Page 21 of Marked

Seven

Friday came in a fucking blur, and I’m in all kinds of knots over it. My stomach is tight as I sit at my desk after lunch and a cigarette. My eyes keep darting to the clock on my computer screen, the minutes taunting me with the impending date that I keep telling myself I don’t want. Because I don’t. I do not want this date.

Then why did I choose my favorite dark grey pencil skirt and a black blouse that showed off just a tad too much cleavage? Why did I pair it with a pair of black heels that makes my ass look even better?

“I did this for me,” I argue into the compact mirror in my hand. “I’m allowed to look nice for myself. I deserve to look hot and be confident. Maybe I’ll buy myself some flowers, too. Yes, treat yourself, bitch.”

“Am I interrupting something?”

I whirl my chair towards my door so fast I slam my knee on my desk with a cry. I’m going to blame my inflamed cheeks on the embarrassment of being caught talking to myself. Because dear gods, Jack is standing in my doorway looking delectable. He’s dressed in a silk, dark blue button up that clings to his physique, his black slacks clinging just enough to tell me that he has a nice, probably firm, ass.

“Something I can assist you with, Detective Khoury?” I ask, refusing to give him the satisfaction at seeing me flustered as I rub the sting out of my knee. “Please tell me you have something for the case.”

Jack and I have gotten nowhere in our investigation. We have no suspects or leads. After talking to the friends and family of Ruby, also known as Stephanie Browne, the only possible motive we could come up with was a scorned customer. And even if that was the motive, we have no idea who the customer could be. The problem is that none of the staff or entertainers we interviewed could recall a single altercation between Ruby and a customer.

We went to her apartment, searched the unit from top to bottom, but the only thing we found was a phone tucked in a drawer next to a rather large dildo. The techs that investigated the phone, but determined it was most likely just an old phone she kept.

I had been tempted on more than one occasion to contact Cerberus and ask why exactly Ruby had been chosen to be marked, but I knew he wouldn’t tell me. It went against the “rules”. Either way, the fact that she was supposed to be marked so urgently meant something, didn’t it?

Normally, when I mark souls chosen by the Fates, it’s a gamble for me. I see every sin that person has committed, no matter how big or small, but I’m not their judge. I don’t know what happens after Thanatos takes them to the Styx or where their souls end up in the underworld. Do they go to Elysium, our version of heaven, or Asphodel, the city Hades created for the souls that are neither bad nor evil? Or, do they end up in the black empty pits of Tartarus?

And for all the options, what is the deciding factor? How much of a sin is too much?

This uncertainty is the main reason I’ve kept away from my family.

He stalks over to my desk and sets down a manilla folder from the lab. “The medical examiner’s report on Jane Doe is in.”

Perking up at the news, I lean over and snatch the report off the desk as he sits in the chair across from me. I skim through the report before finding the information I’m looking for. I read the line three times before I look at him. “This can’t be right.”

“I said the same thing,” Jack says. “I asked her to check it again. That was a mistake I’ll never repeat.”

I wince in sympathy. “Latisha is meticulous in her work. She’s never made a mistake and to insinuate one will immediately put you on her shit list.”

“So I discovered. How do I get off it?” He asks as he rubs the stubble along his jaw. “She hit me with my own folder.”

I laugh at the image of it before I can stop myself. “Tell her you’re sorry and that Val is going to whip you into shape. That should give you at least a chance to redeem yourself.”

“Whip me into shape?” He repeats, his eyes darkening as a hint of a smirk tilts his lips.

I press my thighs together at the suggestion in his tone. This is how it has been between us all week. We can be completely professional and swamped with work, but occasionally, these moments happen. Banter with underlying flirtation. I know I’m drawn to him, his energy calling to mine, but damn does he get under my skin sometimes. It isn’t that he’s cocky or pompous, no. He’s confident and sure, but also honest and straightforward. He says what’s on his mind and doesn’t hesitate to call me out on shit. Alternatively, he never hesitates to compliment or praise me. A small part of me, although I will never admit aloud, basks in his praise.

I don’t understand it, and it scares me.

I’m well and truly fucked for tonight if I can’t get my shit under control.

I clear my throat and look at the file once again. “Latisha is saying that the blood we can see isn’t hers?” I lay the file down on my desk and turn back to my computer, bringing up the case file so I can view the photos taken at the crime scene and compare them to Latisha’s.

Jack wheels his chair around my desk so he’s sitting next to me. “That’s what I didn’t understand. I asked her if it could simply be her killer’s blood and that’s when she smacked me with the folder.”

“She would have noted that in her file,” I muse as I bring up the photos of Jane Doe. I zoom in on the jagged stump that’s left of her neck and look at the blood. “She’s saying all this wet blood is someone else’s.” I hum and scroll to the next picture of her mutilated sternum. “This as well.”

He flips through the file on my desk and reads, “Upon further investigation and testing, the body is showing signs of vapor and blood cell rupture.”

I glance at him. “What does she mean by blood cell rupture? I’ll be honest, she usually dumbs this shit down for me.”

He lets out a huff of a laugh. “It’s a process that happens to blood cells when they’re frozen and then thawed.”

I whip my head towards him and almost smack our foreheads together when I realize how close he is. Rearing back, I take the file from him and read over Latisha’s notes again. “She’s saying the body was frozen at some point?”

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