Page 123 of Nocere

Chapter Fourteen

Ainsley joined me for lunch later that week, and we sat in my office amidst my paperwork on the ongoing serial case. I tucked away some of the papers in neat piles so we had space to share a pizza.

"Your life has become a ball of excitement, Rosie." Ainsley grinned as she nudged my elbow.

"A little. It's stressful sometimes. Samirah has been a bit different with me lately, but she's had to work all week, so we didn't get a chance to talk about it other than our usual brief conversations between her cases. I'm staying at her place tomorrow, though. I also need to talk to Rebecca." I let out an exaggerated sigh and tore off a bite of crispy crust.

"About the parole hearing?"

I nodded and she patted my knee. "You want to face her now, don't you?"

"I want to tell her to go fuck herself. Is that what facing her means?"

"Yes." Ainsley chuckled. "A little. Come to the salon tonight. Jordan is working late then we're going to have a beer night in the upstairs apartment."

"Just the two of you?"

"Well, for us and all the girls working late. Frankie's doing some tattooing out of the shop so Jordan's booking later appointments for hair and stuff, too. We've got the craft beer upstairs, and ink and body art downstairs."

"Maybe. I'll think about it."

Ainsley scoffed. "No way. You go have dinner at Stella's with all those people, but don't want to hang out with me and Jordan? So rude."

I laughed and shook my head. "Samirah was with me."

"So? Is she your safety blanket? Can't I be your blanket?" She hopped up and tossed her arms around my neck, then proceeded to smooch my cheek a dozen times.

"Ainsley!" I cracked up as I struggled, playfully, against her. "Boundaries!"

"Blankets have no boundaries." She continued to squeeze me, though now we both laughed. "Please come hang out with us? I'll drive you after work and won't leave your side."

"Only if you promise to quit strangling me to death."

"Done!"

"Hooray." Ainsley giggled as she returned to her seat. "So, that's settled. What's going on with the serial case? The FBI is everywhere lately. Again. Not surprisingly. And you've given me extra work, mind you, so thanks."

"I'm not sure." I laughed at her topic jumping and clipped sentences. "I'm an analyst. Once I analyze, I move on. I'm working on trafficking cases right now and tracking trends."

"I know I've asked before, but things like that don't get to you?"

"A normal amount, but what I'm doing is work to help stop the bad things. It makes it better and meaningful," I said, gesturing to the computer screen that ran a data matrix while we chatted.

"Good for you." Ainsley smiled, her soft gaze as supportive as ever.

We both turned toward the door in time to hear boots thudding down the hall followed by the boisterous voice of a woman.

"I told you this case was a serial, Benji," the woman spat, and the sound of crunching papers followed. "Don't run away from me, jerk."

Detective Stiles' laugh echoed in the alcove near my office. "Go home, Sal."

"No. You should've told me." Again, the woman huffed and I looked to Ainsley.

"Your wife is gonna be pissed that you’re here. I thought you two retired your Rainbow P.I. badges." The distinct sound of a fist meeting a body sounded. "Ow, asshole. Calm your tits, Sal." Stiles chuckling remained, but the woman's tantrum continued.

"We're helping someone," she nearly growled. "And everything she said she remembered is now plastered all over the Seattle Times. We had this case a decade ago and I fucking told you it was a serial."

"Okay. Okay." Stiles sighed.

---