A surprised laugh escaped. “Trust me, I’m not interested in getting paid.”
“If only we could all afford to work for free.” At my flush he gave me a grim smile and added, “I just wanted to make sure you knew so you wouldn’t be disappointed later.”
“I won’t be disappointed because that’s not why I’m doing this.” I cut myself off.
“Why are you doing this? Just because you think your family is involved?” he asked.
I chewed my lower lip.
“If you want me to trust you, you have to give me that much at least.”
Our eyes met, and the earnestness in his gaze helped settle my nerves. Despite our short time together, it really felt as if I could tell him anything.
“You’ll think it’s silly, but...I want to be like my mother,” I said. “I want to help people.”
A grin tipped up one corner of his mouth again, revealing that slightly sharp incisor again. “You’re right. That is silly.”
“I told you.” I couldn’t look at him, so I stared at my feet as we began to walk.
“It’s silly that you’re embarrassed about it. Helping people is always a noble cause. It’s why I do what I do every day.”
His words lit a warm glow in my chest, one that had been missing since Mamá’s death. Not wanting to lose me like he had her, Papá had trained me to defend myself, but he’d never trusted me enough to actually go out and do things.
Detective Atwood started down the hall, matching his steps to mine.
“If we’re going to work together, I have a request of my own,” I said.
He raised one eyebrow. “This should be interesting.”
“You can’t tell anyone who I am. If word got back to my father, he’d stop me faster than you can say hovercraft.” I wasn’t sure about Desmarc’s reaction, but until we were married and he saw me as his wife instead of Papá’s daughter, I was better off keeping this a secret.
At the memory of his hovercraft and how close we’d sat on it, I suddenly couldn’t meet Detective Atwood’s gaze. Hopefully I wouldn’t blush again.
“I’m not sure if that’s wise. Your father has eyes and ears everywhere.” He folded his arms across his broad chest and studied me. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just tell him? I’m guessing I can earn his trust. Benefit of the job, ya know?” He gestured to his blue cape, which happened to match his eyes.
“Not with Papá,” I said firmly before extending my hand. “Do we have an agreement?”
He stopped outside the door to the main office and studied me intently, his expression betraying nothing. “It would seem so.” His grip was steady and reliable, just like him. After a moment, he released my hand and opened the door to the front room. “Liam, can I borrow you and your sketchbook for a few minutes?”
A pale detective with short brown hair rose, grabbed some supplies from his cluttered desk, and wove between the crowded room to make his way over. “What can I do to help?”
It was the same man I talked to earlier—the one who’d told me where to find Detective Atwood. He appeared close to my age, and gazed at the detective with wide, worshipful eyes.
“I need you to work with this woman to create a sketch for me,” he said. “Can you do that?”
“Of course.” Liam saluted, leaving a smear of black across his shirt.
I stifled a smile.
Liam turned to me. “I see you found Detective Atwood.”
“I did. Thank you for your help.”
He ducked his head. “I didn’t catch your name earlier.”
Before Detective Atwood could introduce me as Poppy or something equally silly, I said, “I’m K, an unofficial consultant for the case. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too.” He shook my hand, juggling his supplies with the other.
“I’m going to work on a report,” Detective Atwood told me. “Come find me when the sketch is complete.”
“All right.” I followed Liam back down the hall to the first door on the left. Opening it revealed a small room with a high window and a table with chairs. For the next twenty minutes, I worked with Liam—whose name was easy enough to remember since there was a famous artist named Liam Edison—to make sure we got the drawing just right.
“No, his face was a little narrower than that. More angular,” I said as he sketched. “And his jaw was less defined—you’re making it too much like Detective Atwood’s.”
Liam bit his lip as he worked, eyes narrowed in concentration.
“Don’t forget his thin lips,” I said. “And the extra hard look in his eyes.”
“So who is this guy, anyway?” Liam asked as he shaded in his dark hair.
I hesitated, unsure of how much to say. But Liam was also an officer. He’d probably be aware of the case anyway. “He’s the one who killed that woman a few days ago.”
“Wait, how do you know about that?”
I bit my lip. “Because I was the one who told Detective Atwood about it.”
“That was you? I heard about that.” Liam laughed. “I’m impressed you got him to work with you. He doesn’t usually allow civilians to work on cases.”
“So what can you tell me about Detective Atwood?” I asked as casually as I could.
“What do you want to know?”
“How old is he?”
“Twenty-five.” Liam didn’t look up as he shaded in a portion of the drawing.
Just five years younger than Desmarc and only four older than me.
“But he became a detective a few years ago. I think he was twenty-two,” he continued.
“That seems young.”
“That’s because he’s amazing. When he was a new officer at the station, he solved a huge case and was promoted as a result.” Liam shook his head but kept sketching. “I wish I was more like him.”
“What was the case about?”
“Actually, I don’t know the particulars. All the higher-ups are pretty hush-hush about it.”
“I see.” I watched as a very lifelike replica of the man’s glaring face bloomed to life under Liam’s hand, so real I could almost hear him whispering, “Thank you for your service.”
I shuddered and looked away.