Page 2 of Pose for Me
I don’t answer, letting Brock continue the seminar.
In the ten years I’ve been at the Bureau, this has been the only case that has kept me up at night. Sure, some victims I’ve come across have given me nightmares, but The Poser and howthey’re in the fucking wind has me staying up to ponder if I’m really cut out for this job.
We have more than enough victims to nail the perp to the fucking wall, but we have to catch them first.
A few minutes later, when all the questions have run dry, Brock wraps up the class, and the agents disburse. Several come over to ask other questions or get information on how I caught a certain criminal. I answer, but my mind is still stuck on the comment about chasing a ghost.
Because that’s what the fuck we’re doing. Trying to catch a fucking ghost.
In the years they’ve been active, The Poser has never slipped up, never made a mistake. They’re too meticulous, and we’re no closer to capturing them than we were when they first started their reign of terror.
My fucking career hinges on if I apprehend them or not.
When the room clears out and we pack up our materials, Brock and I leave the hotel we held the seminar in.
“Wanna hit Drab Dragon?” he asks. I nod and head to my car, tension settling between my shoulder blades.
Drab Dragon is a bar Brock and I found when we first moved to Claymount, a small city about an hour from Stockton. We go often after work to toss a few back and talk shop.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling up to the bar. I climb out of my car and roll up my sleeves as I head inside. I wish I had brought a change of clothes—my current attire screams law enforcement—but that can’t be helped. If I go home now to change, I won’t want to come back out.
I take a seat at the bar, and my favorite bartender, Emmy, slides my usual three fingers of Jack in front of me. “Long day?” she asks, cracking the top off a beer and placing it beside my glass.
“Yes and no.” I sip the Jack and grimace as the liquor lights a fire down my esophagus. “Had seminars.”
“A lot of talking,” she says with a nod.
“Unfortunately.”
Brock sits beside me, and Emmy sets his usual beer in front of him. “Holler if you two need anything else,” she says and walks away to take other orders.
After downing half of his beer, Brock sets his bottle down then bumps my shoulder. “We’ll get them. I promise.”
I grunt and toss back the rest of my Jack. “Yeah? When? In twenty, thirty years when they finally slip up? When they have a body count in the hundreds?”
Brock purses his lips, his face drawn. “I know it’s rough, but what’s the alternative? Stop working the case because the killer hasn’t made a mistake? We’ll get them. Not all ghosts stay hidden.”
I sigh and nod. There’s not much else I can do.
Brock and I sit at the bar and converse for a little while longer. A woman who has been eyeing Brock since she walked in ventures down to our section and chats him up. I take that time to order another drink and talk to Emmy about her week since the last time we were here.
A few minutes later, Brock stands and reaches into his pocket to grab his wallet and pull out some bills. He places them on the counter and says to Emmy, “Give him another round. There’s enough money there to stuff him in a cab if he gets too shit-faced.”
I scoff and sip my second drink, the burn not bothering me as much.
My partner leans in and mutters, “Stop being such a downer and you can pick up any one of these guys in here. But with you looking so fucking mean, they don’t think you’re approachable.”
An unexpected laugh bubbles up my throat. “Yeah, because there are so many men lined up to get in my pants, they only stop because I look mean.”
The woman waiting for Brock chimes in. “Youdolook unapproachable. Try smiling. That’s what men tell women, right?”
She and Emmy crack up at how they turned the tables on me.
To humor her, I smile widely, making her and Emmy laugh harder.
Brock claps me on the shoulder. “Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.” He puts his arm around the woman’s waist, and they walk toward the door. “Don’t get too fucked up,” he warns with a smile and a wave.
My smile drops as I turn back to my drink, swirling the glass around, watching the amber liquid make a mini whirlpool in my glass.
