Metro Square was built to be a metropolitan mega-center in the heart of New South Beach in Miami. It stretched about two hundred feet high to become a skyward advertising arena, with thousands of brands vying for the attention and love of pill-heads below like the gladiators of old. Hundreds of gigantic electronic billboards hovered above the streets, defying gravity and pushing ads to crowds of pedestrians below. On each screen was someone more beautiful than the next, flickering in and out of 10K resolution Crystal OLED screens bathed in South Beach colors.
Below the signs, in the better neighborhoods, people were lined up to buy pills at high-end retail pharmacies. Traditional franchise pharmacies had been swallowed up by mega-department stores like Macy’s, Saks Fifth Avenue, Nordstrom, and Dillard’s and branded accordingly. Expensive European cars formed unending lines in drive-thru pharmacies. Color-coordinated pills were poured into customizable and reusable prescription bottles of silver and Titanium. There was as much competition amongst the elites as there was everywhere else. Everyone needed what the pill offered.
A similar story played out differently on the other side of the tracks. While elites had access to the newest and the best, everyone else had to rely on expired prescriptions, generic brands, and imitations. Doctors in clinics happily accepted bribes to write unnecessary prescriptions or to lose an entire lot of medications entirely—prescription bottles recycled from trash cans and gutters cleaned and reused for back alley deals. Doctors could easily run out of an entire pad of signature prescription forms before the clinic closed for the day. Pills were swallowed by the billions each day, and Big Pharma had its brilliant advertising executives to thank.
One engaging advertisement featured a beautiful African American woman in $500 yoga pants. The woman looked strikingly similar to Misty Copeland. In the sixty-foot-tall floating billboard, the actress asked, “Are you tired? Do your friends call you old and boring? Are you having performance problems in the boardroom? If you’re in a rut like this, you may be suffering from a medical condition known as Hyper-addictive Variable Symptom Fatigue, also called HVSF. HVSF affects six out of ten people in South Miami, but please don’t worry; help is as close to your nearest Macy’s pharmacy. With just one pill a day, you can feel amazing, and you can be amazing! Results are guaranteed whether you’re in the boardroom, classroom (she winks), or bedroom!”
“At Enoch Biotech, we like to say, “Yes, we have a pill for that!”
The acronym IBT was conspicuously dotted throughout the landscape, more so than any other. And the slogan, Yes, there’s a pill for that, flashed incessantly and independently throughout the ether on massive screens stretching across every major boulevard.
The sun was just beginning to rise on the horizon outside a big bay window of a studio apartment on the fifty-seventh floor of a Downtown Miami high-rise tower. A motorized whir rumbled in the background, causing the window pane to rattle. An unmade queen-sized bed sat beneath a wall of family photos. One picture frame lies broken and dusty on the floor. It had sat unmoved in the same spot for several weeks. An assortment of half-empty containers containing old powdered drinks was scattered about the Ikea furniture, littering another well-kept apartment. There was no kitchen, only a two-burner induction cooktop, a small sink, and a broom closet masquerading as a pantry.
Ellery Stiles cocked an angled eye at the cracked picture frame as she sprinted on the treadmill in the middle of the loft. The treadmill was close enough to the window to enjoy the view but far enough away to avoid triggering her agoraphobia. She hated heights, but living high up was a status symbol she couldn’t escape. If only she could manage crippling vertigo. In truth, there was a pill for that, but Ellery hated swallowing pills as much as she hated heights.
Despite only wearing black running shoes, red panties, and a sports bra, Ellery was dripping with sweat in the early Miami heat. Her jet black hair starkly contrasted with sparkling green eyes and lightly freckled skin. Her eyes were narrow and distrusting, and her top lip curled ever so slightly to the left. Her neck and jaw were angled and vascular from decades of Track and field work. She was at once both beautiful and intense.
Ellery lifted her watch to her mouth. “Siri, what’s the temperature today?” She huffed through heavy breaths.
