Outside the tattoo parlor, Rusek's face went pale when he saw Burgess—her face covered in blood—being helped by Atwater. He lowered his head, ashamed.
Ethan and Antonio exchanged a glance but said nothing more. A picture was worth a thousand words; if Rusek couldn't see what he had done wrong, he couldn't continue in Intelligence.
Ethan walked over to Burgess, who was being checked by paramedics, sitting on the back step of the ambulance.
—Hey, Burgess. Are you okay?
Ethan sat beside her, handing her a bottle of water. Taking the towel Atwater offered, Burgess forced a smile.
—Thanks, I'm fine, Detective.
Her emotions were beginning to settle. Still, her fingers trembled almost imperceptibly, and the towel stained red and white as she wiped her face.
—Atwater —Ethan said, turning to the man beside him— take her back to the station and ask Platt for permission to let her go home and get some rest today. I'll brief her on what happened.
—All right, Detective —Atwater nodded quickly.
—There's no need, really, I'm fine —Burgess cut in, forcing another smile.
—As you wish —Ethan replied— but even good cops know when it's time to rest.
A short while later, once the paramedic cleared them, Burgess and Atwater stood and got into their squad car to head back to the station.
Hank, who had just arrived on scene, walked toward them as the patrol car pulled away. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the bodies had been moved to the side of the road and that his people had made it out unharmed.
—Where were you?
Ethan stepped closer, a cigarette hanging from his lips.
—I met with my Internal Affairs contact. They've been putting pressure on me since I still haven't handed over information on anyone —he said quietly.
Hank looked around and shook his head.
—Those bastards are watching me very closely.
—If you need help, just ask.
Ethan clapped him on the arm, then joined the others to clear the scene.
Back at the station, he stopped in front of the board and studied the photographs. Another hectic day had come to an end, but unfortunately, another student was dead.
He shook his head and took the photos down one by one, placing them in the case file box along with all the evidence. Now everyone had to write their reports to close the file and submit it to the district attorney, who would handle prosecuting the only suspect they had arrested.
—It's a damn shame, isn't it? —Antonio sighed as he approached—. Those girls never imagined what awaited them when they came back from Mexico.
—Yeah, well, when someone goes looking for easy money, things usually don't end well —Ethan replied as he took down Megan Benson's photo—. And she paid the price.
—By the way —he added, turning to Antonio— don't you have a good relationship with the DA's office?
—Can I help with something? —Antonio nodded—. I deal with them all the time; I'm sure I know someone.
—Good —Ethan tapped Amber Morris's photo with his finger—. Do me a favor and tell them not to go easy on her. Whatever her motive was, she's responsible for Megan Benson's death.
—Of course.
Antonio raised his hand, and they bumped fists.
With one last swipe of the cloth, the board was left blank, ready for the next case.
As he filled out his report, Ethan glanced at Alvin, who had worn a look of disgust the entire time. Then, toward the back of the room, he met Rusek's pleading gaze.
Ethan simply held out his hands, making it clear he couldn't help. They were partners; it was a matter of trust, and something Rusek had to work through on his own.
By the end of the shift, Rusek left dejected.
After promising Erin he would help her, Ethan wasn't in any hurry to leave. He remained seated at his computer, calmly scrolling through the news as the charts kept climbing. His Bitcoin investment had seen a historic surge: what he'd bought in early August, when the coin hovered around $2,800, was now worth more than double.
Job had completely lost it when the price started rising day after day. He called several times, insisting Ethan sell immediately, take the quick profit before the market turned. More than four million dollars in profit in just a few months wasn't something you saw every day.
But Ethan had stopped him. It wasn't time yet. Bitcoin still hadn't reached its 2017 all-time high.
With a thousand bitcoins in his possession, his capital now exceeded seven million dollars—a 161% gain since August. And yet he felt no euphoria. Just a strange calm. He was still using the casino's monthly profits to buy more, every single month.
He remembered his past life well. He had followed the crypto market closely, studied the cycles, the peaks, the crashes. He never had enough capital to get rich, but he had enough to learn one key lesson: euphoria always came before the collapse.
