Page 108 of Jagged

"We have Dr. White's final reports and there's one demo company that matches all the composites. The warrant is on the way," his voice sounded rushed but also distracted. "I'll send you the coordinates."

"Thanks." I drew in a slow breath and pocketed my phone. "I have to go, Clem."

"I was wondering how long it would take before they called you," she said, her attention all over the place before her gaze flickered to mine. "The genetic testing revealed a link to a criminal record for a man who owned a demolition company back in the late nineties. There's now a female name on record of owning the business."

"Why didn't you tell me when you got here?"

"Because work is done. This is more important." She motioned toward the gallery floor. "To be here to celebrate Tatiana."

"Until we get interrupted." I frowned at the notion as I looked over at Tati, happy as can be with Reagan on her hip and Wyatt by her side. She chatted it up with everyone who approached her, Kanika a liaison in the middle. "I hate being interrupted."

"I understand that. Do you want me to go with you?"

"Um…" I thought about it then shook my head. "My fast answer is yes, but it's for selfish reasons. Can you support me by staying here with Tatiana and letting her know I had to go for work?"

"Of course." Clem held her hand to me, and I accepted it, offering her a gentle squeeze. "Anything you need."

Her words hit me heavier than I thought. Part of me expected her to get annoyed at me for having to leave or insist on coming along. Clementine was different, and in that moment, only one word could describe my feelings: trust.

After a warm kiss, and a final glance in Tatiana' direction, I headed out to face the one thing I didn't want to deal with, and that alone was enough to ruin all the joy that built up that day.

It took me a few minutes to meet up with the team outside the precinct after a half-jog, half-cab road race. With cars loaded, the FBI and multiple units at the ready, we headed out as soon as Walsh's phone rang with notification of the warrant.

"Where are the Millers?" I asked Caroline who drove the black SUV where Zay and I rode.

"They're not allowed this far," she answered. The man in the passenger seat, who I didn't know, said nothing but stared ahead.

"Why not?"

"There's a breach team ahead of us, about a mile away from where we're landing. We're walking into a demolition company, filled with the prospect of an explosive adventure. Bomb techs are leading the way in this one and we don't need P.I.'s as collateral damage."

"Remind me not to tell your friends that."

"You won't. S'not like they don't know." Caroline scoffed. "They're pains in the asses."

"I mean, true."

"They're gonna show up anyway," muttered Zay.

"No doubt."

Sirens screamed around us, but as we drew closer, leaving the outskirts of the city for the tree-heavy suburbs, the units grew quieter. First the sounds, then the lights, until we were nothing more than a pseudo funeral procession. I stared out the window, my vision blurred by the rain trickling down the glass. In the fleeting moment of internal solitude, I grew more aware of my emotions, and the sensation of hollowness inside me. I did not want to be here. In fact, I didn't want to be anywhere near here.

My mind flashed to my first ride, with handcuffs encircling my wrists, in the steel-lined bus that transported me to juvenile detention. Caged windows carried the same rain streaks, marring my vision but capturing how I felt inside. Now, in this moment, I couldn't say that I felt any differently. A look around me would further reveal the dissonance felt by my position and the consequences of my choices. I was the one who chose to be here, who leaned into risk, who accepted something far too quickly. I wasn't someone who harbored regret, almost never, but with my situation as it was today, I regretted the decision I made two years ago. Looking back, I now had the perspective enough to realize that, at the time I decided, the choices were limited; stay as I always was or take a leap of faith. I leapt. I did that, with my own feet, but here I sat, wishing I hadn't. I never expected to mourn my previous life, my prior career path, my situation of yesterday, but I did. And awareness of that grief process fell heavily on me today while waiting for the moment we solved a long-wrought case. The solace often afforded by finding answers for families did not feel as consoling as it used to, despite the hearty circumstances ahead.

I glanced down at my hands in my lap, my fingernails clean and tidy in an uncharacteristic way, presented as a contrast to the image in my mind. In that moment, I felt trapped, shackled, and chained to a scenario that I didn't want. Or need. Anger rolled up my middle, over my shoulders, to clench my fists. Resentment spiraled inside me, interrupted only by Donovan's firm pressure on the brake.

"Gear up," she called out after tucking the SUV behind the row of armored vehicles.

We threw on our vests, my attention as dissociated as my rage, and only the sound of the ripping straps grounded me for a moment. My fingers grazed my concealed carry behind my back, and I gulped down the emotions meant to be stifled while at work.

"You good?" asked Zay, to which I nodded.

It wasn't he or I who led the way onto the dark, swampy grounds demolition company. Bomb techs, SWAT, FBI, and whoever else led the charge. I was happy to let them. The faster this case ended the better, for all involved. It was only then that I realized how very much I'd separated myself from all aspects of this case. I wasn't invested, not in the least, and the details of it hardly haunted me. I saw how Maggie and Sali ran around like wild women trying to hunt down even the smallest clue. I was happy to let them, knowing my laissez-faire attitude was no way to approach police work, and by doing such, I might've caused more harm than good. I definitely didn't cause any accountable good.

We followed Donovan and some folks from the Homicide Unit into the area, once the bomb techs waved us in. No explosives were detected, at least none beyond the controlled ones that belonged to a place like this. The pathway up the dirt road divided in two. To my right, the company grounds, with a commercial style building and all sorts of tear-it-down equipment littered the flattened gravel. It seemed ordered, as it should, with not much out of place. To my left, the road split off toward a paved area, and at the top, a weather-battered rustic home perched itself between a bunch of poorly kept trees.

"Roth, your team with Roderick's that way." She pointed toward the house, and I nodded.

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