Sinead has a problem

Sinead woke up with a start as the ringing and buzzing of her phone vibrated on her desk. She grunted and wiped at her mouth, blinking as she looked around.

The Financial Forensics division office was empty. Not that it was hard to get there, considering there were still only three of them working it, but Sinead still felt embarrassed about falling asleep at her desk. A glance at her phone showed it was past 8 PM, and Jules was calling.

“Hello?” Sinead answered and then wiped at her mouth again. Her desk was an absolute mess of papers since she’d been trying to find herself any lead before Marc texted that he’d come through on his end. She needed a reason to not go meet him, and it wasn’t working.

“Girl, did I just wake you up?” Jules asked. “You sound like shit.”

“Yeah, well… yeah,” Sinead sighed. “Look, if this is about the date with Connor…”

“Wait, what about the date with Connor?” Jules asked. “As far as you both told me, it went ‘fine’ and he liked you. Did he get weird over texts or something? Please tell me he didn’t send you a dick pic.”

“No, no,” Sinead said. “It’s nothing. And it was nice.”

“Just nice though,” Jules said. “Then I guess you didn’t fuck?”

“It’s kind of weird talking to you about-”

“Oh, please,” Jules scoffed.

“No, we didn’t fuck,” Sinead said. “He was fuckable, but not fuck-worthy.”

“So he did send you a dick pic?”

“No,” Sinead said. “He just… he talked about his ex as soon as we got in the car, and he was weird about me being a cop, and the only thing he liked talking about was himself and being a doctor.”

“Oh no, poor you,” Jules said. “You had to listen to a hot doctor talking about saving lives in the ER.”

“Shut up,” Sinead said.

“Fine. I wasn’t calling about your Chastity Belt of a date anyway. I wanted to let you know that we’re keeping an eye on some possible mob bosses. Full surveillance and everything. Real mob bosses.”

“Wow,” Sinead said. “Low blow.”

Jules snorted softly. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Nothing about Le Français if that helps. But someone did come up on our radar. Guess whose name popped out on one of our phone record searches?”

“Jimmy Hoffa?” Sinead asked.

“Harrharrharr, bitch,” Jules said sarcastically. “Stop being a sore loser. This one is bound to cheer you up.”

“Just tell me then,” Sinead said.

“One person-of-interest Victor Berisha, suspected fixer and potential ringleader of a dozen different crimes, had what seems to have been a series of business calls with a former person-of-interest of yours.”

“Who?” Sinead asked.

“God, sometimes you’re thick, babe,” Jules laughed.

“Just tell me the fucking name, Jules,” Sinead sighed. “I’m too tired for this shit.”

“Fornier!” Jules crowed. “That froggy fuck who danced out of our interrogation. They know each other. Maybe you were close to the mark after all!”

Sinead let her head fall forward and thunk against her desk.

“I’m thinking of hauling him back in here for some more grilling. It’s not like finance guys have privilege with their clients, right? You want in on this? I’m sure we could figure out how to get you in the room.”

“Don’t!” Sinead grunted, sitting back up. “Don’t bring him in.”

“What?” Jules asked. “Why?”

“Look, I’ll explain,” Sinead said. “Just… don’t bring him in until I do, OK? I’ll explain tomorrow. Dinner at my place. This is an in-person conversation.”

“Sinead…”

“Seven o’clock, my place,” Sinead said. “Please, Jules.”

“Fine,” Jules said. “For you, I’ll push it back. But you better not be jerking me around here.”

“I’m not,” Sinead promised. “My place at seven.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Sinead mumbled to herself. She’d put off calling him until she got home. Now she was pacing in her living room, her legs feeling stiff.

“Bonsoir, Detective,” Marc answered. “This call is coming late. Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Sinead said, hating the fact that her knees went a little weak when he immediately asked if she was OK. “No, actually, it’s not. But it will be. I need you to be at my place tomorrow at seven for dinner.”

There was a moment of quiet over the phone. “Ma petite rebelle, I have a busy calendar and I do not yet have what I promised. If this dinner is about business, well, je ne vais tout simplement pas pouvoir accéder à ta demande. But if this is about pleasure, I may be able to work something out. Of course, between us, pleasure and business, they go together, n'est-ce pas?”

“Marc, just shut up,” Sinead hissed softly. “Please. Just… be here for seven, OK?”

After another moment of silence, which made Sinead regret her tone, he spoke again, his voice unchanged. “What will we be having for dinner?”

“I’ll cook something,” Sinead said, gesturing with her free hand as she looked at her kitchen. Her messy, lacking-in-ingredients kitchen. She’d been eating takeaway way too much recently and groceries were few and far between.

“Not haggis, I hope,” Marc teased her, and she could practically see his fucking smile.

“My family is from Ireland, not Scotland, you French ass,” Sinead said.

“My mistake. Peu importe en fait, tout le monde sait de quel côté de la Manche la cuisine est devenu un art…”

“Meaning what?”

“Fish, or Meat?” Marc asked. “For the wine, ma petite rebelle. I need to know what we’ll be eating to match the wine to it.”

Sinead sighed and stifled a groan.

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