Tomorrow Is Never Promised

Chapter 5 Part 2

Ethan

I stood outside of the station waiting for Oliver to show up, feeling about as stupid as I probably looked.

He wouldn't stand me up, would he?

No. Because standing someone up would indicate that this was a date, but it wasn't, it was coffee with my partner. Which true is kind of like a date, but not a date date, and why the hell did I care?

More importantly, why was I so f*****g nervous?

Maybe it was because I saw who Oliver really was. He may try to hide it behind his professional intellect, and his objective viewpoints. But there were times when I saw the real Oliver slip through, and that Oliver was someone I really wanted to get to know.

"You ready?"

I turned around to see Oliver approaching me, hands shoved deep in the pockets of a green bomber jacket.

"What took you?" I asked, even though my stomach gave a pleasant flip at the sight of him.

"It’s freaking cold, I wanted to get my jacket. Is that a crime Detective?” He teased.

“I don’t know, I’ll have to check the penal code.”

Why did you just say that? That was so f*****g cheesy.

He stared back at me with a perplexed look. "You're not cold?"

I looked down at my torso as if the answer was contained somewhere in the plain long-sleeved black henley shirt I was wearing.

"I was getting hot."

He scanned me up and down, was he checking me out? No that’s stupid, I’m being ridiculous.

"Coffee." I stated, jerking him out of whatever thought he was having.

"Right, coffee." A slight blush creeped into his cheeks, leading me to believe that I was right on his thought process.

We walked down the sidewalk in silence, falling into each other's step. It wasn't an awkward silence by any means. It was a pleasant silence, as if shared between two friends.

We approached the coffee shop and Oliver let out a chuckle. I turned to him giving him a quizzical look.

"What is it?"

He shrugged. "Nothing, this is just one of my favorite spots to get coffee."

"Mine too." I smiled at the shared interest.

"Well in all fairness I think a lot of people from the station go here. It's close by and convenient."

"Oh, right." I replied, a little bummed that he would ruin a common interest like that.

What was so bad about us being more than "just partners" that made him want to put so much distance between the two of us. I mean it's not like I'm expecting to move past anything more than platonic. Although the idea of that makes my blood heat and my heart thrum just a little bit.

I pulled the door open and stepped aside so he could go in first.

"Thanks." He smiled before entering the shop.

As he passed I got a whiff of his cologne. Something dark and woodsy that made me want to lean in more and get a better smell.

He's your partner you f*****g creep.

The only response I could give was a grunt. Because if I were to open my mouth something stupid might fly out and embarrass the both of us.

We approached the counter and the cashier, a tall gangly man who couldn't be older than eighteen, gave us a toothy grin.

"Hey there, what can I get for you?"

"Yeah, I would like a twenty ounce salted caramel mocha." Oliver spoke his order as if it were the most natural thing on the face of the planet.

I had never heard of a salted caramel mocha. I think the most adventurous I ever got with my coffee order was a pumpkin spice latte from Starbucks, and I vowed never again.

"For you sir?" The man looked at me.

"Uhh, yeah I'll just get a large regular." I replied.

The cashier gave me a confused look, as if I had spoken a completely foreign language to him.

"A what?"

Oh right, because this isn’t a Dunkies back home. This poor kid probably has no idea what the f**k I’m talking about. I had only been living in Portland for a few months, so I was still getting acclimated to their lack of knowledge in everyday occurrences for us back in Boston.

"He means a regular coffee with four creams and four sugars." Oliver spoke up, an amused grin on his face.

"Oh, right-sure thing." The man replied, his toothy grin on display once more.

I gave Oliver a confused look and he just shrugged his shoulders. He reached for his wallet but I stopped him.

"I got it." I pulled a ten and some ones out of my wallet and slid them across the counter to the cashier.

"Thanks." Oliver smiled, and god what a beautiful smile it was. It made me want to keep doing more things just to see it again.

I gave a noncommittal shrug. "Eh, it was my idea to get coffee."

I could see out of the corner of my eye as I placed a dollar in the tip jar, that he was staring at me. That same deep thought that put a crease in between his brows that I found, I don't know, adorable?

After our coffees were made we chose a seat in the corner of the cafe next to two large windows that looked out onto the street. It was starting to rain again, something that I guessed frequented this region around this time of year. I wondered if I would ever get used to the rain, I mean it couldn't be much different from snow right?

"Detective?"

I jerked my head back towards Oliver, who was staring at me with a hint of confusion. s**t, was he saying something?

