The Blackout Girl ✔️

chapter four

Chapter Four

Nolan was up late, exhausted, and on his sixth cup of coffee for the night. He was sitting at the boardroom table with his hand pushing through his chestnut hair, assessing the files, the glossy crime scene photos, and the notes he'd scrawled on a crinkled yellow legal pad. There was a pen between his teeth, his lips wrapped around it as he skimmed over each word.

He tugged his tie looser, hoping to ease some of the tension in his neck. The clock struck midnight, but neither he nor Kaytee noticed. Time was escaping them faster than either could keep up.

"I spoke to the ex-wife of the first victim, George Naples, yesterday," she told him. "She's got nothing on what happened to him. The whole thing is a dead-end."

"Maybe we'll get something from the coroner," Nolan replied.

It had become the mantra for their unit ever since the case passed Kaytee's desk. The promised morgue reports for each victim were a hot commodity. They were taking their sweet time down at the office. It was time the violent crimes unit didn't have.

Price had been particularly cross that day, yelling at everyone who so much as looked at him. Nolan didn't express his frustration outwardly, but under the veneer of naivete, he was at the end his rope. It was hard to work from scratch.

Kaytee's hair was slipping from the band holding it back, but she didn't bother to fix it. "I feel like we're missing something. I have this instinct. It's like there's a massive clue right under my nose and I can't put it together."

"Don't beat yourself up, Tee," Nolan told her. "We're all stuck. It's not just you here."

"I know that. I do," she said. A pause came. "You've never given me a nickname before."

Nolan's cheeks flushed. "I mean—Well—"

"It's fine, Foster," Kaytee assured him. "Seriously. You're finally joining the family."

She sipped her latte, which she'd concocted with a whole lot of foam and the fancy new coffee maker someone had donated to their office a few weeks back. Nolan took his coffee with a splash of milk, but she was always one for the elaborate drinks. Kaytee Carlisle committed to everything she did, which was probably why she was here alongside him. He was here because he had something to prove, and she was here because she was a chronic workaholic.

Kaytee wiped her mouth on her sleeve and stared at the corkboard laying out the facts they had thus far. "I should go home. I would, but I..."

"Can't tear yourself away?" Nolan guessed.

She grinned. "Look at you, you're already catching on."

She slid into a chair and propped her feet up. It was an act that would've set Price off if he were there to see it, but thankfully, he wasn't. She'd taken her shoes off, now down to the tights she wore under her pencil skirts. One of her toes was poking out of a hole, but she wasn't bothered by it.

"My ex-boyfriend used to get at me for staying so late," she admitted. "He didn't understand it."

"He's not in the FBI. It's a game-changer to work here."

Kaytee laughed. "You can say that again. I didn't think this would be where I was after college, but I can't say I regret it. Maybe I should, since the most consistent thing in my life is a cat, but, hey, Fluffy is good company."

She was gorgeous. Everyone in their unit knew it, even if it was never something anyone ever explicitly said out loud. She always seemed so untouchable, so fiercely independent. Nolan had trouble imagining her with anyone. It didn't appear to be her greatest priority.