Decoy (Camren)

Chapter One

July 8th

I wake to my alarm, mentally cursing it as I reach over to turn it off. I push up out of my white sheets, walking slowly to the bathroom while rubbing the sleep from my eyes in nothing but an oversized NYU t-shirt. Even though my limbs are heavy, I continue with my morning routine of doing my hair and make-up in the tiny space. Jet-lag is a real bitch.

When I finish, I walk to the kitchen and make a cup of coffee before walking back to my room, trying not to look at the boxes that were still left to unpack, my living room acting as a storage locker. I take a couple sips of the hot brew before placing it on my set of drawers, abandoning it to find some clothes in my not-so-walk-in closet. I pick my favorite pair of charcoal dress pants and a simple white blouse, putting them on before slipping on my black pumps. I find my coffee and finish it while I pack up my things and slip my badge onto my waistband. I leave my bag by the bedroom door, going back to the bathroom to brush my teeth before exiting my apartment.

The taxi ride to the Seattle Police Department didn't take long, and I'm there before I even realize it. I step out of the taxi and pay the man, watching as his tail lights burn red to another destination. Looking around me for a second, the sky is grey and dull. Being back here, in Seattle, is weird for me. I can see certain buildings or pieces of architecture that look familiar, but I can't quite place my finger on it. I guess I have the accident to blame for that.

I sigh and turn on my heel, walking through the doors to the SPD. I have to stop and go through a security check before I walk into the main lobby where I come face to face with a picture of my father, decorated with the highest honors. I hear phones ringing off the hooks and constant chatter in the background as I continue to stare at the plaque on the wall.

"Hey, Camila!" I look up from the medaled police hero to find a handsome male with hazel eyes walking towards me, his hair a dark red.

"Hello?" I return, clearly confused as to why he would address me by my first name considering I've never seen him before. He looks me over once before sliding a hand over his freckled face.

"Shit, sorry, I forgot about your...um...condition." He sighs and holds out his hand. "Detective Kyle Matthews, your father used to be my training officer. We used to have dinner together every Friday and played football in the backyard afterwards," he explains as I shake his hand with a frown.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember you."

"Don't apologize, I know that with selective amnesia it can sometimes be temporary or permanent, and since it's been five years I just thought..."

"It's fine," I interrupt his rambling and he smiles at me before motioning for me to follow him.

We walk down a narrow hallway filled with young and old officers alike, flipping through folders or receiving orders through their walkie-talkies clipped to their uniforms. Kyle takes me through a room full of desks before going up a few steps and stopping in a conference room filled with rows of tables, like a classroom almost. We travel to the front of the room where he motions for me to have a seat. He turns to grab a stack of files situated on the podium as I lift my bag over my head and set it in the seat beside me.

"How was the move?" he asks as he organizes the papers.

"It was okay, I'm still not unpacked, though."

He smiles as he sets the files in front of me.

"What made you want to do undercover work?"

I shrug. "I was tired of homicide...plus the department said that you asked for me personally."