Tomorrow Is Never Promised

Chapter 4

Oliver



I kept quiet as Detective Beck maneuvered his way down the narrow streets of downtown. He insisted on driving, control freak much?

I must have done something bad in a past life to deserve this.

It wasn’t that I was partnered with a Detective who came with a stellar reputation, no that wasn’t it at all. It was the fact that Detective Beck was unbelievably attractive.

I stole a glance at him, his large bicep rippling through the fabric of his t-shirt as he shifted down to a lower gear. He was all furrowed brow and set jaw, the facial features of a man who didn’t really want to be messed with. Or maybe that was just his face?

His frame was solid, with broad shoulders and a thick neck, the type of physique that probably came from entertaining time at the gym. And those eyes.

This is where my problem lie.

He may come with a stellar reputation out of Boston but he was a distraction. A tasty, delicious looking distraction wrapped in a tight long sleeve shirt and peppered with a woodsy cologne that did things to my insides that it shouldn’t. I didn’t want to be partnered with him, I couldn’t be partnered with him.

“Were here.” He said gruffly as the car came to a halt on the side of the road.

I began shuffling the contents of the case file back into the manila envelope and stuffed it into my shoulder bag. I stepped out of the car and slung the bag over my shoulder, Beck giving me a curious look.

“You know you can just leave that in the car right?” He gestured at my bag.

“What if I need something out of it?” I walked passed him and began crossing the street towards the building the youth center was located in. I could hear him muttering something under his breath behind me, but I chose to ignore it.

Figures I would get saddled with the grouchy detective.

Speaking of which, what was with the attitude at the station?

The LGBT youth center, which was named Terry's House, was located on a quiet street lined with old, cast iron facade buildings which seemed to speak of that old town feel you saw in most major American cities. I reached for the handle to open the sturdy door when Beck reached an arm out, blocking me.

I shot him a confused glance.

“Let me do the talking.” He asserted.

I scoffed. “Now’s not the time to let your ego shine.” I reached for the handle again and he stopped me. Okay seriously, what was this dude’s deal?

“It’s not about ego.” He assured.

“I’m sure it’s not.” I snarked. This space was way too small to be this close to him.

“Just-“ A frustrated sound escaped the back of his throat. “Please, let’s not turn this into a thing.”

“What thing? There is no thing. If anything you're making this more into a thing than I am. Now move, please.”

His jaw ticked as he moved his arm out of the way and I could finally escape the confined space that was filled with the delicious scent of his cologne. God, it should be illegal for a man to smell that good.

I found myself in a narrow hallway, to my right was an equally narrow staircase that led up to the floor above. I could hear voices and laughter coming from the end of the hallway, just beyond a pair of double doors that were propped open. I slowly walked down the hall, Beck right behind me, and through the double doors into a massive, brightly lit room.

There was a group of people sitting in a circle, looking to be having some sort of group therapy session. One of them looked up above her large framed glasses, her brow furrowed in a confused manner as she glanced between the both of us.

“Can I help you?” She asked in a soft tone.

The other members of the group looked over as well, most of them I realized were kids, teenagers, and they all had that look of mistrust at the strangers in their midst.

“Detective Beck, Portland Police.” He flashed his badge in a simple manner like what you see in a crime tv show. “We need to ask you some questions regarding Kyle Harding.”

Some of the kids looked around anxiously, and I shot Beck an annoyed expression.

“Good job Sherlock.” I tried to say with my eyes.

Apparently he caught it because he scrunched his face in annoyance which made me chuckle internally.

“Yes, just one moment please.” She gave us a confused look before turning her attention back to her group. The rest of the kids followed suit, turning their bodies back toward the center of the circle.

“Nice one.” I glared at Beck.

“What?” He asked with a confused expression.

“Well obviously these kids are skittish around police. Now if we need information from them it’s going to be harder to get.” I explained.

His expression turned to annoyance. “So what, I should have lied?”

“No-just-“ I looked back at the group to make sure they weren’t watching us bicker like an old married couple. “This is my world, I know how to talk to this specific population in ways that you probably can’t.”

“I think you would be surprised at my capabilities.” He responded.

His tone seemed to suggest something more there, something from his past. But I didn’t have time to go rooting around in the complicated life stylings of Detective Beck. No, I had a job to do. Finding out who Jane Doe was.

