#probie reader

So it turned out getting out was a little too easy. 

Rio caught you before your face hit the curb. Her shoe colliding with a puddle, and her hands holding your shoulders. 

As Agatha grabbed your by you by your waist. 

“AND STAY THE FUCK OUT YA FILTHY COP!”

There was weasel-like laughter and Agatha ground her teeth and reached for her sidearm when Rio scolded her. 

“You think pulling a gun is going to help?” The argument starts in the dark, as people walk into the club and out. Sme people smoke cigarettes, and the nicotine clouds bloom in the air. No one seems to care that three gays are fighting now that the bouncer turns away. 

“You’re the one they clocked as a cop.” Agatha disputed through her teeth back but Rio was manically cackling. 

“Who walks up to a bouncer and asks questions like that? What happened to playing it cool?” Rio says, and you twist around to see no one's paying attention to you, now. 

The bouncer is talking to another guy, and you see a group of women about your age in cocktail dresses and chokers. You untie your hair and mess it up with your fingers. Moving into the crowd with the rest. 

You hear the two women bickering in the background, but you’re slipping inside with a group of subs before either can stop fighting long enough to notice. 

But you’re moving inside, and the noise hits again. 

You feel your phone vibrate, but you’re quick to silence it and hide it back in your dress. 

All you have to do is get upstairs. 

How hard could it be? 

You instantly hated your own plan, you missed Rio and Agatha’s boddys against your own as you moved into the crowd. 

But as you circled around an orgy. 

Your body trying not to flinch as you a few turn towards you. 

Their horror masks are a little grotesque, only one you realize is actual pig skin and you gulp. 

But steal yourself away, your face hardening, you turn away, not about to look vanilla or like a damn cop again. 

Your clevage gets you through them more than anything else, but you count it as a win. 

You’re moving behind a guy who’s three times your body size, his neck is veiny, pulsing and it resembles a dick. He’s gotta be coked out of his mind because no one else should dance that. As he twists, you see his dick is in a cage, and you think that might be a good thing for society. 

You push around him and he’s howling as the white lights roll over his shoulders. 

You walk up the stairs this time, slow and confident, like you’re supposed to be here. 

This guy's new, not the same, thank god. 

Still, as you try to slide by another party, you think maybe it will be easy this time. 

An arm moves to the front of you again, your phone lights up and the bouncer eyes it. 

You look up and back at him this time. 

You hold up the phone, and then look back towards a red door at the corner. 

“You really want to keep him waiting?” You ask, playing up enough fear. 

Rio liked it when you did that, teased and cooed and then she’d get rough with you and your bottom lip would quiver. 

It worked every time, her resolve to go slower would break and she’d hurt you. 

God, you loved it when she hurt you. 

The memory plays in your mind. 

“Fuck me like you hate me or get out.” You pushed the woman's body off of you.

Rio stared at you with a gentleness, a need to save you. 

“Baby-”

“No, if I wanted some soft fucking I’d go to a bar.”

Rio hesitated, but her demeanor shifted. 

“What-what do you want me to do?”

You scoffed. 

“If I have to tell you how to take me, then you don’t have it in you to take without asking. It’s okay, you’re kind. You reek of good intentions. Some lady will be very happy to hop on your pension. You two can go to church or have Sunday brunch or whatever you soft butch bitches like. I’m sorry, but that’s not what I’m looking for.” You explained moving towards the edge of the bed, you put your socks back on first. 

The bed shifted, and you thought nothing of it. 

Until Rio grabbed your hair and yanked back so hard you yelped. 

Rio was muscle,  her hands turned from devoted to devastating so fast that you almost apologized for thinking her vanilla. 

Rio drug you off the bed, making your knees raw as she slid you onto the carpet like you weighed nothing. 

She fucked you onto the ground for three hours. 

Whispering in your ear ‘Is this what you thought you wanted?’ and ‘you don’t deserve to squirt on my bed, you messy little cunt.’

You cried, and came, and finally your mind,was;

silent.

But now you were just a submissive girl with great tits in a dress with a collar. 

But you had a damn purpose. So you swayed your hips like you meant it. 

This man must have recognized the look, because he moved his arm up and you b-lined it straight for the red door. 

So close now, your legs wobble just a bit, suddenly you missed a gunfight with water buckets. This was far more terrifying then a bullet. 

You finish the top step, and the red door opens.  

That’s the first time you’d ever seen him in person, though he’d been on the news enough you recognized him.

Mr. Howard Starks in the flesh. His sweaty disgusting display made the context clues too easy. This man had just enjoyed himself. 

 A body guard pushed him down the hall, just as you saw him shoving his shirt back into his pants and being escorted out. 

