Page 16 of Sullied Saints

I take a deep breath and pull myself away from the screen. Such digging questions.

I wonder if Dirk has watched these brief interviews. If he’s seeing the mentions of himself on all the talk shows and news hours, therapists who’ve never met him conjecturing into his mental state, theorists guessing at why Cassandra targeted him, and why Needler saved us both.

I switch the TV to the weather and try to ignore it for the rest of the day.

By the time I'm scheduled to go and talk to Needler, between watching the interview, over-thinking the questions Tawill was asked and Dirk’s recalcitrance, I'm in a foul mood. Not helped by skipping lunch because I didn't want to have to squeeze past the reporters along with the protestors still brave enough to linger in front of the precinct.

Needler looks across the table at me. A couple of weeks is long enough for his beard to start growing out, dark blond with a hint of red. Soon he'll be looking an awful lot like a more handsome and buff version of the Tristan anyone who has been here long enough remembers.

“You never suspected that the Cocooner could be Cassandra?" I ask tiredly. I know he didn't. I was there; I saw his face when confronted with her. Tawill is watching from the other side of the glass.

He tilts his head. "No."

I look down at the papers that I'm not really paying attention to. A whole plan of what to ask him. Like following a manual will make dealing with Needler more efficient, or easier. The thing is, it’s already easy. Which makes me more annoyed. How is whatever I had with Needler less complicated than my feelings for Dirk? A man who, on paper at least, I should be perfect for.

"But you found me that night."

"I was stalking you, as you’d pointed out, if you recall?"

I sigh through my nose. "Yes, but…"

"I was watching you very closely after the news about Caleb. I suspected you'd get into trouble." Tristan’s lips twitch into a smile. "It’s your style."

"Uh-huh," I mumble, with no small amount of irritation. Because he's right? Or because I'm in a mood for irritation? "What do you think Caleb saw in her?"

Spreading his hands. "The opposite of what he saw in you?" Leaning on the table, the jumpsuit sleeves rolled back past his elbows, Tristan seems closer than the table should allow. "You're off your game today, Little Shadow."

"Don't call me that," I say, reasonably, I think.

He ignores me. "What’s thrown you? It’s not like you to be dour."

I set my chin. "We're not talking about my personal life. And you don't know what I'm like." And I’m supposed to be asking the questions. He’s right, I am off my game; I feel like I’m going around in circles, getting nowhere.

Lips curving, Tristan raises an eyebrow. "Is it a man?" He fakes a frown of thought. "Now who could it be…"

"Stop that," I say abruptly. Because he could very well guess, especially if he was around long enough before saving us from Cassandra to hear Dirk's confession of… something.Fondnessfeels too lame a word.

Mercifully, with my boss watching, he does stop this time, but his eyes sparkle. "You can't solve Tregam's problems with your own at the front of your mind." He leans back. "Do what you usually do."

Knowing full well he's pulled me off topic with too much success, I take a breath. "And what’s that?"

"Well, grab your problem by the balls, of course."

***

By the balls.Maybe he's right.

Maybe I shouldn't take advice from a serial killer

But I'm here, anyway, parked outside Dirk's building. I came straight from the interview, not really admitting that this was my destination. He lives on the eastern edge of Downtown, a couple of blocks from the port. Which is not to say it’s a fancy part of town, since the port is more industrial than aesthetic, but it does get fresher air, and his building looks just slightly better kept than mine, with a fire escape shielded from the elements, and a real person in the lobby to check visitors through.

I know if they call up to his floor, he's likely to not have me sent through, so I flash my badge and they give me a pass to the elevator.

As I approach Dirk’s door down a corridor decorated with fake plants, I have a niggling but still gut-wrenching concern that he's not going to be alone, that there's going to be another woman there with him. Bracing myself, telling myself I can deal with that, I knock.

A few seconds and the sound of footsteps later, the door swings open, the men of Tregam somewhat less obligated to check their peepholes than the women. Using this to my advantage, I step through into his apartment before Dirk can slam the door in my face. Though he shows no sign of doing this, he does hold the door and stare at me as I do a quick visual sweep of the living room. It’s clean, lived in, if lacking a feminine touch. There are a lot of greys and blacks. I've been here before, but only to pick him up.

"Are you alone?" I don't mean for it to be the first question I ask, and I wince at how jealous it sounds.

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