And if this world followed the same rules as the one he'd left behind, then he knew it for certain—this year would be historic… and the next, the currency would crash mercilessly. He just had to wait a little longer.
He also realized he needed to find an accountant, and he believed he knew just the right one.
After that, he shut down the computer, and a voice pulled him from his thoughts.
—Ethan, it's time to go. Are you ready? —Erin said, standing up as she grabbed her coat from the back of her chair.
—Sure —he replied, doing the same.
They headed toward the stairs together.
—Are you going to tell me what this is about? —Ethan asked, twirling his car keys as they went down.
She didn't answer until they were outside the station.
Ethan stopped, brushed the snow off the seat, and sat down on a bench by the street.
—It's about Justin —Erin said bluntly—. He got out of prison recently, but you already know that. As a cop's kid, without protection inside, he wouldn't have lasted a week. So Hank called in a couple of favors to make sure he was looked after.
Ethan lit a cigarette and nodded silently. The last time he'd seen Justin, he'd been tall and strong, but he didn't have Hank's toughness. He definitely wasn't built for prison life.
—An old friend offered to help —Erin continued, sitting beside him—. His nephew was in the same prison, so he made sure Justin had protection. Thanks to that, Justin came out unharmed.
Anyone capable of providing protection inside a prison had to be a gang member or part of an organization with serious influence and power.
Ethan flicked the ash from his cigarette.
—Who is he?
—An Italian. A guy named Joe Catalano. A career criminal… exactly the kind of guy you're picturing.
Erin took the cigarette from him, drew in deeply, and added:
—Justin came by the station today to see me. When he left, I saw them walking out together. I'm worried he'll get involved with him; guys like that are always looking to take advantage.
—What do you want me to do? You just have to ask, Lind —Ethan said, resting his fingers on the grip of his gun.
Hank must have paid a steep price for that protection, and Ethan knew men like Catalano were greedy. Like Hood's former cellmate: idiots who think they have leverage over someone and want to squeeze them dry.
Justin was Hank's son, and Ethan had no problem helping him.
—No. I just want to give him a warning —Erin said, flicking the cigarette butt into a pile of snow—. Tell Catalano to stay away from Justin. That just because he protected him in prison doesn't mean Justin still owes him anything.
—That's it? —Ethan scoffed, pulling his hand away from the gun.
—What did you think I was going to do? —Erin eyed him suspiciously and rolled her eyes—. We're cops, not killers.
—Though I seriously doubt a verbal warning will do much against men like him —Ethan replied— I can be a little more persuasive.
He stood and held out his hand.
—Fine. I'll do it for you, and because he's Hank's kid. But he keeps his hands off my girl —he added, his voice turning serious.
—Your girl? —Erin exclaimed, almost offended—. And who exactly is supposed to be your girl?
Erin laughed, took his hand, and they walked together toward the parking lot.
—Let's eat first. I'm buying tonight. What are you in the mood for?
—Lobster!
—Burger King! —Erin shot back immediately.
—Fine, but I want the large combo —Ethan shrugged—.
He wasn't in any position to be picky about free food; it was enough that someone was treating him. After dinner, Ethan followed Erin's car and, a short while later, they arrived at a small pub.
It wasn't peak hour yet, and the place had only a handful of customers scattered among the tables.
Erin knew, through her contacts, that Joe Catalano usually hung around there. They ordered two beers and waited patiently. As they were finishing the first, the brass bell rang behind them.
Erin looked up and winked at him—that was their target. Joe, a white man with a long face, sat on a stool at the bar.
He ordered a drink and then fixed his gaze on the television mounted on the wall.
Ethan set his glass down on the bar with a sharp thud, stood up, and threaded his way between the tables until he was standing directly behind the long-faced man. He leaned forward slightly, invading his personal space.
—Hey, Joe… buddy!
He gave him a couple of firm pats on the shoulders, more a warning than a greeting.
—Good evening —he added with a smile that didn't reach his eyes—. It's been a long time.
The man stiffened instantly and tried to pull away, but Ethan held him firmly, digging his fingers into his shoulder.