“Alright guys, work on your sharing, I’ll be right back.” The woman said to the group, before standing up and making her way towards us.

“Sorry for the interruption.” I apologized.

She waved off the apology with a delicate hand and smile. “Don’t be sorry, how can I help you?”

That was a good question, I felt like I had no idea what the hell I was doing. Maybe Beck was right, maybe he needed to do the talking.

“My name is Doctor Reagan, I’m a criminal profiler with the Portland Police.” I managed to get out.

“Yes?” She gave me a hopeful look.

“I-uh…” What the hell? Why was I so bad at this? I heard Beck give a short sigh.

“Sorry ma’am, we need your help identifying a Jane Doe that is a victim in a recent case.”

Great, way to show you can take charge Oliver.

It wasn’t that I ever had a problem with taking charge before. I mean, I’ve conversed with murderer’s before, this should be easy. It’s just… Beck. He puts me off my game somehow, makes me nervous like a cheerleader crushing on the hot football player. Okay probably not the best metaphor, but it get’s the point across.

“Reagan?”

“Hmm?” I gave him a confused look.

“The picture, of the Jane Doe.” He gave me a pointed look.

“Oh-right. Sorry.” I dig around in my bag and retrieve a picture of the Jane Doe from the case file. I hand it out to her and she takes the photo in a shaky hand, looking down at the photo.

Her eyes went sad and she handed the sketch back to me. “I knew when she stopped showing up for her volunteer shifts that something bad had happened. I just didn’t think it would be something so horrible.” Her voice broke and she glanced at the ground.

“So you knew the victim?” I asked, a sense of hope bubbling up to the surface.

She nodded her head and gestured at the bulletin board beside us. There was a large banner up top that read “Our Volunteers”, and below that were a bunch of candid shots of teenagers and young adults.

“Casey Campbell, she was one of our volunteers.” She pointed out one of the photos, a brunette girl, with a pretty smile and an overall friendly looking demeanor.

“Do you mind if I?” I gestured at the picture, not really sure how to ask if I could take the picture to add it to my case file.

“Of course.” She pulled the picture off the board and handed it to me.

There were still so many things that didn’t make any sense to me. Why kill a volunteer and a youth counselor of Terry’s House? What was the connection other than the youth center?

“Did Casey have any enemies, someone who would want to see her harmed?” Beck asked.

She shook her head. “No, Casey was such a kind girl. It was a pity really.”

“What was?” Beck asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Casey’s parents threw her out when they found out she was gay. She was only sixteen at the time, and she had to sell herself to survive on the streets.” She shook her head. “I will never be able to understand how someone’s parents could do that to their own child.”

The expression that crossed Beck’s face was… interesting. It seemed like sympathy, but more than that. I wasn’t expecting that from someone who seemed so callous.

“Are most of your youth here homeless?” I interjected, because Beck had gone somewhat quiet.

She nodded her head, a look of sadness in her eyes. “Yes. That’s what most of the work we do here is, helping homeless LGBT youth that have no resources. We provide them with a safe place to get meals, STD testing, contraceptives.We want them to be protected.”

“That’s very noble of you.”

“It’s the human thing to do. There’s so much ugliness in this world we forget to be kind to one another. Kyle would always tell the kids to do one kind thing a day for a total stranger.” A new hurt formed behind her eyes at the mention of Kyle Harding. Something that spoke of a deep connection between colleagues.

“How close were Casey and Kyle?” Beck seemed to find his footing again.

“They put together a lot of events. Kyle would often let her stay with him when they were working on big projects.”

I furrowed my brow at that. “Is that normal for a counselor to have that sort of relationship with a volunteer?”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “I don’t know what you're trying to imply but Kyle was a good man.”

I shook my head. “No, I meant no offense.”

Even though a relationship of that magnitude between a counselor and a client was a little off to say the least. Something didn’t seem right there.

“I’m sorry,” She looked away and shook her head. “Ever since Kyle died I’ve just been a little on edge.”

“That’s understandable.” I nodded in agreement and so did Beck.

“Does Kyle have an office by chance?” Beck asked in a hopeful tone.

