ANGEL BLUE [1]

LEAD 27: a hunter and his game

      “How was your date?” I ask Blake as I walk out of the bathroom, tussling my hair with a thick towel.

      Blake attempted to sneak in without me noticing; little does he know that it’s a dumb move to sneak around when your flat mate’s a Detective. He looks rather dishelved, not his usual persona when coming home from a renound ‘date’―he usually brags about his conquests or at least tells me the girl’s name so I can pick her out of a crowd next time, but Blake does no such thing. He just looks away from me and tosses his hoodie on the couch.

      “Okay,” I drawl and flick the towel over my shoulder. “I take it that nobody got based.”

      “Shouldn’t you be at work?” Blake counters.

      “Day off,” I say.

      Though my day offs usually just amount to me chasing killers around Manhattan until I ask for a time out or drink break, oh well, at least I can run three blocks in my boots. In fact, today I’m planning to wrack my brain over the case with Sam and Banks. With half of our case out the window thanks to Helena, I have to reassess everything and figure out Q’s actual motives and the game he wants to start.  

      Blake and I stare at each other for a few moments; we’re polar opposites of each other. I’m the epitome of relaxed (for once) whereas Blake’s shoulders a bunched with unreleased tension and looks like he’s one word away from imploding. The dark bags beneath his eyes and malicious sneer makes me wonder what exactly happened between him and his said ‘date’.

      “Got any plans for today?” I query.

      “I was going to get a taxi to West Forty-Second,” Blake clears his throat, “to the, uh, Public Library. I better head off.”

      I make a hum of interest, even though I couldn’t really care less about Blake’s little endeavours. However, as I turn around to put the towel back into the bathroom, I see the bundle of books and printed pieces of paper bundled in Blake’s arms. I try to keep my gaze discreet but Blake turns towards the door again, forgetting his hoodie despite the winter chill outside.

      I think I just found out what I’m going to do on my day off. I smirk slightly and walk into the bathroom, scrubbing the steam from the shower off the mirror and hang the towel on the railing before pawing around the couch for my phone. Once I retrieve it, I tap Sam’s contact.

Me:
To the library.

      Sam’s reply is immediate.

PRAT:
To the library?
I’m sorry; did I miss the call to battle?

Me:
Sarcasm does not make you funny.
Blake is suspicious of us, I say us as in Diablos.

PRAT:
And he knows this how?

      Technically I don’t know that Blake’s onto something, the only proof I have is the Diablo research regarding the JH Complex and I ‘accidently’ set that alight as soon as I sent the photo of it to Nikita. Blake’s been careful not to leave his laptop or written notes/cut-outs of newspapers anywhere for me to find.

      My attention drops to the pockets of Blake’s black hoodie, the garment of clothing that’ll protect him from the ensuing winter. I place my phone–still awaiting a response to Sam’s message–on the arm of the couch and scrounged around in the pocket to reveal three newspaper clippings regarding the press conference, Blake highlighted a particular side article and the date on the paper is today’s.