Archive of Our Own

“Guys, I already told you. I can handle this on my own. We don’t really have to do this.” Gail squirmed against the arm wrapped around her shoulders. Normally she would be more physically assertive, but they were surrounded by people. She didn’t want to make a fuss.

“Shut up, Gail,” Traci growled. “You need this.”

Chloe nodded in agreement. “Besides, this is the only time we’ve got,” she said. “We’re following through.”

“I cancelled my night with Sam for this,” Andy chimed in.

Gail glared at Andy. “Nobody forced you to come, McNally.” She looked at Traci and Chloe. “Hey, c’mon, I don’t want to be here, you guys won’t really fit in here, let’s just call it a night, get some ice cream, then Andy can go be with her basset hound.”

It was just after ten o’clock on an early autumn night, and the four women were standing in line, joined by other people. A lot of other people. In all shapes and sizes, hair colours, and gender presentations. It wasn’t a place that Gail could envision her friends in. She didn’t go often enough herself. But here they were.

“Gail, no, honestly, I’m sick of this,” Traci said. “You’re always whining about how we go to straight clubs all the time –”

“And you’re always dreaming about finding someone new to date,” Chloe said.

“Sam does not look like a basset hound,” Andy insisted.

“Does too,” the other three said in unison.

“Like a cute basset hound,” Chloe reassured her. “Anyway, Gail, we Googled and this is apparently the hottest destination for lesbians in Toronto who are over twenty-five –”

“Chloe!” Gail looked around the other people in the line. “It’s rude to remind people of their age.”

“Hey, straight people who are over twenty-five go to clubs too,” Chloe said. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I know, but,” Gail lowered her voice, “Peter Pan Syndrome, you know?”

“I think this is the reason why you’re finding it hard to date,” Traci said. “You’re too critical of the culture of your own community.”

“Shut up, Traci,” Gail snapped.

The bouncers at the door checked their IDs, stamped their wrists, and ushered them through the door. The music was loud, but kept to an appropriate volume that encouraged conversation. Several people were already on the dance floor, but most milled around at the bar, or seated in the booths along the walls. Gail felt instinctively comfortable. She turned to her friends. “You guys dragged me here, so you guys have to buy me drinks.”

Traci, Chloe and Andy looked at each other. And then they looked back at Gail. They all shrugged. “Yeah, sure, whatever,” Traci said, reaching for her purse.

Three drinks later, and Gail still hadn’t talked to anyone but the people she came with. She hadn’t gone to the dance floor. She hadn’t even left the bar. She was never a person who went clubbing, not even in her younger days, so truth be told, she didn’t know why she agreed to this idea of Traci’s.

“How about that one?” Andy pointed to a woman in the middle of the dance floor, wearing a tank top, her short hair slicked back from perspiration. “She’s pretty hot.”

“Yes,” Gail said. She paused as they watched the woman pull another woman in a deep kiss. “She’s also occupied. Besides, not my type.”

“Oh, how about her?” Chloe nodded at a woman who just emerged from the toilets.

Gail shook her head. “I don’t think she’s gay.”

“We’re at a gay bar,” Chloe said.

“That doesn’t mean that everyone here is gay. I mean, McNally’s here,” Gail said.

“Hey!” Andy exclaimed. “What’s that supposed to mean? Traci and Chloe are straight, too.”

“Yeah,” Gail shrugged. “But you’re like, the straightest..” She looked around the crowd of people again. “Maybe we should just head out, guys. It’s been fun, but... I’m not feeling it anymore.”

Traci watched as a bartender approached them. “Heads up,” she said.

The bartender lowered a drink in front of Gail. It was a margarita. The exact same drink she’d been having for the past hour and a half. “Thanks, but I didn’t order this,” Gail told her.

“I know.” The bartender was smirking. “She did.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder, directing Gail’s eyesight across the bar, where an attractive, dark-haired woman was seated, staring at her.

“Oh.”

The bartender laughed. “I know right?” She walked off to serve someone else.

“Oh man, she’s pretty hot, Gail,” Traci said. “And she’s checking you out.”

“Nah, I think it’s meant for McNally,” Gail said. “That woman looks like she probably enjoys flipping straight girls.”

“I do not look that straight! Sam said I look like I could be on the Canadian women’s rugby team.”

Chloe nodded. “I can see that,” she said. “Also, you call yourself Andy. With a y. That might scream bicurious.”

Gail frowned at her. “How do you know so much about this shit?” she asked, but didn’t bother waiting for a reply. She stared at the margarita in front of her. “Guys, what do I do?”

“Drink it, obviously,” Chloe said. “The bartender did give it to you, and that woman looks like she knows how to give instructions. I mean, look at her. She’s still watching you, Gail.”