She shook her head. “No, most of the rooms here are for houseless teenagers, so we don’t really get offices.” She looked back at the group of kids, silently talking amongst themselves, before turning her gaze back in our direction. “I’m sorry, but I should probably get back. I only get so much time with these kids-“

“That’s understandable.” Beck nodded shortly.

It was clear that our questioning was done here. Whatever she knew about Kyle and Casey was what we already knew from the countless witness testimonies and questioning of Kyle’s family and friends.

“I’m sorry for your losses.” I grabbed my wallet and clumsily withdrew one of my cards from the leather confines. “If you can think of anything that could help us in the investigation, please give us a call.”

Beck reached into his jacket and withdrew his own card, albeit with better finesse than me, and handed it over to her as well.

She nodded her head and took the cards. “Please, just catch whoever did this.”

“We’ll try our best.” I replied stiffly and Beck replied with a wordless grunt.

I didn’t like when people pleaded for us to do our jobs, it made me feel more pressure. Of course we would try our hardest to catch whoever did this. I know they don’t mean to put pressure on us when they say that, but it still does.

I followed Beck out of the building, trying desperately not to watch how much those jeans squeeze his ass as he walks ahead of me. As soon as we exit and begin walking across the street towards his car we fall into an even pace next to one another. I see out of the corner of my eye that he glances at me, but I choose to ignore him.

“So,” He begins, forcing me to look over at him as we reach his car. “Clearly you’ve never questioned someone before.”

I roll my eyes and cross my arms with a huff. “For your information, yes I have.”

That was a lie, but like hell I wanted him to be right.

“So you always fumble over your responses like that?” He questions with an amused expression.

“Oh what, and you're so perfect?” I gesture towards the building we just came out of. “You flashed your badge at those people in there like d**k Tracy on a mission.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but a look of confusion quickly crossed his features. “d**k Tracy?”

“Yeah, d**k Tracy. He’s… never mind what he is,” I felt my face getting heated from anger. “The point is all of you detectives are the same, you’re cocky, and arrogant, and think-“

“So what? It’s better to over analyze everything like a damn shrink?” He growls, his jaw setting.

I fell silent.

“You think you have the whole world figured out and why? Because you read some s**t in a book that told you about the ‘human condition’ and how the mind works?”

I could feel a knot forming in my chest, the kind of knot that comes from becoming emotional. I quickly tamped it down, not wanting it to get the better of me. Beck may be bigger than me, he may be stronger than me, but he was also emotional, and emotions were messy and didn’t make you think straight.

“You are such an asshole.” I blurt out.

Okay, not my finest comeback.

He narrows his eyes at me, a glint of anger forming. “Well it’s better than being naive.”

We stared at each other for several long seconds before I turned on my heel, walking in the opposite direction of him. I didn’t need this, I certainly didn’t need it from someone like Beck.

“Where are you going?” I heard him call after me.

I ignored him, continuing to walk away from him, not wanting to give him any more ounce of my energy. People like Beck were never satisfied unless they were breaking you down, exposing your weak spots, and taking advantage of them. He deserved what I told him.

So why do I feel so bad?

Ethan

I sat in my car, mulling over the argument I just had with Oliver, the melody of Yellow Leadbetter playing blissfully through my car speakers.

I scoffed and shook my head, staring absently out the window. I wasn’t an asshole, was I? I mean sure I did give him a hard time about his struggle with questioning that woman, but I didn’t think he would take it so personally.

And who the f**k is d**k Tracy?

I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. I didn’t even mean what I said to him. I didn’t think he was naive at all, I just needed a good comeback for him calling me an asshole.

“You are such an asshole.” I said aloud to myself.

I started my car and pulled away from the curb, the tires giving a light squeal. I began making my way back to the station, hoping like hell I didn’t run into Oliver when I got there. That would mean me having to swallow my pride and apologize for being an ass, something that I didn’t always like doing, but I could admit when I was in the wrong.

When I finally crossed the threshold into the station twenty minutes later, there was no sign of Oliver. I breathed a sigh of relief and made my way towards my desk. I sat down behind the sturdy wood surface and logged into my computer, pulling up all the police reports on the past two victims. I was just update the status of our Jane Doe, when I felt a rather large presence standing over me. I turned my head slightly to see Sully, standing over me, hands on his hips, a look on his face like a father who is about to reprimand his child for bad behavior.

