The Female Detective
1178 Words
Around noon, Celestian pulled his pickup to a stop and headed into his apothecary.
He’d just come back from actress Mikaela Banes’ place. The morning’s “youth maintenance” session had gone exactly like every time before—during the massage, she’d made no effort to hide her flirting.
Hollywood actresses really were built different. Compared to an average woman, the curves alone put them in another league. Gan Jing wasn’t bad-looking at all—her skin was even better, finer, smoother—but in certain areas, she was… noticeably smaller.
The moment Celestian stepped inside the shop, he saw Gan Jing sitting there with a sour expression.
Across from her, at the tea table, sat a woman with a sweet face and a tall, elegant figure. She wore a white plaid blouse, her black blazer casually draped aside. A teacup rested in her hand, and she carried herself with effortless grace.
“Catherine—my dear Catherine,” Celestian said theatrically, glancing around as if surprised. “What brings you here? If I remember correctly, this is supposed to be working hours.”
Detective Kate Beckett of the LAPD Major Crimes Division—one of the department’s most well-known female detectives.
Beckett set her teacup down and gave Celestian a cold look.
“And why can’t I be here?” she said flatly. “What, I can’t come buy some gynecological medicine? Got a problem with that?”
“No, no, of course not. I wouldn’t dare,” Celestian said quickly, waving his hands. He passed his medical case to Gan Jing and continued complaining loudly, “Gan Jing, really—you’re serving Detective Beckett tea? She’s a famous investigator. How could she be used to our rough little brews? You should’ve brought her coffee instead. Remember that next time.”
Gan Jing blinked, then immediately broke into a smile.
“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll go make coffee for Detective Beckett right away.”
They did have a coffee machine at home—but neither Celestian nor Gan Jing drank coffee much. Most visitors got tea, high-quality leaves imported directly from across the Pacific. Anyone insisting on coffee usually ended up with instant.
“No need. Tea’s fine,” Beckett said curtly.
Watching the two of them play off each other only fueled her irritation. She shot Celestian a sharp look.
“Celestian. Come here. I have questions.”
“Questions for me?” Celestian pointed at his own nose. “What could a humble herbalist possibly help you with, Detective Beckett? Come, let me take a look.”
As he spoke, he reached out and lightly went for Beckett’s left wrist.
She frowned, instinctively pulling back, trying to avoid his hand—but no matter how she moved, Celestian’s fingers followed, steady and precise. In the end, under her incredulous stare, his fingers settled gently on her pulse.
After just a moment, Celestian shook his head.
“My dear Catherine… you haven’t been in great shape lately. Too much work. Liver fire’s running high, hormones are a bit out of balance. I’m guessing this month’s… schedule hasn’t shown up yet.”
“That’s none of your business,” Beckett snapped, yanking her hand back. She stared at him, irritation clear in her voice. “What happened last night?”
“Last night?” Celestian looked genuinely surprised. “Did something happen? L.A.’s been pretty peaceful lately—especially under the excellent management of our fine police officers. Even the number of people running tabs here has gone down. And honestly, I have no idea what you’re talking about. We turned in early, didn’t we, Gan Jing?”
Gan Jing shot him a fierce glare—then sighed and nodded.
“Yes. After the last customer left, we went straight to bed.”
“See?” Celestian shrugged at Beckett, looking smug.
“Don’t play dumb,” Beckett said sharply, lowering her voice. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t think I don’t know the Chinese gangs mobilized last night. My informants aren’t limited to just you.”
Informant.
That was, indeed, one of Celestian’s private identities.
Though notably, his status as an informant wasn’t officially recorded in LAPD files. He was Kate Beckett’s personal informant—off the books.
Celestian hadn’t had much choice in agreeing to it.
A while back, one of the herbal prescriptions he sold had been blamed for a death. The family cremated the body immediately, then sued him. It was Beckett who uncovered the truth—a murder staged to frame him.
Whether out of professional ethics or simple compassion, Beckett cleared his name. In return, Celestian agreed to help her.
Part of that sympathy came from knowing her background.
Her mother had been murdered when Beckett was a child. The case was never solved. After college, she joined the police academy—and within three years, she’d made it into Major Crimes.
As Beckett’s private informant, Celestian’s main task was helping her quietly investigate her mother’s murder. On top of that, he fed her intelligence on L.A.’s underworld.
And when Celestian ran into trouble he couldn’t handle openly—being a gang doctor wasn’t exactly a respectable line of work—Beckett would help smooth things over.
Thinking about it, Celestian could only sigh.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “But not here. Let’s talk inside.”
Beckett nodded, stood, and reached for her blazer.
Turning to Gan Jing, Celestian said, “Alright, Gan Jing. I’m taking Detective Beckett upstairs for a massage. You hold down the fort.”
Gan Jing nodded lightly. She knew full well that when Celestian and Beckett went upstairs, it wasn’t for anything inappropriate—it meant private business.
Celestian gave Gan Jing a gentle smile.
He liked this girl more and more.
Enough to ache.
Up on the second floor, Celestian led Beckett into the study and closed the door behind them. Only then did he exhale.
After last night’s appearance by S.H.I.E.L.D., caution was mandatory. The current S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t clean—HYDRA’s infiltration ran deep. If those people locked onto him, it wouldn’t just be trouble.
“Tea or coffee?” Celestian asked with a grin.
“Coffee,” Beckett snapped, glaring at him. “I want to see what you’re really up to.”
“Coming right up.”
Celestian chuckled and pulled an iced coffee from the small fridge, handing it to her.
“This is what you’re giving me?” Beckett shot him an annoyed look—but she still took it. Early summer in L.A. was already hot.
She cracked it open, took a long drink, then looked at him.
“Alright. Start talking. What happened last night? What do you know?”
“Not much,” Celestian said with a shrug. “You know I’ve only got limited ties to the Four Seas Gang—”
Beckett’s eyes narrowed.
Celestian smiled, stopped dodging, and his tone turned serious.
“Honestly? Nothing complicated.”
“The Chinese gangs beat the Japanese gangs down.”
- Writer