“Today, we expect a high of ninety-eight degrees with a humidity of 80%,” reported an elegant South African voice from her watch.
“Fuck me,” Ellery exclaimed as she hopped off the treadmill, snatched off her running shoes and socks, pulled her sports bra over her head, and slid her sweaty panties off. She plodded over an old cherry wood floor to the bathroom barefoot. A small shower stall was in the corner, and the faucets squeaked as she turned on the hot water. In moments, the room was engulfed by steam.
Ellery stepped into the searing water and splashed her body for a quick rinse-off. She rubbed her toes, her feet and legs, her thighs and buttocks, her back and her breasts, then made sure her hair was nice and saturated. Satisfied, she shut off the hot water and opened the cold water tap fully. The steam disappeared as Ellery shivered under the new icy temperature. She slowly mouthed, “One one-thousand, two one-thousand,” and on, until she counted sixty seconds and shut the water off.
Perfectly laid out on an armchair and matching ottoman were a jacket, slacks, and a green top next to a matching light green bra & panty set. Green was Ellery’s favorite color. Near the clothes were a thin basketweave duty belt, a silver police Detective’s badge, and a black Glock handgun in its holster. Attached to the duty belt were three extended-clip magazines, a can of pepper spray, a three-inch dagger with a chrome handle, a case with chrome-colored brass knuckles inside, and black handcuffs held by a velcro strap.
As was customary for Ellery, she went to the shooting range every Monday morning before it opened. This time was perfect for her because she hated crowds. Even crowds were manageable when compared to the small talk initiated by cops who thought they had something in common with her. She despised that even more.
The range owner, an old ex-cop named Abe, liked Ellery, so he came in early to open one of the ranges just for her. Abe was a salty guy and very opinionated, a perfect match for Ellery, and he took every opportunity to challenge her way of thinking. He always told her that her solitude would be the death of her, either on the job or alone at home.
Ellery never listened. She respected the old man, but her way was hers, and she wouldn’t change now for anybody. Dying alone, fuck it. She’d do it if she had to. Buy a dog and die alone, she agreed. Besides, whatever emotional agony there was, it would be temporary. After all, she was dying. She didn’t change for her old man and wouldn’t change for this old man, regardless of how kind and sweet he was.
Ellery stood alone in a bay at the shooting range. She squinted downrange at a silhouette target and quickly drew her gun from its holster. She fired downrange in controlled three-shot bursts as the target moved closer to her via an electronic pulley system. She fired the last nine rounds as the target stopped before her.
Abe peered over her shoulder at the target. He grinned with approval, noting the tight shot groups Ellery placed in the target. She was a natural: three shots in the head, three in the left heart, and three in the gut.
“Perfect as always, Detective Stiles,” Abe said proudly. “Are you sure you’re not related to Jesse James?”
“The motorcycle guy?” She quizzed back.
“What motorcycle guy?” Abe retorted. “I’m talking about the outlaw from the 1870’s. Don’t you know history?” He scolded her.
Ellery shrugged. “I don’t have time for history lessons longer than a TickTok,” she offered.
Abe shook his head. “I thought Common Core math was ridiculous. This obliteration of history is disgusting.” He argued this as he mounted another target, pushed the button, and sent it down range.
“Last one. Double distance. Double money.” He said flatly.
Ellery nonchalantly loaded her weapon. The target stopped twice as far away as it was before.
“Uh-uh, use a peripheral angle, please. And a quick draw from the holster.” Abe added.
Ellery jammed her weapon in its holster and fastened the strap. She arrogantly angled her body so that her right shoulder faced the target while she glowered at Abe.
“When will I ever take a shot like this?” She rebuked.
Abe shrugged. “If you miss even one shot, you have to come back during regular hours—“
Abe barely finished his sentence before Ellery snatched the gun from the holster and, without looking, fired downrange, emptying the twelve-round magazine.
Abe smirked confidently as he pressed the blue button to reel the target in. As it got closer, his smirk dropped to a frown. Ellery’s cell phone rang, and she turned away to answer.