—Easy —he murmured—. Don't get jumpy. You make me nervous when you move like that.
Catalano swallowed.
—Look, I don't know what you think I'm doing, but—
—I just wanted to have a little chat —Ethan cut in calmly—. Nothing complicated. Just a few words between old acquaintances.
At that moment, Erin walked over at an unhurried pace, dragged over a tall stool, and sat down beside them as if she were just another customer. She raised her hand and flagged the bartender.
—Whatever he's having —she said, pointing at Catalano— I'll have the same.
Catalano turned his head and, recognizing her, his shoulders relaxed slightly. A faint, crooked smile tugged at his lips.
—Well, well… —he remarked—. I don't usually drink with cops. It ruins my reputation.
Erin held his gaze, calm and steady.
—Relax, Joe. We just want to talk —she replied—.
Catalano's smile tightened, fully aware that the conversation was only just beginning.
—Really? Straight bourbon… not bad —Erin added with a crooked smile.
She took the glass and downed it in one go, never taking her eyes off Catalano.
—You know what would be even better? —Joe replied, leaning slightly toward her—. If you got the hell out of here before you get yourselves into trouble.
Erin slowly turned the glass between her fingers, deliberately, and spoke with restrained contempt:
—I'm not going to waste my time with you, Joe. I want you to leave Justin alone. You think he owes you something… and he doesn't. I'm only going to say this once.
She leaned in a little closer, lowering her voice.
—Stay away from him. If you're smart enough, you won't go near him again.
—Detective! —Catalano mocked, lifting his glass in a fake toast and raising his voice on purpose to draw attention—. I don't know what you're talking about. You can't arrest me just because Justin chose to hang out with me, can you?
The answer wasn't verbal.
Ethan's hand came down hard on his shoulder and slammed him into the bar. The impact made the glasses rattle. Joe clenched his teeth against the rim of his glass, stifling a groan.
Ethan didn't shout. He didn't need to.
He loosened his grip just enough to lean in close to his ear.
—Listen carefully —he whispered—. Maybe she doesn't scare you. Maybe you think you can play smart with me.
He tightened his grip again.
—But I don't like you. And when I don't like someone, things get… uncomfortable.
Catalano was breathing hard.
—I don't want to see you anywhere near Justin. Ever. Not tomorrow, not by accident, not "just to talk." Do you understand me?
The silence that followed was thick, suffocating.
Ethan glanced at the warped reflection of Joe's face in the bar's glass and added, almost casually:
—Because if you don't… I guarantee Lake Michigan will be the last thing you see at night.
—A-alright… message received… —Joe muttered, his voice breaking.
Ethan gave him a slow pat on the shoulder, almost condescending, like calming a frightened child, and let him go.
Catalano blinked several times, filled his lungs with air, and looked away, unable to meet their eyes.
Ethan was already walking off when he added, without turning around:
—Do the right thing, Joe.
The weight of the warning hung in the air long after they left.
The message was clear: next time, it wouldn't be just a warning.
Ignoring Catalano, the two of them walked out of the bar together. With the matter settled, Erin looked visibly relieved, stretching and briefly revealing her slim waist.
—Two drinks weren't enough to shake off today's frustration —she said with a smile—. How about a couple more at my place?
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
—Your place? I practically live there already —Ethan said, lifting a brow—
—So, are you coming or not? —Erin said, giving him a light elbow and looking at him with a mix of exhaustion and defiance—. It's been a horrible day… and I don't feel like being alone.
Ethan smiled faintly and nodded.
—Then let's go.
They both got into their cars, with Erin leading the way. When they arrived, Erin set her keys down on the table without turning on the lights. Ethan closed the door behind them.
She took off her coat first, then her gun, placing it carefully on the entryway cabinet. Ethan did the same. When they finally looked at each other, the tension they'd been holding back found its release.
Erin hugged him tightly, resting her forehead against his chest.
—I hate days like this —she murmured—. When everything goes wrong and you still have to keep going.
Ethan wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.
—I know…
There was no delicacy. The kiss was slow at first, their mouths meeting with hungry urgency, testing, claiming, breathing each other in at close range.
