IT WAS SECOND-DAY, I had just returned to work after a harsh weekend of coping with my breakup—alone. Jaritzia had simply said, “I am no longer interested in us.” That’s it, when asked for details she just walked away. Hung up when I called, and refused digi-coms.
So I was sitting at my desk reviewing a case I could do in my sleep. When she walked in. No, not petite and dark Jaritzia. This woman was perfection personified. Her grace was almost too perfect.
Her smile was seemingly genuine as she entered and asked, “Is this the office for Detective Alistair Guthwolf?”
I wanted to be sarcastic, as my name was printed in large iridescent lettering on the door she had just entered, but her innocence and wide-eyed look caused my mouth to remain fixed as I stood, answering with a nod.
Extendi