Gail looked. And she was watching. Gail made the mistake of locking eyes with her. She unconsciously held her breath. “Shit.” She couldn’t touch the gifted drink for fear that she would spill it down her front because of her shaky hands. “Do I go talk to her?”

“Yes!” Traci and Andy all but shoved her off her barstool.

“And don’t come back unless you get violently rejected!” Chloe said sunnily.

“No pressure!” Andy added.

Drink in hand, Gail walked over to the other side of the bar. The woman had swivelled around on her barstool to anticipate Gail. She was wearing a purple dress that clung to her curves, and she sat with her legs crossed. Her long, long legs. Gail swallowed. This woman was definitely sexier in close proximity.

“Hi there,” Gail blurted out.

“Hello,” the woman said. “Good night?”

“I don’t know yet,” Gail said. She raised her martini glass sheepishly. “Thanks for the drink, though.”

“You’re welcome.” The woman patted the empty barstool beside her. “Want to sit?”

“Uhm.” Gail hesitated momentarily. “Sure.” She tried to make herself comfortable on the barstool.

If the woman noticed Gail’s unbelievable awkwardness, she seemed to not mind. Or maybe she could be making a gargantuan effort to ignore it. She cleared her throat as Gail shifted in her seat. “I’m Holly, by the way,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Gail.”

Holly held her hand out. Her eyes, brown and intense, were fixed on Gail’s as they shook hands. “It’s nice to meet you, Gail,” she said. “You haven’t drunk any of your margarita.”

“Sorry.” Gail tried to ignore her increasing heart rate as Holly’s hand lingered on hers, before withdrawing. “I didn’t know if it was meant for me or not. And I’m over here now, so if it wasn’t meant for me, then sorry for causing a misunderstanding.”

Holly laughed. The sound did not help Gail’s heart rate. “I don’t understand why there’d be any confusion. Those women you were with… none of them are gay.”

“How would you know that?”

“Not to brag, but my gaydar’s pretty good,” Holly said. She took a glass filled with a yellowish white liquid from the bar. “Anyway, I’m kind of glad you haven’t had any of your drink yet. Toast?”

“Sure,” Gail said. They clinked glasses. She raised the glass to her lips and watched as Holly drank. “What is that you’re drinking anyway?” she asked.

“It’s a White Lady,” Holly replied.

“A what?”

“A White Lady. It’s gin-based. I think it’s got egg white in it.”

Gail made a face. “Jesus, you didn’t need to tell me that.”

“Sorry!” Holly laughed again.

“It kinda looks like piss.”

“No need to be rude,” Holly said. “At least you’ll have something to remember me by, though.”

“What? As the woman who drinks piss? Cloudy piss?” In any other situation, Gail would be mortified. Toilet humour was her forte when it really shouldn’t be. But it was putting her at ease, and Holly seemed like the kind of person who gave as much as she got.

“Yeah, maybe,” Holly said. “That’s my signature drink. Piss.”

Yup, they were flirting through discussing cocktails that resembled urine. Gail just had to accept that. She shrugged noncommittally.  “Well, everyone’s gotta have a signature drink, right?”

“For sure. So... is yours the margarita, then?” Holly flashed a crooked smile. “You know, for future reference.”

“Future?”

For the first time in their conversation, Holly looked a bit nervous. “You know… Unless hanging out with someone who likes piss-drinks is not your idea of a good time.”

“That’s fine, but,” Gail bit her lip, “I’m not sure hanging out with someone full of assumptions about any future time she’s gonna be spending with me is a good idea. I don’t want to be leading you on, you know.”

Holly blinked, taken aback, but recovered quickly. “All right, fair enough,” she said.

“Gotcha! You so fell for that. You’re such a weirdo.” Gail laughed. A wave of confidence washed over her upon seeing Holly squirm a little. She finished the rest of her margarita in one long drink. She placed the empty glass on the table.

“Whoa there,” Holly said. “You ready for another one?”

“Finish your piss first.”

“Only if you stop calling it that.”

“Okay then. Finish your White Lady first.”

“Why?” Holly asked. “Drinks like these are best savoured.”

“I need whoever’s getting drunk with me to match my pace,” Gail challenged. “Also, I’m scared that if I get too drunk I’ll forget to ask for your number, and you’ll always remember me as the girl who forgot to ask for your number.”

“I appreciate your honesty.” Holly smirked. “All right.” Gamely, she drank the rest of her cocktail. “Tell you what. Get the next round of drinks and maybe I’ll give you my number.”

“Unbelievable,” Gail said. But that was how she ended up going home that night, drunker than she had been in ages, with Holly’s details entered into her phone. She had never seen Andy McNally so proud as she was as she shoved Gail into a cab, cheering as the driver pulled away from the curb.

In an alleyway not far from the club, Holly was crouched over the limp body of a man, who was lying facedown on the concrete. She pulled out the switchblade that was buried in his side.

The man gurgled. Blood leaked onto the concrete.