Ethan slid his hands down her waist with intent, drawing her in without asking. Erin responded immediately, pressing her body against his, feeling the heat, the tension built up from a long day—life and death, the need for contact after a day that had gone on far too long. The friction alone made them both exhale at the same time.
They walked to the bedroom without breaking apart, bumping into furniture, half-undressing, more focused on touching than looking. The bed caught them with a dull thud as they fell onto it, and the world narrowed to skin, ragged breaths, and hands exploring without patience, though not without care.
The touches weren't about tenderness, but release. Hands gripping, mouths trailing downward, bodies adjusting until they found that exact point where exhaustion stopped hurting and started burning.
They didn't speak.
They didn't need to.
Everything else stayed outside. There was only the two of them—sweaty, spent—finding relief in each other's bodies.
Hours later, Ethan lay awake, staring at the ceiling while Erin slept beside him, breathing calmly for the first time all day. He moved slowly so as not to wake her, found his clothes, and began to get dressed.
Erin opened her eyes.
—You're leaving already?
—Yeah, I've got something to take care of… I'll see you tomorrow, Lind —he said softly, stepping back toward the bed.
She nodded, still half-asleep.
Ethan leaned down and kissed her forehead, then her lips, gently.
—Get some rest —he whispered—. We'll talk tomorrow.
—Be careful —she replied, catching his hand for a second before letting go.
Ethan smiled, grabbed his coat, and slipped out quietly, closing the door softly. Erin closed her eyes again, a little calmer than when she'd arrived.
Driving down the street, he spotted a sign by the roadside. He pulled over and went into a large electronics store—a Best Buy. He remembered the last time he'd been at the Gallaghers' place, and how Fiona's washing machine had been practically useless.
Now, with Steve out of the equation, that part of the story could be a good way to get Fiona's attention. So he decided to buy her a new washer and dryer, and considering the size of her family, he chose a high-capacity model.
The cashier eyed him warily when she saw the wad of cash, but Ethan simply lifted his shirt quickly, flashing his badge. He gave the staff the address he'd written down the night before and, after thinking for a moment, wrote a note on the delivery card:
"Almost broke your washer. Figured you might need a new one ^_^"
Satisfied with his handwriting, he turned and walked out of the store. Minutes later, the Chevrolet parked at a discreet distance from The Alibi Room; he didn't want to draw attention or make the customers uncomfortable.
The brass bell jingled as he opened the door. Inside, the bar was buzzing with life—or rather, with melancholy and sorrows drowned in alcohol, just like last time.
—Ethan!
Kevin slung a towel over his shoulder and greeted him from behind the bar.
—Didn't expect to see you again so soon!
—You said you'd buy me a beer. I didn't forget —Ethan replied with a grin as he took a stool and bumped fists with him.
—That's something I never forget!
Kevin pulled the tap and filled Ethan's glass to the brim. As he slid it over, he winked.
—So, how did things go with Fiona the other night?
—Thanks —Ethan took a long drink and sighed as the cold hit—. Pretty well… until Frank showed up, dragged in by two cops and completely knocked out.
—Mmm, Frank… that bastard's tougher than a cockroach —Kevin pursed his lips and slowly shook his head—. You know how he is. There's no fixing him.
—He's not around, is he? —Ethan asked, glancing around the bar—. By this hour he should've shown up already.
Kevin let out a short, dry laugh.
—Give it time. Frank never fails… he only shows up when you need him the least.
Kevin glanced up at the clock on the wall and nodded with certainty.
—Three more minutes —he said—. I guarantee it. Even if he doesn't have a dollar, he'll show up just to smell the beer.
Ethan leaned over the bar and murmured something under his breath. Kevin stifled a laugh; they bumped fists, accomplices.
Three minutes later, punctual like a bad habit, a shout rang out from the entrance.
—Buddy!
Frank pushed back his messy blond hair and walked over with a grin.
Ethan and Frank laughed and slapped hands, still unable to believe that such a wrinkled face could have fathered a girl as beautiful as Fiona.
—Hey, Kevin… pour us some more tonight, my treat.
Frank reached into his pocket, pulled out the money he had left, and dropped it generously onto the bar.