“Stiles speaking,” she said, and then she listened intently.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” she snapped back and jammed the phone into her back pocket.
She turned back to Abe, holding the target in both hands and staring dumbfoundedly. In the middle of the target, dead center, were fifteen bullet holes neatly grouped together.
Ellery returned her weapon to its holster and hurried towards the door. She stopped, spun on her heels, and returned to Abe. She planted a firm kiss on his cheeks.
“Thank you for opening early for me,” she said sweetly. “You know how I am with people. But I promise, one day I’ll come at a normal time…” She whispered to him, “As soon as Hell freezes over.”
Abe snorted at her as she strutted proudly to the door, making sure to shake her ass defiantly.
“Oh, and I want four large bags of peanut butter M&M’s by tomorrow morning, mister!” she blurted over her shoulder.
Abe nodded his acquiescence. They were Ellery’s favorite candy. Ellery knew what she just done, how well she shot, it was a once-in-a-lifetime achievement. More than likely, she’d never ever shoot that well again, and if she had to shoot that well again, it would mean she’s pretty much at the end of the line. So, she aimed to get all she could right now.
The manufacturing plant for Enoch Biotech looked more like a software company’s billion-dollar employee campus than a place where medicine was made. The building was an architectural masterpiece with walls made of glass and trimmed in matte black metal. An external elevator whisked visitors up to the high tower where the executive offices were sprawled over five floors.
Ellery felt out of place among all the luxurious landscapes while driving her responsible, eco-friendly sub-compact hybrid. The horde of dull police cruisers littering the parking lot gave her an ounce of haughtiness that she didn’t deserve. She left her car parked in a spot market for an SVP, flashed her badge to the rookie at the elevator lobby, and climbed aboard the glass elevator above the lavish courtyard.
Ellery stared at the manicured grounds below and didn’t listen as a female’s voice announced what floor she was on. The doors opened, and she sucked her teeth. She hoped the floor would be listed outside the elevator bank as normal, but these new buildings didn’t do anything normal. She mentally flogged herself, knowing that her distraction would come back to haunt her.
Uniformed police officers and investigators roamed the laboratory floor. A team of men and women donned in white lab coats with C.S.I. on the back darted back and forth. An older, weather-beaten gentleman in a white lab coat was pacing with a frustrated look on the phone.
His eyes were wide like a chastised child who didn’t yet know if the belt would soon follow the verbal punishment. Ellery was sure she heard him mention the Mayor’s name as someone who had called him early this morning and insisted he’d be on the case.
Another frustrated Crime Scene Investigator, Rodrigo, was dusting the electronic keypad for fingerprints. Ellery locked eyes with him briefly and cut a quick path through the moving bodies straight towards him.
“What do you have, Rodrigo?” she asked.
Rodrigo shrugged. “Nothing, except the video. These guys didn’t leave a trace. Not one fiber.”
“Professionals?” she prodded for more information.
“I’d say a step above,” Rodrigo concluded.
“Show me the surveillance video,” she demanded.
Ellery followed Rodrigo to a hidden door flush with the wall. He pushed a recessed point in the wall, and the door popped open. He swung the door open, and Ellery gasped at the intricate CCTV system of HD monitors, racks of computers, and flickering lights. The wall was lined with twenty-two-inch monitors from floor to ceiling, and she could see all the current activity taking place on this floor and others.
“It’s a redundant system with scalable storage onsite and cloud-based storage secured by AES 256-bit encryption,” Rodrigo said proudly as if it were his system. “That means you can access it from anywhere in the world, and even the most devastating brute-force attack wouldn’t put a dent in the firewall for 125 years.”
Ellery tried not to roll her eyes as she uttered, “Your dick is getting hard just thinking about all this shit.” She turned to him for full effect. “You can give it all the love and attention it deserves later; I want to see that video right now.”