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I asked if there was something specific you wanted to talk about?"

Besides you?

My mind flashed back to the counter and how I ordered my coffee.

"How do you know what a large regular is?"

His eyebrows furrowed at that question, probably not the line of questioning he was expecting. But I was genuinely curious. It seemed like a lot of people around here didn't know what it was, or a number of the slang terms we used back in Boston.

"Oh, umm… well I did my graduate studies at Harvard. So I picked up some of your guys' weird slang while I was over there."

"What's so weird about it?" I asked, trying to hide my defensive undertone.

He c****d an eyebrow at me and chuckled. "You guys call liquor stores "packies"."

I shrugged my shoulders. "That's what they are, Package Stores… Packies.”

He holds his hands up defensively. "Okay-okay, I won't diss on Boston and their methods." He gave me a crooked grin.

"Good," I smiled back. "And I won't diss on Portland and their… hippy ways."

He snorted before taking a drink of his coffee. "Oh I don't care, I'm not from here anyways."

"You're not?" I c****d my head at him.

He shook his head. "I don't think a lot of people are actually from Portland. I usually don’t like announcing where I’m from.”

“And where would that be?”

He paused for a second, giving me that calculated look he often got when thinking about what to say next. He tapped his middle finger against the paper cup in his hand, before lifting it to his lips.

“Southern California.” Then he took a drink, as if trying to drown the words in his beverage.

I stared at him with amusement. “Why are you embarrassed about that?” I asked.

“What gives you the impression that I’m embarrassed?” He quipped.

“I’m a detective, remember?” I gave him a charming smile which caused his cheeks to brighten slightly, forcing him to drop his gaze to his coffee cup.

So adorable.

“I’m not embarrassed about where I’m from. Most people on the West Coast just don’t like California transplants is all.”

I could understand that. It was hard enough making friends, but it was even harder when people judged you based on preconceived notions.

“I get that.” I responded. “It’s even harder to hide where you're from when you have an accent.”

His face scrunched and he shook his head. “Nah, it’s not… that bad.”

“Oh-oh really? Not that bad huh?” I teased.

He chuckled and I tossed my stir stick at him, which got us both laughing.

“Wise ass.” I added.

I had never fallen into such an easy conversation with someone before. Well, maybe one other person, and the thought of him ruined any good moment that may be happening between Oliver and I. At that moment I was acutely aware of the fact that I was sitting across the table from my partner, my co-worker, shamelessly flirting with him. Did I ever learn my lesson?

Apparently not. Because the way Oliver stared at me from across the table, those brown eyes looking into mine with such intensity, it made me realize that he was also feeling whatever this was between us, and the mere thought of that made an anxiety bubble up inside of me that I couldn’t explain. I needed to change the subject and fast.

“So, how are you feeling after the scene earlier?” I asked, forcing the conversation back into work.

“Oh.” There was disappointment in his eyes, and the fact that I put that there made me feel a sense of guilt that hardened in my stomach.

“I’m doing… fine-I guess. I’ve just never seen such a gruesome scene before.” He had a troubled look in his eye, one that I recognized from myself when I saw my first gruesome murder scene.

"I would like to say it gets easier, but it doesn't. You just have to learn to take it one scene at a time, lean on your partner, and don’t bottle it up.” I explained.

He studied me for a bit. I could tell there was a question desperately wanting to escape past his lips.

“What was your worst experience?” He asked.

I glanced down at my coffee cup, picking at the lid while I thought about that question. What was my worst experience? Being a homicide detective there were so many that I couldn’t even pinpoint just one.

“When I was a patrol cop, I got called out to a ten fifty-seven at a residence-shot’s fired,” I added, seeing the confused look on Oliver’s face. “When me and my partner got there we approached the house with caution, knocked on the door, but there was no answer.” My palms started getting sweaty just telling the story. “So we knocked again, still no answer. Once we got confirmation from dispatch that we got the right address, we forcefully entered the house, and what we came across…” I squeezed my eyes shut, pictures of the scene flashing across my mind.

“Detective it’s okay-”

“No,” I shook my head cutting him off. “I want you to hear this.” I took a deep breath and continued. “It was a husband, a wife, and their five year old daughter. Murder suicide.”

“Oh my god.” He replied in a shocked tone.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “I ended up running back outside and throwing up in the street.”

I was a little embarrassed to admit that last part, but I wanted him to know that it was okay for him to feel what he was feeling, that there was no shame in it.

