He smiled. “Lucky for you, I’m not.”
Forest’s fingers brushed my elbow—a whisper of a question. I ignored the shiver and slid a sad, precinct-grade donut across the table. “Enjoy. It’s gluten-free because our sergeant is on a wellness kick and hates joy.”
Harris took a bite, grimaced. “This is a crime.”
“Confess and I’ll bring you real sugar next time.”
He chewed and swallowed, keeping his eyes on mine. “You won’t make it to ‘next time’ if you go alone.”
The room tightened around us.
“Good news,” I said coolly. “I never go alone.”
Behind me, Forest didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.
The evidence lockerwas a cathedral of chain link and fluorescent hum. I swiped in, did the dance with the logbook, and walked to shelf three, bin B, because apparently we were living in Harris’s little riddle.
I lifted the lid. Sat there: a city-issued property bag with my case number and a phone that shouldn’t exist.
I held it up to Forest. “Never logged. Never assigned.”
He took it, thumb brushing the edge of the seal without breaking it. “He wanted you to find it.”
“Because there’s something on it,” I said. “Or because someone wants to see if I’ll report it and out myself as not-a-team-player. It’s bait.”
Forest’s gaze met mine, steady. “So we don’t bite. We document, we cross-check, we bring this upstairs.Together.Then we'll ask for extra sauerkraut tonight.”
I lifted a brow. “You volunteering to go on a date to a hot dog cart?”
His mouth tipped toward a smile. “If it keeps you from getting shot, I’ll buy you the whole cart.”
“Forest—”
“Zoe,” he said, low, “you can take care of yourself. I know that. I’ve seen it. I’m not here to clip your wings.” His voice softened, almost a secret. “I’m here to fly next to you.”
Something in my chest did a very inconvenient, very hopeful thing. I cleared my throat. “Fine. You can be mywingman.But if you say ‘goose’ I’m tasing you.”
“Noted,” he said, and his eyes warmed. “What’s our cover?”
I considered. “We’re a couple on a date. You’re the guy who insists on having brown mustard and sauerkraut. I’m the woman planning your funeral.”
“That a joke?”
“Romcom,” I said, and surprised both of us by smiling. “Try to keep up.”
4
Forest
The pier was a smear of neon and salt air. Gulls argued like old men. Food trucks lined the boardwalk, hawking everything from kimchi tacos to pretzels the size of steering wheels.
Zoe shoved a hoodie over my head from a tourist stand before I could protest. It read I LOVE THE CITY in a font that could be seen from space.
I looked down at it. “This is a hate crime.”
“Blend,” she said, tugging the hood up and giving me sunglasses shaped like hearts. “Also, karmic payback for telling a vending machine it’s doing great.”
She’d pulled her hair into a messy knot, a few strands kissing her neck. She wore a bomber jacket and a smile she claimed was “civilians-only” and then pretended not to notice me noticing her.
