Ultraviolet ✔️

7.1

Chapter Seven

It's raining again and Joel and I are rushing toward the station from the parking garage with our jackets over our heads in an attempt to stay dry. My heart is pounding, my head pushing questions of whether or not I'll be able to stop Karen's death at me a hundred per second. I want to lock this case down.

There's a high that comes in an investigation. I've never felt it before because I was never front and center, but now that I am, I can't tear myself away. I'm chasing something on a whim, yes, but I won't stop until I get what I'm looking for.

The guy at the front desk catches sight of Joel, furrowing his brows and staring down at his lap defeatedly. It's nice not having his eyes follow me for once in my life. I don't care if he has the wrong idea. I don't even care to wonder what he's thinking. I'm focused on this task right now.

We step into the elevator and I push my wet hair behind my ears, glad that I wasn't wearing any makeup that could be messed up by the rain. I didn't have time to put it on this morning, and it actually paid off.

"Can you tell me something?" Joel asks suddenly as he pushes the button for our floor.

"What do you mean?" I ask. The elevator lurches as it begins to lift upward, and I reach for the handrail to support myself. I end up a little closer to Joel than I'd like to be, and I don't know what to make of the proximity. There are two inches of space between us where we're both holding on, and if I closed it, we'd be touching.

It would be the first real contact since I shook his hand, since I watched him get shot.

I slip away, trying to be as subtle as possible about it.

"Just something... anything about you." I know he probably thinks it's a long shot and that I won't answer. Normally, that would be correct. Instead, I'm trying to make this run as smoothly as possible. It's just a question, after all, and he's trying to be polite. I decide to ease up a little and try to think of something.

"I'm majoring in sociology, mostly criminology specifically," I begin, but he cuts me off.

"Not something most people already know," he says. "Like, what's your favorite two am snack?"

"Lucky charms with almond milk," I reply. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Not much," he answers. "But now I have to ask, why almond milk?"

"Because I'm lactose intolerant." It's a small detail, one most people don't pay attention to. Most of the time, I take special vitamins to help me with eating. You'd hardly know I was allergic to anything in the first place. It's a forgettable thing about me, but something tells me Joel is going to remember it.

"I never would have guessed."

"It's not that noteworthy."

"It could be if we're ever looking into your background and diet."

I glance at him incredulously. "Why would H2 be looking into me?"

"Maybe you committed a crime?" he offers.

I haven't. Not yet, anyway.

I snort. "Anything else you've got to ask me, detective?"

"How about your shoe size?" he asks playfully.

"Eight and a half. You?"

"I'm asking the questions, Vi." He arches an eyebrow, reaching out to hold the door open for me. "I've got one last question."

"Sure."

"If you're right about this, and the times don't match up on this guy's alibi, can I take you out for dinner?"