A guy with an was pierce noticed you staring so you bailed hard. Finding the nearest door you opened it, regretting the decision.

It smelled like old ballsack. 

It was shroud in darkness, but as you twisted around a black light your own guide. You moved back, eyeing the door handle, scared for the moment it might twist. 

You moved backwards only to trip and eat it. You fell this time, no Agatha or Rio to manhandle you from the gravity's grab. 

You're on the floor and your shoe heel snaps. But as you groan in pain you feel something under your leg. Fisting your phone with shaking hands, you tap the lock button to try and see it. 

There’s dirty condoms on the ground and it’s sticky and nasty. 

But you see a pristine heel. Not cheap like yours, no designer.

You know who it is, of course. 

But your stomach still drops as you move to see her face. 

She’s covered in…it- it smells like piss.

Her dress ripped, but there’s no denying it. 

“Pepper what did they do to you?” You whisper to her body. The reminder of Darcy’s body flashes. 

How many smart women would fall?

You hated to pity Pepper or Darcey. 

But staring into Pepper's once caring eyes made you sick. They’re void now, they’re milky, she’s gone. No use touching her neck for a pulse, but she’s not cold. 

This was recent. 

Peppers got something in her hand, you should have gloves, really you should. But you open her soft fingers. 

A wet business card with it’s corners are all frayed. 

You grab at, it’s not exactly a subtle clue, but the way Peppers fingernails are bloody. You know she left it, another clue. 

How many clues would this woman have to leave? Why couldn’t you and Agatha protect her from this?

You dial the number and hate that your voice shakes.

“I’ve got a body, yeah, club chaos - second floor-I’ll wait. Yes, murdered,” you say and move to stand, hovering over a brave woman. Who deserved so much better than this. 

You hear a scuffle outside and move towards the door.

You know not to leave the body… but what if one of your assholes were in trouble?

That’s when you hear the fire alarm, opening the door to feel the spray of water.

The clubgoers run like rats being doused in gasoline. 

You have to kick off your heels in front of the door, the one broken one not helping you. Your palms wet as you hold the wall. 

Party goers are getting trampled by one another. 

You are in trouble no matter what, but the way you see it. You have

two options: leave Pepper's body, and risk an actual fire. 

Maybe worse, the killer coming back. 

Or, stay here with the body…and risk the coming back. 

Yeah, okay, so neither were awesome. 

The bouncers were gone, the water from the sprinklers soaking your hair and making your eye makeup run immediately. 

You find your third option, through the third door. 

Pushing past a few sweaty people, you spot the red door. You yank it open only to find dark stairs going down. 

You twist back to the waterlogged club, the third door it was. 

You move down the scary, dark steps, they curl around and your bare feet feel the grody medal. 

The further you walk, the more you’re sure you’re lost. 

You grab your wet phone, clicking the lock button, nothing. It’s gone. 

“Wonderful.” 

If Agatha wasn’t going to desk you before, she sure as shit was now. 

You walked forward, aware that you couldn’t see anything. And that the more you stepped the further into the belly of the beast you were. 

But the building wasn’t this big, was it?

The echo of your footfall was off-putting to say the least. 

You had to guess it was twenty minutes of walking, because your heart was ponding. Sure that you were going to die in whatever this hallway of stairs and blackness was. 

Up another patch of stairs, another corridor, deeper and deeper you go. 

Until your foot collides with metal.  

After seeing Pepper's body, you don’t really want to touch things. But you’re soaking wet in a cocktail dress. You don’t have much of a choice. 

You feel the cold metal door, and yank the doorknob. 

The sound of sirens greets you, it’s a back door to the club. 

You round the building, happy to see the blue and red lights. 

“Oh fun, backdoor, all this time, that’s dumb.” You spit water out, and see the cop cars. You jog, so glad to finally be out of the god damn tombs. 

You can almost hear them, Rio and Agatha shouting at each other in the middle of the street. 

The yellow police tape surrounding the entrance, a clear frazzle for a found body and a search for a missing officer. 

You were about to be popular. 

Agatha’s holding what looks to be your broken shoe. Pointing it at Rio like it’s a knife, she’s so mad. 

Both of them are flailing their arms and screaming. Spit and rage clear from afar. 

You sprint, not sure if you can take another one of their first fights. 

Your skin is raw now, it’s split, blood gushing, you run harder. 

The thud of your feet against the wet cement isn’t enough to alert them. 

You’re bloody footprints and wet hair sticking. 

Rio slaps Agatha across the face so hard that her face jerks to the side. 

You run harder, your lungs burning, fear hitting harder than even in the club tunnels.

You don’t shout - they wouldn’t hear you.

