Answers Bring Problems

“Sinead, Jules,” the Captain boomed as he crossed through the Detective's desk area heading for his office. “Excellent fucking work. Here’s your reward.” The big man slammed down a stack of paperwork that needed filling out. “Silver and Vale and handling the retail interrogations, and Forensic Finance is handling the accountant.”

“Um, what?” Sinead asked incredulously. “Why do they get to swoop in and take a crack at our perp?”

“Orders from on high,” the Captain shrugged. “Everything you put together for the raid raised flags up the chain. High-ups think this might even get bumped up to CSIS in time if the banking shit ends up being international.”

“That’s not even CSIS’s job,” Jules said.

“The Mounties then,” the Captain said with a roll of his eyes. “Or someone Federal, at least. Either way, your names are on the arrests. Who cares what Forensic Finance gets out of the pencil pusher? You’re the ones that broke the case wide open. You want more glory out of it, you’re going to need to do more of what you were already doing.”

“Yes, sir,” both women grumbled, and the Captain stalked away towards his office.

“This is such fucking bullshit,” Sinead said under her breath once the Captain was far enough away not to hear it.

“Yeah, says the woman who mysteriously put together enough evidence to cobble together a multi-site raid,” Jules hissed. “What exactly were we doing to get all of that info, Sinead?”

“Nothing, just following the money like I said at the start,” Sinead shot back. “You bothered me for weeks about hounding it solo, and now you want to rag on me for you not following along?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jules said. “It doesn’t add up, Sinead. Earlier this week you were running on fumes and couldn’t get your head out of your ass, and then in four days all of this comes together.”

“Just take it for what it is,” Sinead lied. “Hard, dogged work that should earn me back into your good graces.”

“Yeah, well pull your weight on this paperwork and maybe I’ll call us square,” Jules sighed, then smirked. “It’s only right considering all the paperwork I covered for you.”

“Fine, you got me,” Sinead said, holding her wrists out as if she was going to get cuffed by Jules. “I’m all yours, Detective.”

“Damn straight, Detective,” Jules said.

Sinead took in a breath and then grabbed the top sheets of the stack. What a way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

Marc checked his watch again, frowning deeply.

“A drink, sir?” the waitress asked him politely.

“Excusez-moi, I’ll wait a moment longer,” Marc said with an apologetic smile. The waitress left him to himself with a simple nod.

Marc was being stood up. He wasn’t mad so much as… disappointed. The Detective would have made an enjoyable dinner companion for a night, and working on her little case had been fun. Most of his work these days wasn’t actually with the numbers, he had people on his team for that. He worked on the people more than the raw data, so digging into it on her case had a nostalgic quality alongside the fun of knowing it was clandestine.

But now the Detective was MIA, and he was doubting she would show up. Not even a text or a call had come through.

He was being ghosted.

Marc sighed and took out his phone, shaking his head to himself as he hit the first number on his speed dial. It rang twice before she picked up.

“Bonjour, dear,” Felicity’s honey-warm voice came through.

“Your accent still needs work, ma petite fée,” Marc said. “And it would be bonsoir at this time of day. Pardon, I didn’t call to give you a language lesson, though. Have you eaten tonight? I’ve been stood up.”

“She didn’t,” Felicity scoffed.

“She has,” Marc said.

“Well, I’ll be along as soon as I can, dear,” Felicity said. “Blue tonight, I think?”

“The blue would be lovely,” Marc said, thinking of the dress she was mentioning. He’d gotten it for her last year and it had a plunging neckline that she joked always made him smile after a long day.

“I’ll see you soon, dear,” Felicity said.

Marc hung up, shaking his head again. Why was it the only women in his life who were dependable were his secretary and his whore?

Sinead looked at the restaurant from the outside. The paperwork had taken most of the afternoon, but it wasn’t the reason she was sitting out in her car instead of in the plush seating, eating fancy whatever-they-served across from Marc.

No, she was out there because she couldn’t go in. It was absurd, really, what he was asking. It was sexual harassment. It was creepy. It was…

God, she felt like a stupid teenager with all the wrong ideas in her head. Or her gut. Or somewhere else. Meeting Marc was a bad idea. She knew that. So why the fuck had she even driven here? She hadn’t dressed up at all; she was still in her pantsuit from work. She probably still had the smell of ink on her fingers from all the signatures and notes she’d had to record.

Sinead watched as a woman walked from just up the street. She was gorgeous, rocking an amazing dress that hugged her curves in all the right ways. The blonde woman had on earrings and a necklace that Sinead could spot as impressively real from across the street, and her tits… God, those were some great tits. The woman opened the door to the restaurant with a self-satisfied smile and entered.

“I don’t belong in there,” Sinead shook her head, talking to herself.

It was a bad idea all around. She needed to just walk away and write Marc Fornier out of her life. It wasn’t like he could come looking for her at the station or anything. Plus, he didn’t strike her as crazy. Or, well, that kind of crazy at least.

Sinead glanced at her phone again. Still just one text from him, a simple question mark. It had come in almost forty-five minutes ago. She put the phone down and reached for her keys, turning over the engine and letting the car thrum for a moment before she shifted into gear and pulled out onto the street.

Doing anything else was definitely a bad idea. Sinead didn’t date suspects.

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