Holly ignored it. She reached around and took the man’s wallet and phone, placing them in a ziplock bag that she dropped into her handbag. The man was still pathetically wriggling below her, so she picked up the switchblade and stabbed him one more time. He wouldn’t be alive for long.

Callously, she wiped the bloody blade on the man’s coat, retracted it and placed it next to the body. And then she straightened up and walked away.

Another job done.

Gail found an empty seat next to Traci just as their staff sergeant, Frank, took the podium.

Upon hearing the scraping of Gail’s chair, his eyes set on Gail, on her freshly tied-up ponytail and steaming styrofoam cup of coffee, and he sighed. “Just in the nick of time, Peck.” He looked down at his notes on the podium. “All right. Good morning everyone…” For the next five minutes, he went through the rest of the briefing, before calling on detectives to update on their specific assignments. “Peck?”

Gail looked at him confusedly for a second before remembering that her brother, Steve, a homicide detective, was also in the room. Steve didn’t even miss a beat. He was, after all, the only Peck who was a detective.

“We’ve identified the body of the man we found in that alleyway just off Queen West and notified his next of kin,” he told the room. “The ME’s findings show cause of death was blood loss from multiple stab wounds, the murder weapon was found at the scene, and his wallet and phone were missing. All signs point to a mugging gone wrong, so that’s the lead we’re following.”

“Thank you, Peck,” Frank said. He said a few more reminders before concluding the briefing.

As everyone else moved on to the rest of their day, Traci called over to Steve: “Hey, when did you find that man’s body?”

“Yesterday,” he replied. “But time of death was estimated in the early hours of that morning. Like, two AM? Two-thirty?”

“Man, that’s awful.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t a pretty sight,” Steve said. “Anyway, I gotta go.” He left the room with a wave.

Traci and Gail stood up to follow him out. “Jeez,” Traci said to Gail, “we were on Queen West that night.”

Gail rolled her eyes. “It’s a pretty big and busy area, Traci.”

“I know that, but isn’t that weird? Someone was getting killed in your general vicinity?” Traci shuddered.

“Yeah, it’s a little weird,” Gail said. She patted Traci on the shoulder. “Try not to think about it.”

“Try not to think about it?” Traci repeated incredulously. “What the hell, Peck?”

“What do you expect me to say, Traci?” Gail asked. “I don’t know what to say. So what should I say?”

Traci sighed. “Never mind,” she said. “Speaking of that night, have you called that woman you were talking to yet? What’s her name again?”

“Way to transition from murder to romance,” Gail joked. She faltered under Traci’s expectant look: “Her name is Holly, and no, I haven’t called her.”

“Well, she isn’t gonna call you, ‘cause you didn’t give her your number.”

“In my defense, she got me pretty drunk.”

“You are going to call her, right?” Traci asked. “‘Cause you two looked like you hit it off pretty well.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll call her tonight,” Gail said. “I just didn’t want to call her yesterday because I felt like it was too soon since we last saw each other. I didn’t want to come off as overeager.” It wasn’t just that; Gail hadn’t dated in a while. She had forgotten how the whole deal worked.

“Okay, I get you,” Traci said. “What does she do again?”

Gail realised that she didn’t know. “Uhm, I haven’t actually asked her yet,” she said. “But I hope I’ll get to.”

She asked Holly to pick the restaurant. Being a cop who was perfectly content with eating Chinese takeout or pizza most nights, she didn’t want to reveal that she was a plebeian when it came to Toronto’s culinary scene. Holly thought nothing of her request and assured her that she knew the perfect place.

It was Friday night, and they were sitting in a trendy bistro that Gail swore she had once seen in the lifestyle section of the paper. The other patrons looked more like Holly’s kind of people: posh, sophisticated, probably never had to dry clean blood off of their work clothes.

“So, you’re a police officer, huh?” Holly asked slowly as she pored over the drinks menu.

“Yup,” Gail replied.

“Interesting. How’d you get into that?”

“Well, my parents are both cops, and so is my older brother. He’s like, some superstar detective… and I studied linguistics at university but didn’t know what to do after, so here I am,” Gail said.

“And you like it? The police?”

Gail shifted in her seat. “Yeah, I guess I do,” she said. “Sometimes I try to imagine myself doing something else, but I like where I am right now and I don’t really want that to change.”

“Yeah?” Holly leaned forward. “If you weren’t a cop, what would you be doing?”

“I’d probably be travelling. Probably in a county where it doesn’t get so cold for so long. Where I can sit on the beach or outside a café listening to people having conversations in unfamiliar languages.” Gail was beginning to get wistful. “But you know, serve and protect…” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, you never told me what you do.”

“I import and export medical technology,” Holly said. “X-ray machines, that sorta thing. It’s pretty boring actually.”

“Bet that’s a lot of money.”