Damn, you needed to be in Rio’s arms, to have Agatha look at you so proud. Proud you’d survived. God, she could even yell at you if she wanted. 

You didn’t care. 

Then Rio pushes forward and kisses Agatha hard, you stop, about ten feet from them. 

Their lips connect. 

Agatha’s eyes widen, and she does the unthinkable. 

She hesitates. 

A beat passes. 

Your heart stops. 

Then the older cops is pushing Rio away, jerking back like she’d just been burned. 

You stop.

Officer Hill has to shout your name twice before the two of them turn to you.

Cops and EMT’s circle you, officers have to push photographers back as they try and get a shot of you. Bloody, black-dressed, drowned rat look.  

“Hey, hey you okay, kid? Your feet are bleeding-” Hill starts but you are just staring at them. As the whole department, fuck the photographers, everyone is shouting at you. 

All you can do is stare at them. 

It takes Hill grabbing your shoulder for you to realize Rio and Agatha are looking at you now. 

Both of them are unreadable.

“Get me out of here Hill.” You say as someone shouts out, asking if there was more than one body? If the FBI was in on the drop! 

“Yeah, yeah kid, I got you.” Hill says, understands more than you cared for her to. She’s moving her walkie-talkie to her mouth and saying how they’ve found the officer. To call off the search. 

You limp towards the ambulance, even as they offer to wheel out the gurney. You didn’t want that photo. An EMT puts his hand out to help you. 

But you don’t need his ass. 

You hoist yourself up just in time to notice the two of them are on you again. 

Rio calls out your first name over and over, like a prayer. 

Like you hadn’t just seen that. 

And why should you care? You two were just fuck buddies, right?

You said you didn’t want more, right?

Then why did you feel so betrayed?

“Fuck me like you hate me or get out.” 

That is what you’d said to Rio. 

So why did you care?

Why did it feel like love?

Rio steps to get into the ambulance with you, her body shaking. She was so afraid.  

“Get out.” You say, and you swear you can actually hear Rio’s heart break but you don’t care. 

Her eyes widen as she can’t comprehend. 

She’d just gotten you back?

After being terrified you were dead or taken.

“Wha-” Rio’s step falters and one of the men starts hooking you up to his machine. You sit on the gurney and notice now that you're dripping blood. Deep red everywhere. 

You grab at the collar around your neck - the one you’d gotten chills for before. 

That stupid safety you’d found in it was gone. 

You don’t untie it, you use brute adrenaline to snatch it off. The leather snaps, it creates an immediate mark on you, good. It matched the one the agent left on your heart. 

You throw it at her, and she catches it against her breasts.

“Get out, lose my number. Be someone else's mistake.” You say to Rio. You see the tear fall before your partner pushes past her. 

 Agatha closes the doors behind her and plops down onto the chair. 

She wasn’t giving you the option to kick her out it seemed. Not like the shocked FBI agent.

“HEY!” You shout at your partner. 

“Uh, Officer, you can follow us-” The EMT dude says but he gets a glare. 

Agatha’s still holding your heel, but she sits down and buckles. 

“I don’t want you here.” The guy is laying you down and strapping you in.

“I didn’t want to lose you in an evil club for an hour after pulling a fire alarm. But none of us is happy tonight.”  Agatha says, looking at your bleeding feet. 

“Go kiss your girlfriend.” You spit as the ambulance hits a bump, and gauze is being applied to your feet. 

“Shut up, Rio was worried about you, she just-”

“I don’t care, I’m not your problem anymore. I’ll transfer!” You shout, and Agatha won’t for a millisecond listen.

“Check her for a head injury!” Agatha yells at the man who’s having a bad night now. 

“Can you both just shut up long enough for me to take some vitals?” The straight man begs. 

You both glare at him, but shut up. 

It takes eight hours for them to clean and wrap your feet. You surprisingly don’t need stitches, but they tell you to stay off them. 

You laugh at them, and move out of the hospital with a prescription for pain meds, still feeling a little groggy from what they’d given you. 

Only to see Agatha waiting by the exit, smoking a cigarette. 

You twist to walk the other way and see Rio tear stained face as she sat on the curb. 

“Nope.” You say as you decide to walk towards Agatha. 

Rio calls out your name but you’re numb enough that you walk faster away. 

Agatha is jogging to keep up with you, ehe ditched the cigarette. Then tried to keep up with your walk and swing her bomber jacket over your shoulders, but even in your still slightly high state, you scoffed and moved away. 

“The fuck are you doing here?” You say to her, not such a lowly scared Probie anymore. 

No longer afraid of her bark or her bite. 

“We’ve been here all night, we’re worried about you. What did they say about your feet?”

