch from hers.
I could almost hear the sound of her heart pounding against her ribs. The previous defiance in her eyes had now dissolved into something vulnerable.
Her body trembled when my lips grazed hers for a fleeting moment. And just when things were about to escalate, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
