Page 116 of 2045 Clementine Lane: Catherine

My mental bandwidth for looking at a drowned baby was zero before I got handed my newest case, but now, my window into the depravity of humanity just got a whole lot wider.

I don’t check the peephole or ask who it is. At this time of night on a Saturday, it can only be Mani. He’s the only person who drops by unannounced and late at night—usually when we’re working on a case and Angie and the kids are settled in. So, when I open my door and see Catherine standing on the threshold, dressed in tight blue jeans that flare out from her knees and over strappy shoes, and a red silky top that ribbons around her neck, all I can do is stare. For a full five seconds, I stand at the door, not saying anything.

Looking at her has a wave of relief washing through me. This is what I needed;sheis what I needed. Now, when everything is hovering in limbo, just the sight of heris enough to remind me why I went into this godforsaken career in the first place.

“I’m glad-” I break off when she says, “I was in-” at the same time.

We both smile.

“Come in.” Taking a step back, I hold open the door for her.

She steps past me and into my apartment. The smell of her hair drifts into my space behind her. Neither of us says anything as she takes a small turn around my home.

It’s nothing special. White walls, blue carpeted lounge and tiled floors in the hall, kitchen, and dining room. I bought a matching furniture set, one of those nondescript ones that comes all together and is ready to slot into your apartment. All the finishing touches—the pictures on the walls, the throw pillows, and the empty bar cart—are courtesy of my sisters’ meddling.

Needing to say something, to explain, I say, “I’m not home much. So, I don’t really spend the time making it…nice.”

Catherine runs her hand over the back of the orange accent chair, looks over her shoulder, and smiles. “It’s exactly what I imagined.”

I don’t want to think about what that says about me. She looks so out of place here. Like a princess dropped into a monotone world, her bright red top flirting with every staid color in the room. “I took my niece to this movie last year.”

When Catherine looks at me, her head slightly tilted, I stuff my hands in my pockets to keep from touching her and carry on with, “It’s about a cartoon fairy tale princess who accidentally ends up in real life New York.”

“Enchanted,” she reminds me of the movie’s name, her voice on the verge of a laugh. “The girls and I are bigPatrick Dempsey fans.” Covering one side of her mouth as if to tell a secret, she adds, “We also still like fairy tales.”

“My sisters are addicted to the medical show he’s in…” I search my memory for the name again, momentarily stumped because TV has never really been a feature in my life.

“Grey’s Anatomy.”

“That’s the one.” On a deep sigh, I run my right hand through my hair. “Looking at you here, Cat…It reminds me of that film a lot.”

She makes a small “Mnhm” sound in the back of her throat and takes two slow steps closer to me. My heart knocks erratically in my chest. She’s only three feet away, but it’s close enough that I can see the slightest dusting of freckles under her makeup. “Does that make me a pretty princess or the person who doesn’t belong?”

The answer, ‘Both’, is on the tip of my tongue, but when I see the cautious expression on her face, I rephrase. “I guess it depends.”

“On what?” She takes another step closer.

My entire body tenses. My hands burn with the compulsion to touch her. My eyes can’t help but drink in every little thing about her. “If we’re talking about the beginning or the end of the movie.”

“Touché, Lieutenant Flint.”

Losing my internal battle on a rush, I reach for her first, a groan of need escaping from between my lips. Catherine laughs as my hands wrap around her upper arms and I pull her the rest of the way to me so that we are chest to chest. Having her here, seeing her again, is almost too much. Lowering my head, I rest my forehead against hers, and, for the smallest moment, all I can do isabsorb the feeling of touching her again. “I’m so happy you came.”

“Me too.”

But she sounds so sad when she says it that I pull back to look at her face, loosening my grip on her arms at the same time. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.”

I don’t quite believe her, but when she rises up on her toes and wraps both her arms around my neck, I hold back. She’ll tell me the truth when she’s ready, and right now, all I want to do is soak up the feeling of her body pressed against mine. When she’s here, when she’s this close to me, everything else fades away. The dead escorts and drowned babies slip into the recesses of my mind instead of occupying it.

“Are you free for the night?” I ask, hoping she hasn’t just stopped by on her way to be with someone else. Even the thought has a sick punch of dread landing in my gut.

“Yup.” Nestling her face in the crook of my neck, she sighs deeply. “I’m all yours, Lieutenant.”

I understand that she’s talking about now, abouttonight, but there’s something in her tone that makes me think things I have no business thinking. Like,couldshe be mine? Only mine? Is there a scenario where what she wants is me? Only me?

I don’t ask her any of it. It wouldn’t be fair to box her in with all the impossible things I want from her. But I do want her to know how I feel so that when…ifshe’s ever ready, she knows she has somewhere to go and someone who loves her however she comes.

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