Page 28 of Midnight at the Magnolia

As I hang up, I turn back to Celeste. My investigator’s eye catches her expression—carefully composed now, but not before I glimpse something. Fear? Disappointment? Or something more calculated?

Lauren would tell me to note it, analyze it later.

“I have to go,” I say, already reaching for my jacket, checking my weapon automatically. “A lead on a person of interest. Duty calls, and all that jazz.”

Celeste nods, her composure perfect now. Too perfect? “Of course. Go. Be safe, Ethan.” There’s a weight to her words that my training says I should examine more closely.

I pause at the door, looking back at her. The sight of her in my room, surrounded by the detritus of my investigation, stirs something primal in me. But it’s my training that notices how comfortable she looks among the crime scene photos, how her eyes keep returning to certain files.

“Trust your instincts,”Lauren’s voice whispers,“but never ignore your training.”

The stakeout isa study in frustration. Reeves and I spend hours crouched in an unmarked car, watching the warehouse Gregory had entered. Lauren taught me patience during stakeouts, but all I can think about is Celeste. The warmth of her body against mine, the intensity in her eyes as she pored over the case files...

“Focus,”Lauren’s voice snaps.“Distraction gets people killed. Or have you forgotten?”

Finally, as the first light of dawn paints the sky in shades of pink and gold, we make our move. Guns drawn, we enter the warehouse, my training taking over—check corners, maintain cover, watch the shadows. But Gregory is long gone, leaving behind only a few cigarette butts and the lingering smell of cheap cologne.

It’s late afternoon when I return to my hotel room, exhausted and frustrated. To my surprise, Celeste is still there, curled up in the armchair, fast asleep. My first instinct is to admire how peaceful she looks, but Lauren’s training kicks in—noting her position—clear view of door and window—the slight bulge in her jacket that could be a weapon, how her hand rests close to her hip even in sleep.

I stand there for a moment, caught between the investigator and the man. In sleep, her usual careful composure is gone, replaced by a vulnerability that tugs at my heart.

“The most dangerous suspects,”Lauren’s voice reminds me,“are the ones who make you forget they’re suspects.”

As if sensing my presence, Celeste stirs, her eyes fluttering open. The transition from sleep to alertness is too quick, too practiced. “Ethan? What time is it?”

“Late afternoon,” I say softly, moving towards her. Every step feels like crossing a line Lauren drew in the sand. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She sits up, and I force myself to analyze her movements with professional detachment. But when our eyes meet, that detachment crumbles like wet paper. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I was reviewing more files and I guess I just...”

Her voice trails off as she realizes how close I’m standing. I know I should step back, maintain the distance Lauren drilled into me. But I’m tired of fighting this attraction. Tired of hearing Lauren’s warnings. Tired of being the perfect investigator.

“Celeste,” I murmur, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. Her skin is warm under my fingers, soft in a way that makes my heart ache.

She looks up at me, her eyes wide and vulnerable. But is it real vulnerability, or is it calculated? Lauren’s voice fades as I cradle her face in my palms and claim her lips.

The kiss is everything I’ve imagined and nothing like I expected. She responds with an intensity that matches my own, her arms encircling my neck, pulling me closer. Every warning Lauren ever gave me about getting too close to subjects fades into background noise.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” Celeste whispers, but she makes no move to pull away.

“No, we shouldn’t have,” I agree, even as I long to kiss her again. I’ve leaped into the abyss, and the only way out is through.

Lauren’s voice is silent now, drowned out by the sound of my heart pounding.

As Celeste gathers her things and slips out the door, I collapse onto the bed, my mind reeling. What have I done? I’ve crossed every line, broken every rule Lauren taught me. The cityoutside my window comes alive with the night, a siren’s call of danger and desire.

I close my eyes, but all I can see is Celeste’s face, her eyes filled with a mixture of longing and secrets. In that moment, I realize a terrifying truth: She’s a drug I can’t resist, and I’m spiraling into an addiction that could destroy us both.

“Oh, Ethan,”Lauren’s voice sighs one last time.“Some lessons you have to learn the hard way.”

Welcome to rock bottom, Blake. Hope you enjoy your stay.

10

CELESTE

NOLA DAILY

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