Page 8 of Jagged

Zay leaned back, his eyes on his notepad. "Gross," he said, as if finally catching up on the tale.

"Yes, but unique." Ainsley held her finger in the air. "Which struck me differently than the others," she said, finally answering his question.

"There was evidence of sexual assault in all cases," I added after rolling my eyes at Zay. "Can you confirm, Ainsley?"

"Yep." She closed the files again then pushed them back toward us. "No DNA was found in connection with the assaults, but there was some taken from the bodies. I asked the crime lab to pull that info for you. Want me to take you up?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

We stood with her, and I snatched the files off the desk before Zay could. Annoyance trickled inside me when I glanced at him. He was inexperienced, I understood that, but being unprepared or emotional when receiving information irked me.

Ainsley led us to the elevator where she swiped her I.D. badge followed by a thumb print in the biometric sensor. The doors opened for us, and we rode with her up six floors, only to exit into a white-washed hall. Every inch of the place appeared spotlessly clean, brilliant white, and edged in rich black. The sleek, excessively modern design of the floor gave off a sci-fi feel, as if we stepped out of a spaceship onto another planet. The clinically cold colors weren't the only unusual aspects. As we walked down the hall, the windowed areas allowed us to observe space-age machinery whizzing about. Mechanical arms grabbed, moved, and plucked things from countertops and placed them at workstations. A few workers bustled about in full protective gear, making them appear like astronauts, but with a softer touch.

"This place is unreal," commented Zay, his eyes wide as he gazed around in awe.

"Isn't it?" Ainsley used her I.D. plus palm print to lead us through a series of doors as we made it through the long halls. "State of the art and best in the state. I think top in the country as well at this level."

"I'm here for it," I added, allowing a bit of my own wonderment to seep through.

At the far end and protected by double-entry security unlike the other labs, we finally arrived at our destination. The last door opened with a soft hiss, announcing our entrance. The pristine workspace, most of which had automated robotic equipment doing a lot of the work, sent a rush of eeriness tangled with excitement through my core.

In the far corner, the movement of something more natural drew my attention. A woman, somewhat taller than me with dirty-blonde hair tied back into a neat ponytail, shifted her position to gaze into a microscope. She wore a white lab coat, similar to Ainsley's, but unlike her, she wasn't wearing scrubs. Tidy slacks fell neatly to the ankle of her heeled boot, and an unseasonably warm blue sweater filled the gap where the coat parted. She didn't look up at us, acknowledge our existence, or seem particularly bothered by our entry into her space.

"Clem," called Ainsley, before hopping up to sit on one of the empty stools by the desk filled with neat papers.

The woman didn't respond. Instead, she fussed with a slide pinched by the stage clip of her microscope. She adjusted the course with her white-gloved fingers, then fell still again.

"Oh, Clementine," Ainsley announced in a sweet sing-song tone.

A smirk tugged the corner of my mouth when I heard the woman's full name. It was different, like mine, and I liked that.

She tossed Ainsley the keenest glare, her eyes twinkling with a tangle of annoyance and amusement. "Can I help you?" Clem's speech carried a lilt to it that I didn't expect. An air of sharpness, tangled with a mild accent that told me she spoke at least more than one language like Tati.

Ainsley giggled her head off, then held her hands palm up along with her shrug.

"Don't do that anymore. Now tell me what you need." Clem narrowed her eyes, her lips pursed as if she fought to hold on to the limit that she just set with Ainsley's silliness.

I noted right away that Clem didn't address us and kept her focus solely on Ainsley. I couldn't quite tell if she was anxious or annoyed, and the mystery of that intrigued me.

"Information, of course." Ainsley patted her arm and Clem seemed to settle down, as if the mild gesture repaired any pinch in the relationship Ainsley's overbearing silliness caused. "These are my detective friends—"

"Friends?" whispered Zay in my ear. "Are we friends?"

I elbowed him and kept my focus on the other two.

"Cold Cases?" Clem's interest seemed to rise in that context, and her gaze flickered to mine.

The fluorescent lights above brought an unusual doll-like quality to her petite features, including brightening her already twinkling hazel eyes. When my insides warmed, I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of my jeans when she held my gaze a second longer than comfortable.

"Yes, Cold—" I began, but she cut me off.

"There are many holes in your jeans." Her brow crinkled as she stared at my legs. "Are you bleeding?"

"Uh…n-no. That's paint." I turned my palm over to show her the speckled stains on my hands that matched my pants.

Her eyes widened, and her gaze returned to mine before she looked back to Ainsley.

"Clem, this is Jagger." Ainsley gestured between us. "And her partner Zay." Ainsley seemed to roll right with the situation with ease.

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