Page 15 of Jagged

You can't be an artist if you don't understand how light works, Jagger, she lectured, her voice echoing in my head. And if you don't understand that plants need light inside this glass, you're already a step behind.

I remembered that, every time paint landed in my palm. First the cans that I stole from the hardware store until they started locking them up, and then the cans I bought off older kids for favors and cash. I never painted a window again.

Brick walls were my specialty.

***

Thursday rolled around quickly, as it often did, and I sat in the conference room with Zay while we waited for the FBI to arrive. Instead of showing up at the woman's house for the interview, she requested to meet all of us at the precinct. It was on her terms, and that was okay with me.

"Your face is beet-red," he announced, after setting his doughnut down on the table beside his coffee. "What's the matter?"

"My heart is racing out of my chest," I replied, frowning at his snack. "Where's mine?"

"Your heart is pounding because you're downing energy drinks." He snatched the purple and black can out of my hand, then slid it down the table. "What do you expect? And your snack is three feet away." He pointed to the setup of snacks in the center of the oval-shaped table. "Get it yourself."

"Give that back." I made to snatch my drink back, but when he blocked me, I grabbed his food instead. "Ha." I stuffed a bite in my mouth and glared.

"Ha yourself," he grumbled and got up to get himself another one.

"Wow…" A loud, snarky voice boomed into the room. "No wonder this case is cold as fuck. Two assholes are leading it."

I looked up in time to see a short, dark-haired girl standing in the opening of the conference room. A scowl darkened her features under the messy fringe that brushed her forehead. With a hoody, jeans rattier than mine, and black and white sneakers to match, at first, I thought she was a teenager, but as she drew closer, that notion grew questionable. She came to stand in front of me when I turned my chair to face her, our feet toe to toe in an unusual display.

"Vans." She scoffed. "The inferior shoe."

I looked down at our shoes. Equal in age and use, but the messy scrawl on the soiled white toe of her Chuck Taylors set us apart. Sali ?'s Maggie, it read, in a childish declaration of devotion.

"Please," I shot back. "Vans far precede Chucks."

"Nope." The woman shook her head, pointing at my feet. "I recognize the drag of those toes, Skater. Give me Chucks or give me death." She lifted her fist in the air, and I laughed.

"Vans were the first skate shoes, and you know it."

"Technically, they weren't. The Randy followed skating barefoot."

"And Vans came right after that in '76. Don't even play." I smirked and rolled my eyes at her.

"Hmm." The woman glared at me, her eyes fixed on mine until two other women headed into the room followed by Chief Walsh. She glanced over her shoulder, and a woman with long, layered hair met her gaze. "Mags, I like this one." She jabbed her finger in my direction. "Feisty."

I sat up straighter immediately when I recognized the second woman as the former Detective Maggie Miller, and nearly flew out of my seat. The curly-haired woman beside her cocked a brow at me before dropping into a chair beside Zay. She picked up a doughnut, said nothing, and watched the scene unfold as if unbothered by the human life around her.

"Jagger has always been feisty," Miller said with a smile as she approached me. "Hey, kid."

"H-hi." I gulped as images flashed through my mind's eye of Miller in a patrol uniform chasing me down an alley and the paint can I sent flying in her direction. She caught it midair, tossed it aside, and chased me down until the tackle that smashed my face into the concrete. It was our first encounter, some twenty years before when my toes barely touched the edge of fourteen.

"You know her?" asked the tiny woman who moved on to the doughnuts and making growling faces at Chief Walsh. He rolled his eyes at her and puffed on his vape pen.

"We go way back." Miller held her hand out to me and winked. I shook her hand, and she gave it a squeeze.

"You're…Miller and Miller investigations?" I asked as the pieces began to connect.

"Miller." The short woman pointed at Maggie. "And Miller." She then pointed at herself. "What up, Jagz?" She tossed out my tag name, pressing emphasis on the Z sound.

"Ignore her," Miller the Taller said. "She pretends to know things and doesn't."

"For fuck's sake, Mags." The other woman flopped her hands at her sides in a sort of mini-tantrum. The curly-haired woman chuckled as her amusement peeked through.

"This is like a circus," called Zay as he stood beside Walsh. "Can I keep watching?"

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