“Hey Sully.” I tried to play stupid.

“Don’t ‘hey Sully’ me.” He responded.

So much for playing stupid.

“Five seconds into being assigned a profiler, a damn good profiler at that, to help us with this case and you already piss him off?”

Jesus, did Oliver go and cry to someone? Tell the captain that I was mean to him?

“He didn’t rat you out if that’s what you’re worried about.” He growled, completely reading my mind.

“Then how-“

“Because, he left with you and then an hour later he showed back up here looking like a kicked puppy.”

A pang of guilt hit me square in the chest. f**k, I really am an asshole.

“I’m sorry.” Was all I could muster.

Sully’s expression relaxed slightly as he placed his large hands on my desk and leaned forward. “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.” He looked up towards the loft and I followed his gaze, my eyes landing on Oliver, sitting behind his desk, studying a document of some sort. “You should play nice. The two of you may have more in common than you think.” He adds, c*****g an eyebrow at me.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t answer me. Instead he shoves his hands in his pockets and waltzes away, seeming way more cryptic than necessary.

What did he mean by Oliver and I having something in common? What could we possibly have in common besides a mutual hatred for one another?

I stood up from desk and made my way towards the stairs that led up to the loft.

That was the thing though, I didn’t hate Oliver, in fact a lot of people had respect for him. It was no secret around the department how good Dr. Reagan was. I had just never met him before today and rumor had it he was also new, just transferring here from LA about a year ago I think. It is a big department after all.

I came to a halt in front of Oliver’s desk, at a complete loss for words, which was new for me. What do I say to someone whose feelings I might’ve hurt? I’m not good with this kind of s**t.

How about sorry?

I saw him peer up at me through the top of his glasses, blowing out a sharp force of air while returning his gaze to what I realize now is a picture from a crime scene.

“What?” He asked with a hint of annoyance.

“What you got there?”

“A photo from the Kyle Harding crime scene.”

“Find anything interesting?”

He set the picture down on his desk and pulled his glasses off, giving me an annoyed look. I stared into his honey brown eyes, which looked brighter somehow now that they weren’t being obscured by thin lenses. Or maybe that was just the anger making them shine brighter.

“Is there something you need?”

Damn, okay he was really upset with me. I guess I deserved that with how I acted towards him. The only question was, how do I get back into his good graces so we can work together as a team, and not at all because I’m scared of the wrath of Sully.

I made a frustrated noise and shifted uncomfortably on my feet.

“Look, I’m not good at this kind of thing…”

“Admitting you’re an ass?” He c****d an eyebrow at me.

“That too,” I rubbed the back of neck. “And also saying I’m sorry.” I gave him a hopeful look.

He tapped his fingers on his desk, seeming to be in thought about god only knew what. When he finally spoke it was in a tone that came across matter-of-fact and almost business like.

“Let’s just do our jobs and we’ll forget it ever happened.”

I honestly wasn’t expecting that response. Was this some sort of trick? A test maybe? We stared at each other for a few beats before I finally spoke. My tone laced with confusion.

“That’s it?”

He raised his eyebrows “Are you expecting me to make you grovel and beg?”

“Well,” I shrug a shoulder. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He snorts and returns to the picture he was examining before I approached him. “In some cultures that would be expected, even encouraged. I however, don’t feel the need to resort to those measures.”

My face scrunched in confusion at that statement. “In english please.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re off the hook.”

“Was that so hard to say in the first place?”

He shot me an annoyed look and I raised both my hands in defense.

“Sorry, sorry.” I sat down across from him and propped my feet on the corner of his desk. “Why are you looking at a photo from the Harding scene anyway?”

He eyed my feet in disdain before taking a hand and shoving them off the surface, my boots hitting the hardwood floor with a clunk. Hm, interesting.

“Just looking at the pattern of the stab wounds. It reminds me of a similar crime scene photo I saw back when I was studying to be profiler.” He explained.

“Are you thinking a copycat?”

He turned his eyes back to the photo, a little crease forming between his eyebrows that shouldn’t be so damn cute to me but it is. When he spoke his voice sounded unsure.

“I don’t know. Thirteen stab wounds, in a circular pattern. It reminds me of a ritualistic type killing.”

“What, like a satanic cult?”