“Yeah…” Holly was shaking her head. “It is quite lucrative, but it’s really not that exciting.”

The waiter laid down their starters in front of them. “Is everything all right here?” he asked. “Do you have any additional orders?”

Holly smiled at him and asked for a bottle of red wine.

When he left, Gail watched as Holly picked at the starters. “That wine sounds expensive,” she said. “We don’t really have to get that… I can’t tell the difference between a twelve dollar bottle of wine from a fifty-two dollar bottle anyway.”

“Oh, trust me, you can,” Holly said. “And if it’s okay with you, I can cover this.”

Gail raised an eyebrow. “I thought we were going to split the cheque in half?”

“I’ll cover it, Gail,” Holly said. “I mean, I picked this place and you told me you’d never been here before, so I’d hate to oblige you to pay for half of a meal that you might not even like.”

“Is this chivalry? Because I’m not really a big fan.”

Holly laughed. “Just consider it me protecting my ego.”

“Then I’m definitely not a big fan.”

“All right.” Holly reached across to place her hand on top of Gail’s. “Gail, I just realised that we haven’t even gotten our mains yet, so therefore, it’s way too early to be thinking about how we split the check. However, since we’ve suddenly gotten to this topic of conversation, I want you to know that I’ll pay for tonight.”

The waiter arrived with their bottle of wine. He poured it for them.

“Fine,” Gail relented as the waiter walked away. “Just let me get next time.”

A smile played on Holly’s face. “Next time?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Gail took on the defensive. “Is it way too early to think about that, too?”

“I think I need at least two glasses of wine before I start thinking about a next time,” Holly joked. “But deal.” She raised her glass. “A toast to not overthinking things.”

Gail nodded heartily. “I guess I’ll drink to that.”

Although Holly didn’t import x-ray machines for a living, that wasn’t to say that her real profession wasn’t equally, if not more, lucrative. She had a beautiful, contemporary apartment in a premium Toronto location, and between assignments, she could afford to take time off. Her services were expensive, after all.

This kind of life did get lonely, though. Holly had been in the business for almost twelve years. She couldn’t maintain a long-term relationship. She had been dating Gail for just over three months now, and that was the longest she dated anyone in years. In the back of her mind, she knew that she had to end it soon.

Whether she actually wanted to end it was another matter entirely.

Holly reclined back on her couch, aimlessly watching some sitcom on her television, when one of her phones buzzed. She picked it up and opened the message. NEW ASSIGNMENT REQUEST, it announced. She placed the phone on the couch’s armrest and leaned over to pick up the tablet on her coffee table.

The target was William Jenkins, a former corporate lawyer who had his eye on the Toronto mayoralty. Whoever wanted him dead was paying Holly two million dollars. High compensation for a murder that would definitely be high-profile, no matter how discreet Holly’s methods would be. Her finger hovered over the reply button on her tablet. She considered rejecting it. But two million dollars meant that if she didn’t do it, someone else would.

Killing William Jenkins was a job for the best, and as far as she knew, she was the best. Nobody in the business can keep their reputation by declining such an important assignment. She pressed the reply button and wrote a response. Just after she sent it, her other phone—her personal one—buzzed.

It was a message from Gail: Hey, are we still on for coffee tomorrow?

Holly smiled. She’d respond to Gail immediately, without hesitation, every single time.

One thing Gail hated about going on patrol: driving around in a police car and being out and about in the uniform always felt like she was a walking target. One thing Gail loved about going on patrol: she would usually be paired up with someone she could gossip to. That afternoon, it was Traci.

Lucky for her. Not so lucky for Traci.

“Holly is just unlike anyone I’ve ever been with, you know?” Gail was gushing, but she didn’t care. “She’s so smart, and so generous, and so elegant and well-educated, and earns a lot of money…”

“Sounds like a catch,” Traci said. She didn’t even take her eyes off the road.

“I know right.” Gail paused. “Wait, you don’t think that Holly is too good for me, do you?”

Traci turned slightly to give her an incredulous look. “What the – ? Hell no! I think she’s great for you.”

“Yeah, but am I just as great for her?” Gail asked. “You’ve seen her, right? Isn’t she just the most put-together woman you’ve ever seen?”

“Well, you know, with the company I keep, the bar isn’t –”

“Traci! You’re meant to be supportive!”

“You just asked me to agree with your opinion that Holly is a better person than all of us put together,” Traci said. “You’ve got a weird idea of what ‘supportive’ is, Gail.”

“So, you agree, then,” Gail said. “That Holly is way, way out of my league.”

“I don’t think that!” Traci insisted.

“You do!”

“No, Gail, you think that. And you need to stop thinking that,” Traci said. “You’ve been dating Holly for what, almost five months now? This is the happiest I’ve seen in you in a very long time. Would Holly be really putting that much time and effort on someone she doesn’t see as a wonderful person?”