Rodrigo silently pointed to a green button on the console. Ellery pressed the button and watched the video of several similarly dressed men entering the factory. First, she saw a security card key swiped against an electronic door lock. After the door swung open, the ten men dressed in identical tactical gear made of black fatigues and carrying heavy AR-15s raced up three flights of stairs to a special express elevator. Another card key was swiped, and the elevator whisked the men up to another floor. The doors opened, and eighteen of the men filed out in perfect precision. Two men remained in the elevator and went up to another floor.
Ellery watched a new camera angle on an administration floor. She saw a gloved hand punch in digits on the electronic panel and push open a steel mesh cage door. In another angle a second gloved hand typed on a keyboard and an encrypted password showed on a computer screen briefly.
Suddenly, lights flickered on, and several metal doors in a long dark corridor on another floor sprung open. The procession of armed men secured the corridor. They formed an assembly line and began emptying the rooms of small boxes.
Ellery pressed the pause button on the video and took a deep breath. “Twenty guys in identical tactical uniforms, wearing identical masks, entered the building completely undetected. How did they bypass security so easily?”
Rodrigo checked his notes. “They uploaded a virus eight hours prior. Preliminary reports theory is: they opened a backdoor with a virus that gave them temporary permissions to change all the access codes.”
“Start there. Every virus has a signature. I want the names of every hacker who could have designed that virus. Also, run regular scans on the dark web. Someone’s gonna try to sell this shit fast. Get help from the Feds if you have to.”
From a long corridor behind them, Donovan, the CEO of Enoch Biotech, and Avery Fisher, the Director of Research and Development, approached. Ellery took a deep breath to crush her anxiety when she recognized Donovan from his many commercials. His face had been planted in advertising screens in South Beach for months. He was taller than he looked on television and had less of the “dad” quality that made him an approachable online personality. Ellery reached out to shake Donovan’s hand.
“Mr. Donovan,” her voice squeaked. “I recognize you from your commercials. I’m Detective Ellery Stiles.”
Donovan barely acknowledged her. Instead, it was Avery who smiled warmly and took her hand.
“I’m Avery Fisher,” he beamed. “I’m the Director of Research and Development at Enoch Biotech.”
Fisher was a handsome man with the appearance of worldly sophistication. He reminded Ellery of the generic sort of overtly handsome man her friends always tried to set her up with for a blind date. He stared as Ellery finally shook his hand. They clearly took a moment to appreciate each other’s good looks.
“Mr. Fisher, can you tell me what was stolen?” Ellery asked.
This time, Donovan decided to speak. “All the chemical components required to make a new drug. A physiology regulator.”
“Okay, we’re talking about a new pill,” Ellery said with a hint of disapproval in her voice. “What does this pill do?”
Donavan waved her off. “Sorry, that’s confidential…until it gets approved by the FDA.”
Ellery is caught off-guard by the irritation in Donovan’s voice. Fisher noticed her reaction and decided to explain further. He told her that the drug was designed to help regulate chemical bodily functions for people with diabetes and other disorders. Enoch Biotech created the first Artificial Intelligence chemical interface for a drug with the help of nanorobotics. But he concluded that the drug was “on hold” because after a very expensive international human trial the drug did not get approved by the Food & Drug Administration.
“Why would someone steal chemicals for a drug that doesn’t work?” Ellery asked flatly. She noticed that Donovan’s face turned red before he answered.
“No one said the drug didn’t work,” he harshly corrected her. “We said it wasn’t approved by the FDA. Yet. There’s a process, Miss Stiles. We’re trying to make this world a healthier place.”
Ellery was sufficiently peeved and decided to give Donovan a taste of his own attitude, regardless of his TV fame. She deliberately turned away from him and looked Avery in the eye.
“And how much money should someone reasonably expect to make for stealing a drug designed to ‘make the world a better place’ but wasn’t approved by the FDA?” She said with an attitude of disbelief.
