Page 37 of Jagged

"Welcome to active crimes. Going from Patrol to Cold Case is like going from unpredictable pace to mediocre pace. When cold cases go homicide, it picks up speed."

"Patrol was always a mix. Slow days, chaos days, riot days, sleepy days. It was everything on and off. A variety," I said, flicking at the tab of my energy drink can. "Cold cases slowed down hard core."

"It does. You pace it at your own go. Do you like that?"

I nodded, glancing up at her then. "It gives me time to think and plan. Took some adjustments though, at first."

"Of course. Sali comes in like a wrecking ball and Maggie applies the brakes. But it can be a lot if you don't know them."

"Did Sali always work like that?"

"Always." Donovan nodded as she stood. "And while she's brilliant, she'll always give new detectives the same piece of advice." She stopped at the door, her hand at rest on the jamb.

"What's that?"

"Don't be like her." Donovan nodded then disappeared around the corner.

Her ominous warning hung heavily in the air as I turned toward the window where rain pummeled the glass.

"Every time," I muttered as I stood. "Every single time."

When I finally made it to Clementine's lab a while later, I wore a jacket with a hood so that I didn't show up looking like a damp ragdoll. The security waved me in, providing me with yet another visitor badge, but with each visit, the transition grew smoother.

Clementine didn't expect me this time so when I made it to her lab, I found her hunched over a microscope while Celtic music played quietly in the background. Robotic machines whirred around her. Mechanical arms swung smoothly, with an agility that scared the crap out of me because of the space-age tech. I watched, in awe, as they circled her head, lifting tiny objects and placing them in their rightful spots. One after the other, as if she cast spells to make them do her bidding. It seemed otherworldly, and for a moment I felt like I tumbled into an alternative universe where superheroes soared over our heads to land on the Space Needle in romantic gestures.

The first thing I noticed about Clementine that day was the way her freshly cut hair lay smooth down her back; in a long, honey-hued V that tumbled partly over her shoulders at the first layers, then touched the belt of her lab coat at the very bottom. I caught myself smirking then started when her voice broke my reverie.

"He likes you," she said, her voice a thick croon.

"Huh?" I glanced around me then moved closer to her out of concern. "Who?"

"Artie." She leaned away from the microscope, but never looked at me. She moved about her workstation, lifting a slide, replacing it, then continuing to work.

"Who's Artie?" My brow furrowed as we stood in the empty room.

"Artemis," she said, without an ounce of explanation.

"Artemis," I repeated blandly.

"Yes."

Crickets chirped.

No elaboration followed and she didn't speak again. She didn't address me, welcome me, or even acknowledge my presence for what seemed like several minutes.

A gentle tap on my shoulder urged me to turn to my right. When the creepy robot arm appeared an inch from my nose, a gasp left my lips. I stepped back when its eyeball-shaped camera lens swirled around as if analyzing me. Across the metallic bar, the word ARTEMIS etched in black letters answered the question of before.

"Rude," I said with a huff.

A tiny snicker escaped Clem, and her gaze flickered in my direction. "Give him a pat. Don't offend him."

"I'm not petting a robot."

A tickle met the top of my head, and I slowly tilted my back to catch the motion of the freakish arm stroking my hair.

"Clem!" I ducked away from it, bolting to the side, and running my fingers through my hair.

She turned in her seat now, her eyes twinkling with mischief despite her only mild smile. Her shoulders remained relaxed as she folded her arms across her middle. As someone who rarely made eye contact, when she did, her gaze seemed to tear me to bits.

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