—Two hundred and fifty-eight dollars exactly! —he said, almost shouting.
No one buys drinks just once without expecting payback later. Frank believed that with someone like Ethan, he wouldn't have to worry about paying for drinks for a long time.
At the thought, Frank's smile widened even more.
He'd been saving that money for days, washing cars on the sly for two full days behind Liam's back, until he'd scraped together the impressive sum of over two hundred dollars. He couldn't help feeling proud of himself.
As he paid, he felt a brief pang of regret, but he was sure he wouldn't spend it all and that there'd still be a good chunk left—maybe enough to buy a few grams of coke and have a good time.
The thought filled Frank with a wave of satisfaction.
—By the way, my name's Ethan.
After shaking Frank's hand, Ethan snapped his fingers at Kevin.
—You got Macallan whisky?
Ethan lifted his beer and drained it in one go.
Under his gaze, Frank smiled and nodded, though inside he was already calculating how many sob stories he'd have to invent later.
—Yeah… sure.
Kevin, surprised by Ethan's lack of mercy, gave a half-smile and reached up to the top shelf.
—How many?
—Please. When I drink with my friends, don't ask how many —he said calmly—. Just keep them coming.
Ethan grabbed a stack of shot glasses and lined them up along the bar.
—Whatever you say.
Kevin popped the bottles open quickly and began filling each glass.
It was the usual deal: given what Ethan liked to drink, Frank's two hundred-plus dollars wouldn't even cover a decent round. Watching the amber liquid pour mercilessly from the bottle, Frank felt his heart sink into his chest.
This was personal.
If it hadn't been for that old bastard, he could've had his moment with Fiona that night. Now he planned to return the favor by hitting him where it hurt most: his wallet.
For his part, Frank felt the blood drain from his face. If it had been beer, that money would've kept him drunk for over a week.
Ethan smiled calmly, picked up one of the glasses, and raised it toward Frank.
—To Frank. Cheers!
—Cheers! —Frank replied, thumping his skinny, bony chest with an exaggerated generosity that bordered on theatrical.
In one gulp, the glass was empty.
Ethan flipped it upside down on the bar and exhaled slowly, releasing a breath heavy with alcohol, satisfied.
—You know what? —he said then, with a smile that made it clear this was only the beginning.
Frank set his glass down and took a second to gather his thoughts. Then he sighed deeply, slumped his shoulders, and put on a pitiful, almost rehearsed expression.
—Didn't it snow last night? —he said, slowly shaking his head—. Poor Liam caught a cold.
He paused dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest.
—And on top of that, I had to look after his older siblings… I couldn't get to sleep until very late.
—Really? —Ethan asked, feigning interest while waving his hands nonstop, as if completely absorbed by the story.
Frank took the opportunity to wink at Kevin—a silent warning not to give him away.
The story kept flowing with touching ease, packed with unnecessary details and perfectly timed sighs; anyone who didn't know the truth might've believed it—and maybe even bought him another drink out of pity.
Ethan nodded repeatedly while drinking without pause. Kevin played along perfectly, subtly refilling the glass based on how much money he saw on the bar.
—So you young folks have no idea how hard it is for single parents like us… —Frank continued in a resigned tone, stretching the tale as long as he could.
A few minutes later, his throat dry, he lifted the glass to wet his lips and frowned.
—Damn… your alcohol tolerance is unreal.
Kevin glanced at the stack of glasses in front of Ethan and slowly shook his head, genuinely impressed.
In just a few minutes, the bar was covered with more than twenty empty glasses.
—Jesus…
Frank realized it too late: the bottle was empty. He'd barely had two or three drinks, and now his voice trembled, more from anguish than alcohol.
—I've never seen anyone drink like that.
Ethan set his glass down on the bar without looking at him.
—Sorry, I'm not in a good mood today —he said irritably.
Ethan slammed his last glass down; his breath reeked of alcohol. He still remembered the face of that poor girl.
—Frank, my friend, thank you very much for the drinks. Next time, it's on me. Deal?