The answer shocked her. Avery explained that the chemicals alone are worth a few million dollars retail, but they would be difficult to sell domestically. The price would triple if the chemicals could be exported out of the country. However, if someone used them to actually reverse engineer the drug, to make a physiology regulator, it would have a wholesale value of a billion dollars.
Ellery felt the hairs stand up on her neck.
Avery politely excused himself and Mr. Donovan. They had a very important meeting with the Board of Directors. Donovan stomped off first, leaving Avery behind momentarily, allowing him time to admire Ellery again.
“Miss Stiles, the kind of precision laboratory needed to reproduce this drug means only our competitors could do that. I don’t mean to tell you how to do your job, but you must know we are not the enemy.”
“No one said you were, Mr. Fisher,” Ellery added
“Very well. Please forgive me for being blunt, but we’ve spoken to the mayor, and we thought someone more experienced would be handling this case. I assume you’ve handled relevant incidents like this before.”
“I don’t discuss my credentials with victims, Mr. Fisher,” she said curtly.
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not disappointed. Quite the contrary.” Fisher’s voice was filled with an air of apology.
“Donovan doesn’t seem to approve,” she said, testing the waters to see how much tea Fischer would spill.
“Mr. Donovan is the CEO. He bears full responsibility for this incident,” Fisher happily volunteered. “At least in the eyes of the shareholders. I would imagine he’s quite unsettled by these events.”
Fisher handed Ellery his business card and said something so soft that she barely heard it. It sounded like, “Don’t hesitate to call me at any hour or any time…”
Ellery heard herself saying, “Of course,” but she didn’t like the eager tone that escaped.
Fisher took her hand to shake it and quickly released it before Ellery got the full effect. She felt kind of cheated in a way as she watched him walk away.
Ellery was on her way into Police Headquarters at One Police Plaza when an elegantly dressed older man with dark hair and blue eyes, just like her, stopped and blocked her path. Ellery threw on the brakes, looked the man in the eyes, and sucked her teeth.
“Good morning, Detective Stiles,” The handsome older man said with an admonition. “Is there a reason you haven’t returned my calls?” He watched Ellery become fidgety as she searched her mind for an answer.
“I’ve been busy,” she said flatly.
“Really? Too busy for a casual conversation with a Superior Court Judge, Detective?” he said scornfully.
“I really couldn’t care what your position is, actually,” she glowered back.
Ellery folded her arms in defiance. She wasn’t impressed. She stared at the handsome older man silently for a moment and then turned to walk away. It was another one: the first person to speak loses moments. She tried to exit, but the man softly grabbed her arm.
“Too busy to have dinner with your father?” He said in a tone that was more pleading than anything.
“What do you expect me to say, Dad?” Ellery acquiesced slightly.
The man was Gabriel Stiles. Ellery’s father. There was history there, bad history. Ellery had been raised in a very strict household where her father, a civil court judge, laid down the law. Ellery had to toe the line in everything she did and did well. Academically, she was often amongst the top students. Physically, she competed in Division Two Athletics for Track & Field. She once considered following in her father’s footsteps and becoming a lawyer, but a chance meeting with the local police department helped her see the light. She wanted to be a cop.
However good she was, she never stopped complaining to her parents about their strict upbringing. She and her father were constantly at odds over the rules and curfews he had established. She challenged his authority like any child, but Ellery was also smart enough to argue at a level most children could not comprehend.
Somehow, through all the arguments and temper tantrums, and despite the many times her father put down his foot, her message got through, and he lightened up. How Gabriel brought up his youngest daughter, Elsa, was quite different from how he brought up Ellery.
Elsa was allowed to run free without consequence or reprimand. She grew up talking back to her parents, using profanity at will, and ditching school to hang out with the cool kids. In many ways, she was like Ellery in her brilliance and knack for persuasive arguments. But Elsa was daring and often pushed the limits of everyone around her.
Elsa and Ellery got along fine, except when Elsa pushed her parents to their breaking point. Then Ellery would step in and wrangle the wild younger sibling. There was respect there. Ellery was able to do with Elsa what her parents could not. In many ways, Ellery was the mom that her mother couldn’t be to Elsa.