“I couldn’t imagine.” He trailed off, giving me a sympathetic look.

“It was awful, but that’s why I wanted you to hear it. I got so much s**t from my fellow officers for blowing chunks that I felt ashamed for how I reacted, as if just because I was cop meant that I couldn’t be f*****g human.” I looked back down at my cup, my cheeks feeling heated. “I don’t want you to ever feel ashamed like I did. Not while you're my partner.”

There was a short silence, and then I heard him give a sigh, as if a weight was being lifted off of his shoulders, and I was happy to hear that sound. I brought my gaze back up and the look in his eyes was that of appreciation. Like he felt so much relief from hearing me say that, and to say that it didn’t make my chest swell would be a lie.

“I…” He dropped his gaze and then brought it back up to meet mine. “Thank you.” He replied in a scratchy tone.

I gave him a nod and a reassuring smile. It was probably the deepest conversation that I had had with anyone, except for my sister Abby of course. But it felt right, and it was also f*****g weird. I didn’t really know Oliver, not well enough to let my defenses down. But there was something about him that made me want to bring those walls down ever so slightly, and it wasn’t just because I found him attractive, it was something completely different.

He cleared his throat and shook his head, as if trying to knock some thoughts loose. I wondered what he was thinking about?

“So I know you said that we need more evidence to connect the murders together, but I really think we’re dealing with the same person.”

Right, work. That’s what we needed to be discussing right now.

“I know, and I believe you. Unfortunately without more evidence we would have trouble convincing the captain of that.”

He c****d his head at me and narrowed his eyes. “What convinces you that I’m right?”

That was a good question. When I stepped foot on that crime scene I just knew that it was the same guy. It was more like an instinct, a feeling, and the fact that both victims had been stabbed thirteen times in a circular pattern just seemed to concrete that intuition even more.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know, I just have a feeling I guess.”

An amused look crosses over his face and then he rolls his eyes. “If you think a lack of more evidence is not going to sway the captain, then surely a feeling won’t.”

“My intuition has never swayed me wrong before.” I defended myself.

Although was that entirely true? I mean it had swayed me wrong with Ronnie. No, that was just an asshole who almost ruined my career. Something that wouldn’t happen again.

“Well then, riddle me this Doc. Why do you think they're the same murderer?” I added cheekily.

He c***s an eyebrow at me. “Besides the fact that all four victims have the same number of stab wounds, in the same pattern? Nothing.” That crease forms in-between his eyebrows, and I know he’s on the thought train.

“What is it?” I asked.

He chews the corner of his bottom lip, something that shouldn’t be making my skin heat but it does.

Dammit Ethan, stop it.

“I’m just thinking… The first two victims had the same MO, same location, same presentation of body, but these two were killed in their home.”

I nodded my head, totally confused as to where he was going with this. “Yeah, and?”

“What if-and this is a big if, the killer is switching it up on us on purpose to lead us colder?”

“I mean that’s a possibility, but you're the psychologist, don’t most serial killers fit the same profile?”

He shakes his head adamantly. “Not all of them. I mean look at Richard Ramirez.”

I furrowed my brows. “The Night Stalker?”

I wrote a research paper for my Abnormal Psychology class during my undergraduate on Richard Ramirez. So needless to say I was well versed in the man and his psychotic tendencies. Although the idea of a killer like Richard Ramirez running around the streets of Portland made my blood chill and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

But that was the nineteen eighties, and this was twenty-twenty-one. Someone like that would surely be caught within weeks, not years, right?

“I’m gonna look through the other cases, see if there is any evidence that ties them all together.” I decided.

“Okay, let’s do it.” He responded matter-of-factly, standing up from the table.

I stood up also, giving him a quizzical look. “You wanna help me pour through mounds of evidence?”

He chuckled, the sound sending warm fuzzies through my stomach. “Well, we are partners. Are we not?”

Yes, we were. I was glad that we were starting to form this new rapport, something that was lacking ever since we found out we were being partnered together. What had changed? Did he feel more comfortable around me knowing that I wasn’t going to judge him for how he reacted at the scene? Or maybe because I didn’t dismiss his idea of a Night Stalker-like killer?

Whatever it was, it made me feel more at ease around him. Which should have terrified me, given my past experience, but for some reason it didn’t. I could feel my walls being lowered slightly as he looked at me with those bright hazelnut eyes, and the corner of his mouth quirked into a slight grin.

I nodded my head in agreement, a crooked smile formed on my face. “Let’s do it.”