He shook his head and gave me an amused look. “Not all satanic cults are into ritualistic killings. That’s a widely misconstrued notion.”

“Well they believe in satan, that’s enough for me.” I grumbled.

He c****d an eyebrow at me. “Is that the detective talking, or the catholic?”

I gave him a confused look which caused him to point gesture at his neckline with his pen. I looked down to see my Saint Christopher pendant dangling from my neck. I usually keep it tucked into my shirt, but sometimes I pull it out to fiddle with it, like when I’m trying to figure out how to apologize to a handsome, yet aggravating criminal profiler.

I tucked the pendant back into my shirt and shrugged. “What, you're not religious?”

“No,” he shook his head. “God, and in extension, religion were created as a way to force humans to be kinder to one another for fear of eternal damnation in some make believe place filled with fire and brimstone.”

He said it with such finesse and calm demeanor that I had to shake my head in disbelief. “I think there’s more to it than that.”

“Not really,” he continued shaking his head. “The bible is filled with fables-“

“Fables?” I had an incredulous tone.

“Yes, fables. Stories that aren’t true.”

“I know what fables are,” I scoffed. “Some people just like to have faith in something greater than themselves. You’re telling me you don’t have faith in anything?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I have faith in science.” He countered.

I stared at him. Of course he would say that being a doctor, he was a man of science after all. I had just never met someone who was so black and white, so calm, and so sure of themselves when it came to a topic such as religion. I actually kind of respected him for it.

“Okay, well then you have your science and I have my ‘fables’.” I signaled with air quotes and an eye roll.

A light chuckle escaped his lips, a sound that my ears seemed to love, and once it was gone, my brain seemed to crave more of.

You can’t go down this road again.

Yeah, that would just perfect wouldn’t it? Be sucked right into the same drama that landed me here in the first place. It was perfectly reasonable to have a little crush and not act on it. People do it all the time. It just takes lots of self control and-

My train of though was interrupted by Oliver pushing away from the desk and walking away from me toward a large printer. I admired the way his slacks formed perfectly around his ass, two plump cheeks just begging to be squeezed.

I shook that thought from my head. Okay scratch that, a lot of self control.

He made his way back towards me and took his seat behind his desk, stapling the papers together that he just printed and shoving them away in an envelope. I just watched him as he worked, the whole process seeming to be second nature to him, almost like breathing. He then powered down his computer and began stuffing the envelope in his bag before standing up and slinging the bag over his shoulder.

“You’re leaving?” I asked.

He looked at the large clock hanging over the entryway.

“It’s five-thirty.” He stated.

Oh, right. He probably had someone at home waiting for him. Or maybe he was just one of those people whose life didn’t revolve around work. I wonder what that must feel like.

“Do you usually take work home with you?” I ask pointedly.

He brushed past me and began making his way towards the stairs. “I sometimes like to look over cases while enjoying a beer or two.”

I grinned at that. “Hm. Dedicated.”

"Well, I didn't get where I'm at today by half assing it." He clipped.

My grin became a little wider. He was a total spitfire, and I liked that. Probably a little more than I should have.

We approached the elevator and he jabbed the down button with one of his slender fingers. He turned around and gave me a pointed look, and I replied with a cocky grin. I wasn't going to let him think he was getting to me. Not that he was, nope, not at all.

"Was there something else Detective Beck?”

"Ethan."

His face pinched in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"My name, it's Ethan."

He seemed to think about that for a second, swirling my name around in his head. For a split second I almost thought I had slightly diffused whatever tension was between us.

The elevator dinged, and the doors parted. He stepped on and pushed one of the buttons before standing in the center and turning to face me.

"See you tomorrow, Detective." He stated matter-of-factly.

So much for diffused tension.

"See you tomorrow, Oliver."

His eyebrows shot up and whatever his response was going to be was lost as the elevator doors clamped shut. I laughed rather maniacally to myself as I turned around and walked back towards my desk.

Oh yeah, I was totally under his skin, and I was going to enjoy every minute of torturing him until he lightened up a little bit. What were partners for, right?

All of this just made Oliver more intriguing to me. Call it my investigative personality, but I wanted to know more about him. Where he was from, what kinds of things he did for fun-if he even had fun. What he liked, what he didn’t like.

I wanted to know what made Oliver Reagan tick.