Once Ellery decided she wanted to be a cop, there was no turning back. She was never the kind of person who second-guessed herself. So, after graduating college, Ellery immediately started her law enforcement career. This meant she left home and her little sister. She left Elsa in the hands of people who could do nothing with her: Her parents.
Elsa transmogrified from mischievous to heinous. She dropped out of school. She started spending an excessive amount of time with very bad people doing very bad things. She even ended up in her father’s courtroom a few times, making him embarrassed at having to recuse himself.
Elsa’s curiosity and thirst for adventure made her the perfect soul for the time. The Pharmaceutical industry turned every personal issue into yet another need for another pill. There was a pill for high anxiety, low anxiety, social anxiety, work anxiety, ADD, ADHD, insomnia, narcolepsy, caffeine dependency, vegan dieting, keto diet, you name it. Elsa tried everything at least once, often multiple pills doing opposite things in one day.
Gabriel couldn’t do anything with Elsa. She wouldn’t listen. She wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. She was too far gone. She was addicted emotionally and physiologically. It was too late when her parents reached out to Ellery for help. Ellery couldn’t reach her.
When Elsa reached the darkest depths of depravity, she swallowed enough pills to kill an elephant and took her life.
And, although she never really said it out loud, Ellery blamed her father for her sister’s death. She felt that if he had just stayed as consistent with his family as he did with his blossoming career, she would still have her baby sister.
During their family crisis, Ellery’s mother died of undiagnosed pancreatic cancer. No one knew until she was well within stage four. Ellery assumed her mom suffered quietly as she sacrificed herself for her husband’s burgeoning career as a judge. She was lucky to pass away before she saw her baby daughter throw her life away. At least, that’s how Ellery saw it. Her mother was a sweet, nurturing, honest-to-God good soul. She had more compassion in her little finger in one day than most people exhibit in their entire lives. She cared for everyone and everything.
Losing a mother and sister was hard on Ellery, although she’d never admit it. The common link in both situations was her father and what he did or didn’t do for both the women in his life. Ellery gave him hell about keeping a tight reign on her as a child and young adult. Now she gave him hell about being so hands-off with her mother and baby sister.
Now Gabriel stood there watching his only family member stare him down like she could murder him at any moment. It made him love her even more. He admired her defiance and courage. He always did. She was a testament to what he did right. He couldn’t let her go so easily.
“What do you want from me?” Gabriel pleaded. “I lost your mother and your sister. We are all we have left.” He waited a few moments and then added, “This wouldn’t have anything to do with that case I dismissed, would it?” he quizzed. “If so, let’s discuss it; make your case.”
Ellery grabbed Gabriel’s arm and jerked him into a quiet corner of police headquarters.
“This is not a courtroom, and I’m not about to make my case, Dad.” She said between clenched teeth, “How do you expect me to feel when you let that monster go.”
“That monster has rights, Ellery.” His tone was becoming preachy, and Ellery hated that. “The law is the law. We have a responsibility to uphold–”
“Why is it that the law–” Ellery cut him off, “Only seems applicable when you’re an asshole with wealthy parents?”
“Wow, are you accusing me of something, Ellery?” He took a step back to prepare himself. “Spit it out. Let’s hear it along with all the other personal attacks.”
Ellery’s guilt forced her into a hasty retreat. She folded her arms across her chest to pout, looked away, and then down at the floor to avoid her dad’s eyes.
“It’s not personal, okay?” She retreated. “You’re right. I apologize.”
Her dad took Ellery by the shoulders and looked warmly into her eyes. He expressed his usual sentiment, including the boilerplate statement that if everyone obeyed the rule of law when they felt like it, what kind of world would we have? He reminded Ellery that he has to hold the law in higher regard than his personal feelings or even his personal morality. There is no room for emotions when legally passing judgment on someone.