Gail considered it. “But Holly’s just that kind of person,” she said doubtfully.

“But is she the kind of person who wastes time?” Traci asked.

“I don’t know.”

“She seems to really like you, Gail,” Traci said. “Don’t worry about it. And she seems like a good person. Only an asshole would string somebody along before claiming that they were just killing time.”

“Yeah, Holly isn’t like that…”

“Why’s this eating at you, anyway?”

Gail’s eyebrows knitted together as she tried to force the words out: “Because I’m falling for her!” And it was true. She hadn’t felt deeply about anyone as she felt about Holly. It was scaring her a little bit, but she was almost thirty, and she had paid off most of her student loans, and she just moved into a new apartment. Perhaps things were falling into place for her. Perhaps it was time to settle down.

Traci’s phone started ringing. “Shit,” she said. “Can you get that?”

Gail answered the call. “Nash is driving, this is Peck.”

“Gail?” the voice on the other end asked. “This is Oliver. Frank wants you and Traci to come to the precinct now. We’re sending another unit to cover the rest of your patrol.”

Gail relayed the message to Traci, who began heading back to the direction of the precinct. “What happened?” she asked Oliver.

His voice was firm. “Just come.”

They were ushered into Frank’s office. He was sitting behind his desk. Standing next to him was Steve, and Steve’s partner, Jerry. Chris, another uniformed officer, was standing in front of the desk. He nodded at Gail and Traci in greeting as they joined him.

“I’m guessing you’ve heard the news,” Frank said severely.

Gail and Traci looked at each other, then back at Frank. “No. We were on patrol for the last three hours,” Gail said. “Heard nothing on the radio. What’s up?”

“William Jenkins has been found dead in his apartment,” Frank told them. “It’s been ruled a homicide.”

“William Jenkins? The guy who wants to run for mayor?” Traci frowned. “Jesus.”

“I know. It’s wild. Steve’s taking the lead on the case and he’s been asked by his superiors to put together an investigative team,” Frank told them. “It’s a big job, and we need to show that we’re working hard at it. Now, I checked my files and it seems that the three of you have put in the professional development hours recommended to get on the detective rotation. I suppose you’ll be handing in your applications soon?”

“Yes, sir,” Gail, Traci and Chris chorused.

“Good,” Frank said. “Best for you to get your hands dirty then. You’ll be devoting your attention to this case full-time. I’ll shuffle the rosters around so someone else can cover your patrols and other duties. You will be reporting directly to Steve for the time being.”

Steve winked at Gail. “Sorry, sis.” He addressed the rest of them. “I’m looking forward to working with you. Let’s get cracking.”

“Dinner’s ready.”

Gail looked up from the television and saw Holly standing next to her dining table, shaving parmesan over carefully plated dishes of pasta. “All right,” she said. She walked over and sat in the chair that Holly pulled out for her. “This smells amazing.”

“Thank you. I hope it tastes just as good.” Holly took a seat. “Sorry that it took so long.”

“It would’ve been much quicker if you had let me help,” Gail said.

“Yeah, but you mentioned that you were tired from work and I wanted to treat you,” Holly said. “That’s why I got your favourite beer, and you said you liked a good carbonara, and I may or may not have that dark chocolate brownie from your favourite bakery.”

“Holly!” Gail squealed. “You’re too much.”

“Hey, you’re a hard worker. You deserve it,” Holly said.

A news update began to play on the television. They cut away from the newsroom to footage of Steve from a press conference he gave earlier that day regarding the William Jenkins homicide. “Oh man!” Gail snorted. “Gingerbread Man looks so silly on TV.”

“You know that guy?”

“Yeah. That’s my brother,” Gail replied. As if on cue, the graphic popped up on the screen: Det. Steve Peck, Lead Investigator. “Our parents must be so proud,” she joked. She looked at Holly, who had a slight grimace on her face. “Something wrong, Hol?”

Holly shook her head. “Just accidentally bit into peppercorn that wasn’t properly grinded,” she said. “So your brother is investigating that murder case?”

“Yup, he’s moving up in the world,” Gail said. “My supervising officer assigned me to work with him, as well. Me and a couple of other uniforms.”

“That so?” Holly took a long swig from her beer bottle. “That’s a good thing, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking of applying for detective for a while. I’ve helped out on a lot of cases but I get to be a bit more involved in this one because it’s so high-profile,” Gail explained. “Is it weird to say that it’s exciting?”

“What, catching murderers?” Holly asked. “Nah, that’s not weird. That’s totally exciting.”

“I’m glad you feel that way!” Gail said.

“Don’t you think it’s weird, the way people you date tend to fetishise your job? Like, they hear you’re a cop and they’re always wanting to hear about these gory murder cases,” Holly said. “Treating you like you’re Olivia Benson or something.”