Faced with Ethan's triumphant smile, Frank could only nod, still dazed. Ethan winked at Kevin, who quickly grabbed a tray and gathered the money from the bar.
Ethan stepped out of the bar, and as soon as he pushed open the wooden door, he walked toward his car with a victorious grin, listening to the shouting erupt inside.
—Where's my money?!The anguished cry echoed through the bar.—My hard-earned money!
The next morning, outside the precinct.
He had barely parked when he ran into Erin at the entrance.
—You're late —she remarked, crossing her arms, though the curve of her lips gave her away.
—False —Ethan replied, raising a hand in surrender—. I showed up with coffee, which is what really matters.
Erin glanced down at the cup he was holding… and then at the other two.
—One for you and two to bribe someone? —she asked, amused.
—One for me —Ethan said—, one for you… and the third, you know very well, is for bribery.
He handed her one. Erin took it without hesitation.
—That just earned you several points.
—I know —he smiled, adjusting his jacket—
They started up the stairs together.
After tricking Frank the night before, Ethan was in an excellent mood and had gone home early to rest. Sleeping well and humiliating Frank always made his mornings better.
Erin exaggerated a pout and picked up her pace.
—Handsome, good in bed, and he brings coffee… Detective Morgan should be careful. I'm starting to think you're trying to win me over.
—Too late —Ethan replied with a crooked smile—. You're already completely under my spell.
At the central staircase, Platt loomed behind the reception desk, watching them closely, like a tigress guarding her territory.
Ethan lifted his coffee cup in greeting.
—Good morning, Sergeant. Radiant as always.
Erin lowered her voice without breaking stride.
—Behave.
Ethan took a sip of his coffee and smiled, clearly amused.
—I promise nothing.
When they reached the desk, Ethan casually raised his hand.
—Good morning!
—Good morning… —Platt replied, looking up.
Recognizing them, Platt's expression immediately softened; her shoulders relaxed and a broad, almost proud smile spread across her face.
—My favorite pair from the 21st District! —she exclaimed enthusiastically, raising her voice a bit.
Erin hesitated for a second, surprised, and let out a short, awkward laugh.
—Haha…
Ethan, on the other hand, leaned into it. He raised his coffee cup like a toast and pointed at Platt with a crooked grin.
—Just don't say that in front of Hank —he joked—, or I might stop seeing this lovely face every morning.
Platt burst out laughing, while Erin shot Ethan a warning look… too late, he was already enjoying the moment.
Before Platt could respond, two patrol officers approached from the other side of the lobby. Seeing how warmly Platt greeted them, they exchanged puzzled, slightly confused looks.
One of them muttered under his breath.
—Since when are we the second choice?
Ethan took another sip of coffee, satisfied.
—Jealousy —he whispered, never losing his smile.
Erin shot him another warning look… though she couldn't help smiling too.
—Geez —Burgess whispered—. Why does she never treat us like that?
—Don't worry —Atwater replied with a shrug—. She's like that with everyone, except those two.
Ethan stopped short when he saw them.
After a night of rest—or at least that's how it looked—Burgess seemed noticeably better. She was no longer pale, and her posture was steadier, though the fatigue still lingered in her eyes.
—Burgess.
Ethan bumped fists with Atwater, then turned his attention back to her.
—You sure you don't need another day off?
—Thanks for checking on me —Burgess replied with a small smile—. I slept really well.
It wasn't entirely true. In reality, she'd spent the night tossing and turning, replaying the sudden murder, the chaos, the rescue… until the clock crept past three or four in the morning. But no one needed to know that.
Her gaze swept the lobby before returning to Ethan.
—You saved me yesterday. I forgot to thank you.
—It was nothing. Just doing my job —he replied lightly—. Besides, we're partners. We've got each other's backs.
Noticing the dark circles she couldn't quite hide, Ethan smiled and opened his arms wide.
—Want a hug?
—Thanks!
For some reason, Burgess didn't think twice. She stepped forward and hugged him tightly—more tightly than she'd intended. It wasn't until she felt the solidity of his waist under her hands that she realized what she was doing.
She pulled back immediately, clearing her throat.