Ellery reminded him that his spiel might work in the courts, but it doesn’t work in the streets, where innocent women and children die every day. Unfortunately, the men and women Ellery worked with in the police force didn’t take kindly to her blood relationship with a man who threw out the results of their efforts to fight crime daily. They took their jobs personally, and Ellery was a pariah because no one believed she took her job seriously.
Her father just shook his head. “Then explain to me why you’re the youngest detective in the city?” He chastised, “Come on, Ellery. The claws come out whenever you accuse me of trying to smother your individuality, but you’re still trying to live your life by some outdated code of men you don’t even respect. The irony doesn’t escape me.”
“Nevertheless,” he said, “Your stepmother is expecting you for dinner this week. I don’t care what day, pick one. And bring the engineer guy, Tom.”
“His name is Todd, Dad,” Ellery corrected with a sneer. “And I told you, Todd and I are over.”
They spent a few moments having obligatory conversations about her break-up: Really? What happened? I thought it was the real thing. He what? Shame on him, blah blah blah. Never mind. Just bring someone. Anyone. We hate the thought of you being alone all the time.
Ellery rolled her eyes until her father kissed her cheek and rushed off under the timely excuse of his cell phone ringing.
Ellery marched into the detective’s bullpen and saw Captain Kelly Dean’s office in the distance. Dean was a stout woman who could have been a fireman in another life. She had short brown hair and a voice like a Viking as she berated the new pimple-faced cops in uniform. From the look on the rookie’s face, Ellery swore he’d already shit on himself or he was about to vomit at any second. Dean was a hard cop, highly decorated, and thoroughly embittered by the world and the political bureaucracy in which she was forced to tread water to keep her job.
As Ellery approached the office, she saw Dean gesturing wildly and flagrantly. Last year, The Brass added soundproofing to Captain Dean’s office in light of the many loud verbal counseling and shouting matches held in her office. Ellery could see lips moving and arms flailing, but she couldn’t hear a thing.
Ellery knocked on the glass door and watched Dean dismiss the officer with a wave of her hand. The officer hurried away and left the door open for Ellery. Dean didn’t bother to look up at her
“What’s this I hear about you making fuck-me eyes with execs at that pharmaceutical company?” she bellowed loud enough for everyone to hear through the open door.
Ellery cringed with embarrassment, but she tried not to show it. She put on her most indignant expression.
“What? I didn’t make fuck-me eyes.” She denied. “Who the hell told you that?”
“Are you telling me you didn’t share a moment with that gorgeous man or the CEO on every major advertising screen in South Beach?” Dean pushed.
Ellery started to speak, but she caught on quickly and decided to shut the fuck up. Dean was baiting her. There was no right answer. Deny it, and she’d be a liar. Admit it, and she’d be another pretty cop who’s too sexy for the job.
Dean and Ellery stared at each other for an eternity until Dean didn’t care about the old adage: the first one to speak loses, and she spoke.
“I work out every day, Stiles,” Dean began. “I do fucking yoga and Cross Fit. But you walk in my office, and I feel like a seventy-year-old sumo wrestler.”
Ellery gritted her teeth to prevent the foul insult building on her lips from escaping her mouth.
“Tell me about it,” she finally said. “Looking like this means I have to work twice as hard to keep cops from using my profile picture to jerk off at night.”
Dean chuckled. “Yeah, you’re smart, and you’re a good cop. The department needs more people like you. But you cannot schmooze with suspects.”
“He’s a suspect?” Ellery was embarrassed by how much disappointment registered in the tone of her voice.
Dean cocked an eyebrow and shook her head. “Everyone on the goddamn Board of Directors is a suspect. Who’s got your six on this?”
“I don’t need back-up.” Ellery rejected.
“Fine,” Dean nodded. “But if your investigation lasts longer than 48 hours, you will pick a number two.” She returned to her seat and dismissed Ellery with a wave.
“I’ll get those chemicals before they hit the streets,” Ellery promised.
Dean grunted her doubts.