“There are actually less murders than most people think there are,” Gail said. “And I don’t mind you asking. You’ve told me your job isn’t that exciting anyway.”

Holly laughed. “Oh, low blow,” she said. “But investigating the death of a potential mayoral candidate is a better work story than having to sort out a delivery mix-up at a hospital somewhere in Bumblefuck, Manitoba.”

“That sounds like it’s straight out of an action movie, Holly,” Gail joked.

“Felt like it at the time,” Holly said. “Investigating team… wow.” She breathed deeply. “Congrats, Gail. I’m proud of you.” She leaned over, cupped Gail’s cheek with her hand and guided her in for a long, lingering kiss.

It should have never gone this far.

Holly felt so, so stupid. She looked at the woman in bed next to her, naked under the covers, and she sighed. She should have gotten out of there as soon as she found that Gail was a cop. But she didn’t. Gail being assigned to the investigative team—led by her “superstar detective” older brother, no less—was the universe’s revenge.

No, she can’t have everything. Not with the life she led.

She rolled on her back as she recounted that night with William Jenkins in her mind. She did everything right, didn’t she? They couldn’t pin this on her, or her client. And if they did get her client to talk, she’d get the hell out of there even before the police could find her. She had done it before. There was nothing that a couple of years in South America couldn’t fix.

Gail murmured unintelligibly in her sleep.

Holly watched Gail’s face contort adorably before relaxing again. Her heart fluttered. God, this was the reward for her hubris. She imagined packing up her life again. Leaving Toronto. Leaving Gail. It would be heartbreak for both of them. But Holly had to think of herself. If she stayed, and if Gail found out the truth, losing Gail would probably be the least of her punishments.

Nevertheless, it would be the one that hurt the most.

The entrance to William Jenkins’s apartment building was blocked off by uniformed officers as crime techs and various personnel moved in and out. Chris and Gail observed the scene from their patrol car. Chris turned to Gail, grinning. “A crime scene, first thing in the morning!” he said.

“Your excitement is creeping me out, Diaz,” Gail said. “Come on, let’s see what Steve has to say.”

They took the elevator to William Jenkins’s floor, where they were immediately approached by Steve. “Hey, thanks for coming,” he said. “I’m gonna need you two to run an errand for me.”

“I thought you wanted us to work here,” Gail said.

“Well, something came up, fresh meat,” Steve said, waving dismissively. “But first of all, quick briefing: we’ve concluded that whoever killed Jenkins was a professional. So, hired hitman. But as you can see here,” his arm vaguely swept around the room, “there are no signs of a struggle. Jenkins knew this person.”

“And the time of death was estimated at one AM, so is it most likely a woman?” Chris asked.

“Good observation, Diaz,” Steve said. “I’d say that’s a fair call.”

“One AM, no signs of a struggle, and he’s a bachelor,” Gail said. “You’ve looked at his schedule that night, right?”

Steve nodded. He pulled out his phone and tapped on the screen a couple of times. “He was at a fundraising gala for a friend who owned some charity, but we already checked that out and apparently he left alone a couple of hours before the gala was over,” he told them. “Someone on his staff told us that he was fond of going to this speakeasy-style gentlemen’s club. It’s exclusive. And...” He tapped the screen. “I just sent you the address. Go forth and snoop, kiddos.”

The gentlemen’s club was only a few blocks away from Jenkins’s apartment. Chris and Gail were welcomed inside by the owner, who reassured them of his cooperation. He even called in all of the staff who were working that night. The first thing they asked him was if they could have access to his security cameras.

“We value our members’ privacy above all, so we don’t have security cameras,” the owner admitted. “I apologise. If I had known that there was a risk that some of our members would be meeting their potential murderers at our establishment, then I would’ve probably installed them.”

“We’re just hoping to retrace his steps,” Chris said. “You have a recommended cab company for your patrons?”

The owner looked sheepish. “We have an in-house car service to ensure our members’’ privacy,” he said. “We do keep records of which driver takes which member home though. I can go track that for you now.”

Gail turned to Chris. “Handle that, I’ll start asking the staff some questions,” she said.

“Okay, good luck,” Chris said. He followed the owner into his office, leaving Gail to the nine people working at the club that night.

“I’m Constable Peck, and I want to ask all of you a few questions individually about William Jenkins’s time here the night he was killed,” she told them. “No detail is insignificant, so tell me everything that you can remember, okay? Let’s start with the serving staff.”

One by one, she spoke the staff and took detailed notes. Everyone mentioned that Jenkins spent a significant portion of the night talking to a woman. A very beautiful woman, wearing a nice dress, they told her. Apparently, she had Jenkins wrapped around her finger. They described her as tall, with long, dark hair, olive skin and a well-bred disposition.

The next person she spoke to was the bartender who served Jenkins and this mystery woman. Once again, Gail listened to the woman’s physical description. It corroborated the other accounts. But it was still too generic a description; she made a note to call in a sketch artist.

