Page 7 of The Rookie's Second Chance

She looked up, her gaze cool. "Good morning, Jake," she replied, her tone all business. Gone was the warmth I once knew. Before I could ponder her distant demeanor, chief Manning strolled over, a grim expression etched on his face.

"Got something for you both," he began, dropping a folder onto my desk. The headline read: "Convenience Store Break-In." I glanced over the details. Simple enough. Probably some teenagers looking for a quick grab. Or maybe someone desperate. Either way, it was our job to figure it out.

"Need you both on this. Seems the owner claims some valuables got swiped. Might not be as cut and dry as it seems." The chief eyed both of us.

I looked at Kayla, trying to gauge her reaction. She looked as eager to be paired with me as I felt about confronting our shared past, which was to say, not at all. Still, we were professionals.

We had a job to do.

"Alright," she sighed, grabbing her jacket. "Let's get this over with."

Rising from my chair, I gathered the case file and followed her. As we walked to the cruiser, I noticed the way she held herself—confident, yet somewhat guarded.

Sliding into the driver's seat, she adjusted the rearview mirror while I took the passenger side. The cruiser's engine roared to life, and we pulled out, heading towards the scene, each lost in our thoughts. The tension in the car was undeniable. But whatever was between us, it was going to have to wait. Duty called.

The convenience store was a rather unremarkable building, sandwiched between a laundromat and a barbershop. The neon 'OPEN' sign flickered sporadically, casting an eerie glow over the glass entrance.

We parked the cruiser by the curb and made our way inside. Kayla, taking the lead, waved me closer. "Stick with me, rookie," she quipped, her tone dripping with sarcasm. The dynamic between us had shifted from last night, and now it felt more like a dance—two professionals tiptoeing around the past while trying to keep their focus on the present.

The bell above the door tinkled as we entered, drawing the attention of the store owner. He was a middle-aged man with weary eyes and a slouched posture. He looked like he'd been through the wringer, and the sight of two officers seemed to add to his stress. "We're here about the break-in," Kayla started, pulling out her badge.

The owner nodded, wringing his hands nervously. "Yeah, they made quite the mess," he muttered, guiding us towards the back. Kayla shot me a look, silently telling me to listen and learn. I nodded, trying to pick up on her cues. We began taking statements, jotting down every detail.

"They took the cash from the register," the owner began, "Not surprising. But then they swiped some antiques and... stationery packs."

I raised an eyebrow. "Antiques?"

He sighed. "Yeah, I have a small section for them. Sort of a personal collection. A few pieces of jewelry, some knickknacks, and a typewriter."

"A typewriter?" I echoed, unable to hide my surprise. I mean, who steals a typewriter in this day and age?

Kayla shot me a withering look, silencing my train of thought. We weren’t here to question the inventory, after all.

The owner nodded, leading us to a shelf that was now in disarray. "It was a vintage one. Had sentimental value. My grandmother used to type on it."

Kayla frowned, noting down the details. She then gestured for me to follow her as we began to examine the area. I watched her, impressed by how she handled the scene. She was methodical, picking up on things I might've missed.

The shattered glass near the entrance, the scuff marks near the counter, and a small, discarded cigarette butt caught her eye. "This might be something," she murmured, bagging it for evidence.

As Kayla meticulously combed over the area, explaining her observations and thoughts, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the back of my mind. A typewriter? Stationery packs? The damn connection was staring me right in the face, but the dots were a little too dangerous to connect out loud.

“That was some odd stuff to steal, don’t you think?” I remarked, trying to play it casual. "Especially in a digital age."

Kayla snorted, rolling her eyes. “People steal weird shit all the time. I worked a case where someone swiped garden gnomes. Twenty-seven of them.”

I chuckled, but the unease didn’t leave. “Yeah, but that’s just for laughs, right? Or some odd collector. This feels…” I trailed off, not knowing how to express the unease without tipping her off about Lexi.

She shot me a curious look, her eyes scanning my face as if trying to decipher a code. “This feels what?”

“Personal,” I blurted out. “Like someone had a reason.”

Kayla arched an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. “Damn, Jake. You’re full of surprises. Going with your gut, huh?”

I shrugged, feeling embarrassment and frustration. “Just a feeling, okay? Don’t give me shit for it.”

She laughed, a genuine, deep sound that momentarily reminded me of better times. “Alright, detective. I won’t. But let’s not jump to conclusions without evidence.”

The thing was, I did have a piece of evidence. It just wasn’t one I could share without complicating matters. The thought of Lexi’s stalker and the eerie typewritten notes was too close for comfort. The timeline, the setting—it all pointed in one dangerous direction. Yet, I kept my mouth shut. This wasn’t the time, and this certainly wasn’t the place.

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