—Well, if you need to talk, you know where to find me —Ethan said, giving her a quick pat on the back—
—Yes!
Burgess nodded solemnly and stepped away, trying to regain her composure. Her heart was racing, though her face remained neutral.
From behind the desk, Platt had watched the entire exchange with one eyebrow raised, visibly perplexed.
The groups split up, and Ethan and Erin headed toward the stairs. After a series of beeps, the metal door swung open.
Erin struck without warning.
—How did that make you feel?
—In what sense? —Ethan asked—. Because physically, with a bulletproof vest in the way, not much.
—Uh-huh —she replied, climbing a step faster—. You looked very… comfortable with Burgess.
—She was grateful. That usually happens when someone doesn't die.
—Sure —Erin shot back, crossing her arms as she walked—. So for future misunderstandings and unnecessary hugs, just pretend we're engaged. You're not allowed to hug cute officers other than me. Understood?
—Boom!
Ethan kicked the step and almost went face-first.
—Wait… what?
—Oh, now you can't hear? —Erin replied with exaggerated calm—
—Alright, Mrs. Morgan —he said, half laughing, half confused—. And when exactly did we get engaged?
—Five steps ago.
Erin kept climbing, completely unfazed.
She murmured it with a suspiciously satisfied smile.
—By the way… do you own a suit?
—Yeah, I've got a couple.
—That'll do —she said—
Ethan shook his head.
—What is going on?
He stepped ahead, stopping just before the gate.
—I ran into a former classmate today.
—Uh-huh.
Erin sighed, lowering her voice a little as they climbed.
—He invited me to a reunion tonight. A high school alumni thing.
She made a vague gesture with her hand, as if it annoyed her more than it stirred nostalgia.
—You know… when Hank took me in, I went to one of those insanely expensive schools, full of unbearable people. Double last names, fake smiles, parents with lawyers on speed dial.
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
—Sounds delightful.
—I just wanted to belong —Erin continued, shrugging—. So… I bragged a little. Lied a bit more. Pretended I fit in. You know, social survival.
—I still don't see the problem —Ethan said.
Erin stopped for a second and looked straight at him.
—You're the problem —she admitted—. I know we're not that kind of couple, and we don't put labels on things, but… would you mind going with me tonight? Just for today. As a couple.
She said it quickly, as if afraid she might change her mind.
Ethan didn't hesitate.
—That's not a problem —he replied with exaggerated solemnity—. Of course I'll go. I'll laugh at your bad jokes, nod in admiration, and look at you like you're the most beautiful woman on earth.
Erin blinked.
—Really?
—Of course —he added—. Aren't we already engaged?
She smiled, satisfied.
—Great. And I promise not to get jealous when you hug other detectives.
Ethan stopped dead.
—Then you're going to need this —he said very seriously.
He calmly reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulled out his wallet, opened it without hurry, and took out a black card—smooth, no visible numbers. He held it between two fingers for a second… then handed it to her.
Erin frowned.
—What is this?
—My card.
—Ethan… why do I suddenly feel like I'm in Pretty Woman? —she looked at him as if he'd just offered her a loaded weapon—
—Just take it.
She still didn't.
—And what exactly am I supposed to do with it?
—Very simple —he said, shrugging—. Buy whatever you want for tonight. Dress, shoes, bag… whatever makes you feel like you belong in that unbearable world.
—Anything I want?
—Anything —he repeated—. No looking at prices. No guilt.
Erin looked down at the card, then back at him.
—Ethan, this is excessive.
—No, it's not. I haven't done anything for you, so take it as a gift —he corrected—. If we're going to play the perfect couple, I want them walking into that reunion wondering who the hell you are now.
Finally, Erin took the card between her fingers, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across her face.
—And what if I go a little overboard?
—Do it —he replied without hesitation—. I'd be offended if you didn't.
She laughed softly.
—You know this officially makes you my sugar daddy, right?
—Well, you know how to reward me —Ethan said, leaning in—
Erin slipped the card into her purse and walked in first.
—Then —she said, glancing back at him— get ready. I'm going to make you bleed.
Ethan smiled as he followed her.
—That's what the card is for.