The bartender continued to talk: “And then she asked me to make her a White Lady.”

Gail stopped. “Sorry, did you say a White Lady? The one with the egg yolks?”

“Egg whites,” the bartender corrected. “Funny that you brought that up, actually. When she ordered one, she asked if we made it with egg whites. I said yes, and she was happy about that. Apparently it’s the egg whites that complete it. I don’t know what other bars she goes to, but it’s a sin to make it without the egg whites. I told her that and she agreed.”

“Did she say anything else?” Gail asked.

The bartender chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I made a comment about how hardly anyone orders a White Lady because it’s kinda a girly drink and this is a gentlemen’s club, and most ladies who come here order Bloody Marys or something of that sort,” she started to say. “And she kinda was like, ‘Oh, not dissing those drinks, but the White Lady is my signature.’”

Gail put her pen down. “That’s what she said? Signature?”

“Yup. That’s exactly what she said. I know that ‘cause it’s the bit I remember the most.”

“All right. Thanks for that. You’re a great help.” Gail’s voice was weak. “Can you call the next person in line, please?” She shook the bartender’s hand. When she slid out of the booth, Gail allowed herself to acknowledge the gnawing feeling in her stomach.

The feeling was not assuaged by her work phone alerting her to a new email from Chris. Subject line: From the sketch artist. She put her phone down and watched Holly, whose eyes were trained on the television, apparently oblivious to Gail’s discomfort. Gail told herself that she was being ridiculous. There are two and a half million people in Toronto. A bunch of them would be tall, dark-haired, and brown-eyed women who liked to order some weird cocktail that looked like urine. Right?

She didn’t want to open that email on the off-chance that her ridiculous theory was true.

“Anything important?” Holly asked.

“Just a general update from work,” Gail lied. She scooted closer to Holly and laid her head on Holly’s shoulder. She breathed in Holly’s scent. “This is nice.”

Holly wrapped an arm around her, so Gail was now resting on her chest. “Yeah?”

“Yup.” Gail raised her head and burrowed into Holly’s neck. “How’s work treating you?”

“Oh, you know, same as always,” Holly said. “There’s this hospital just outside of Montreal that’s replacing all their patient monitors, so I’ve been handling that. I might have to go there in a couple of weeks, actually, just to make sure the deliveries go okay.”

“Is this just a thing you do by yourself or do you have business partners or a boss or something?”

Holly chuckled. “You know I’m my own boss,” she said. “I have contacts from all over the country though, but I do most of the work myself. They just help me find clients.”

“Must be a lot of work then,” Gail said.

“Yeah, I suppose,” Holly said, shrugging. “But it’s pretty simple. Just a lot of paperwork and phone calls. I keep telling you, it’s not that interesting a job.”

“But it pays a lot.”

“That’s why I’m in it.”

Gail raised her head. “So you’re only it in it for the money?” she asked.

Holly visibly hesitated before answering: “I’m in it for the independence. The money is a factor, but I like being in complete control of the process, and I like that I can arrange my free time to suit my personal life,” she said. “If I was working a normal nine to five job, we’d probably have to work twice as hard to be able to make time for each other. This is great, isn’t it? You can just come here after you finish work and I’d have dinner ready and I’d have a nice bottle of wine out. Sometimes I even run you baths…” She pressed her lips to Gail’s temple.

“You pamper all your ladies like this?”

“I didn’t even have this apartment during my last relationship,” Holly said. Her hand drew light circles on Gail’s upper arm. “Anyway, you’re in a curious mood tonight. What’s with all the questions?”

“I’ve just never seen you actually do work,” Gail said. “Sometimes I feel like I’m dating Batman or something.”

“Ah, but Batman is cooler than me,” Holly said.

Gail could feel how tense Holly was underneath her. She slipped her hand under Holly’s top and felt Holly’s warm torso. Holly gasped softly. Gail looked into her eyes. “I think you need to relax.” Her voice was low, enticing. “I think we both need to relax.”

“Gail,” Holly said vaguely.

Gail placed feather-light kisses along Holly’s jawline. “What is it?” she breathed.

“What are you doing?”

“I think you know exactly what I’m doing.” Gail’s palm skimmed up Holly’s side.

Holly placed both hands on Gail’s shoulders. She pushed Gail back so she was horizontal on the couch, and then moved so that she was on top of her. They looked into each other’s eyes, and Gail was conscious of how they were both trying to keep their breathing under control.

“You’re way ahead of me, Hol,” Gail said.

Holly made an attempt at a cocky shrug. “Aren’t I always?” She leaned down to capture Gail’s lips in a kiss.

And against her better judgment, Gail reciprocated with equal hunger.

Gail opened her eyes. She was in Holly’s bed, naked, and Holly was sleeping soundly beside her. The clock on Holly’s nightstand read 4:00. Gail got out of bed and walked to Holly’s living room. She picked up her work phone from the coffee table, entered her PIN and braced herself to open Chris’s email.

From the sketch artist.

She needed to know that she was just having a crazy assumption. That she was wrong. That she wasn’t so cursed that she would only be able to solve a case if she had been sleeping with the criminal all along.

People in her line of work made mistakes, right? And with this one, nobody would have to know about it. It wouldn’t even bruise her pride!

Gail tapped the attachment. The file loaded. An eerie sketch of a very familiar face stared straight at her. Her knees buckled and she landed on the cool leather of Holly’s couch. She wanted to curse everyone who ever told her that she had good instincts.

Holly awoke to the sound of rustling. She got up and pulled a hoodie on and found Gail halfway to her bathroom, clutching her clothes. “Gail?” she called out. “It’s only eight o’clock. You haven’t got work today, have you?”

Gail shook her head deliberately. “I just remembered my landlord is coming over for an inspection,” she said. “So I have to get home.”

“Okay,” Holly said. “I’ll drive you?”

“Oh no, it’s okay. I can take the streetcar. Don’t you have work to do or something?”

“It can wait,” Holly said. “I insist, Gail. It’s only a fifteen-minute drive.”

Gail’s shoulders drop. “All right,” she said. “Let me shower first.”

Holly let her eyes rake over Gail’s naked body. “Sure I can’t drive you like that?”

“Oh, stop it.” Gail finally relaxed. “I’ll be out in ten. You have good water pressure here!” She walked into the bathroom and shut the door.

Holly looked around the living room. Besides the clothes Gail had taken in with her, the rest of her things were gathered together, just waiting for her to pick them up before she left. Her phone and scarf were neatly placed on the coffee table, and on the floor next to it was her bag and her boots. Her jacket was draped over the back of the couch.

Holly heard the sounds of the shower from the bathroom. Satisfied that Gail wasn’t going to come out anytime soon, she patted down the pockets of Gail’s jacket until she found Gail’s work phone. She turned the screen on. It asked her for a PIN, which she cracked in under a minute.

Security measures were so flimsy. Holly would’ve laughed if she wasn’t currently betraying Gail’s trust.

She looked through Gail’s text messages. Nothing there about the investigation. She went into the email app, and on the very top of the list: From the sketch artist.

Her breath caught.

The jig was up.

It was probably a terrible idea to snoop on a murder suspect’s apartment while alone and off-duty. Especially when Gail wasn’t sure if said suspect’s apartment was going to be empty.

But Gail had been spending time with Holly—in an intimate manner, even—for several months and not once did Holly ever make her feel unsafe. Anyway, Gail didn’t plan to confront her about the crime she might have committed. She just wanted to know if everything Holly had done, said, and felt in their relationship was real.

She didn’t come here as a cop. Not yet. She came here as Holly’s girlfriend.

She entered Holly’s apartment building using swipe card from the keychain she stole from Holly’s kitchen drawers the last time she spent the night there. Dread crept inside her as she stepped out of the elevator onto the hallway that led to Holly’s door.

When she got into the apartment, it was empty. So empty that it might as well had not been Holly’s at all, ever. The furniture was still intact, but every trace of Holly—the apples in the fruit basket, the pile of junk mail at the end of the kitchen counter, the fleece throw on the couch—was gone.

Gail stormed into Holly’s bedroom. The bed was stripped of its sheets. The vanity was bare. She pulled the wardrobe doors open. She ran across the apartment to the bathroom. Empty. Not one thing left behind.

What could this be but an admission of guilt?

“Fuck,” she muttered. She staggered back into the living room and sat on the couch, elbows on knees, her face buried in her hands. She counted her breaths. “Fuck,” she repeated into her hands. And then she lifted her head. “Fuck you, Holly!” she cried out into the empty space.

That was when she spotted a book on the counter. Her book, in fact. It was a thriller hardback that she bought at the airport while flying back from Montreal a couple of years ago. She remembered bringing it a couple of months ago when she came to the apartment after a boring stakeout assignment.

Hot tears welling in her eyes, she reached for it and absently flipped through the pages. When she got to the middle of the book, she found a piece of folded paper tucked there, along with an envelope. She unfolded the paper and read the words in Holly’s neat, precise hand:

I can tell you about all the things that you don’t want to know. Or I can tell you about all the things that you do.

You decide which is which.

Gail picked up the envelope. Its contents were made of stiffer material. She opened it and found two plane tickets, booked under her name. One was a flight from Toronto to Berlin, leaving the next morning. The other was a flight from Berlin to Zagreb.

She wiped her tears with her jacket sleeve. She was astonished. Holly was handing herself to Gail on a silver platter. But how could she take the bait when she wasn’t sure if it actually was one?

Well, she had a plane to catch.