“Fuck off, Detective.” You snap. 

“Probie, you can’t drive yourself home!” Agatha says chasing after you and you twist and poke her in the chest hard. 

Rio is lingering in the background like some kicked puppy. 

You ignore her and keep your anger on the cop. 

“I’ll call a cab, I’ll call an actual friend. I’ll call anyone but you! Now leave me alone and go kiss Rio some more!”

“Probie, she kissed me! And it wasn’t even-” Agatha said, already hating the way that sounded. You laugh and turn back around to walk on the shitty little slip-ons they’d given you. 

“God say it to someone who cares!” You flip her the bird as you move towards the road. 

“You can’t quit this case,  you know it! Even if you’re mad at me, which you shouldn’t be! I pulled away from her!” Agatha reasoned, but you’re limping a little and working to go hail a cab. Not seeing how angry this makes Rio.

Fuck you’d walk home if it meant getting away from them. 

“Tell it to someone who cares!” You remind her over your shoulder. 

“You won’t leave because Darcey and Pepper need you!” Agatha says and you stop in your tracks. 

You twist around again, eyeing Rio who looks like shit. Never has the FBI agent seemed so disheveled. 

Then you glare back at partner. 

“Fuck you. Oh and remember that shit you said? What was it? I’m closer to you than a girlfriend or a stupid lover. Blood was it? No stone? You fucking asshole. You don’t give a shit about me. You two-” you said to yell at Rio, too. “Whatever this game is, I’m out! Find someone else.”

You limp away, moving to the front of the parking lot to get a cab. 

You make it back to your apartment and almost crawl inside. 

It’s as if you’ve come back from war. 

You somehow get to your bed this time.

Dry swallowing a pain pill and dropping the scrubs they’d put you in, (the dress being given to the police as evidence). 

You don’t shower, you can’t, you don’t have the energy. 

You crawl under your covers and let sleep finally take you. 

But all you see is Pepper. 

And you wake again, sweaty and upset, your feet killing you, your gaze falls to the floor where your scrubs sit. 

You eye them, them scoot on your belly until you can reach them on the floor. 

Pulling out the evidence you’d stolen from a crime scene. 

You really were Mommy’s girl. Agatha had stolen the blackberry phone, now here you were. 

The idea of being a dirty cop made you grimace. 

How quickly your training all flew out the window.

Thank you, Officer Harkness.

But you read the card, how could you not. 

‘Mind Stone Manor, Medical Retreat and Rest Center.’

You arched an eyebrow on the worn card. It’s curling at the side like it’s gone foul.

Sounds like a bullshit name for rich people is what it is.

Still, your phone is dead, waterlogged, and deceased. 

Good no texts from work or from Rio. That's best for a while. 

Deceased.

That conjured the image of Pepper covered in piss makes you nauseous. 

You hated how you only considered one suspect, a bad cop indeed. 

Mr Howard Stark.

You can’t stay in bed, you won’t let them win. 

Fuck.

You hiss as you stand and go to your computer. Dressing like you were a white trash day drinker. But outside of work, all you had were grunge comfy clothes. 

So you adored a somewhat clean sweatshirt (minus the stain on the sleeve) with the Modelo logo. 

Your feet are killing you, but you slip on some faded blue jeans, then bulky socks over your bandages, and then you wince but tie up your faded grey sneakers.

Happy they fit even with the gaus. 

Your computer makes a loud fan noise, and you know it’s thinking. 

It’s slow as hell to get the clunker on, you consider taking another pain med but decide against it.

You gotta focus. 

The killers are still out there, and sadly, there were too many suspects. Too many unanswered questions.

God you need coffee for this. 

Forcing yourself over to the mess that was your apartment, your movements appear like you’re a hundred years old. 

Your kitchen is just trashed, and you can’t think like this. 

The sun hasn’t even come up yet, but there’s too much to do. 

You inhale and exhale, coffee first. 

You brew it, then move all the to-go boxes on your counter into the trash. Your feet are killing you, but you ignore it. 

Cleaning the living room of blankets and old coffee cups. 

You clean, and think, and the more you think, the more sure you can’t ask for a transfer. 

You can’t quit, and you sure as fuck can’t leave this case. 

Fuck Rio Vidal. 

You knew better than to care for your booty call. 

You refuse to think of her as something else, not anymore. 

Your neck still had the red line from where you broke the collar. The only one you’d ever worn, and the last one you’d ever wear. 

Forget her. 

You scrubbed harder your bathroom sink harder.  Your chucks squeak on the newly cleaned floor. 

Stress cleaning was working for you. 

Even as your knuckles screamed in pain, and the smell of bleach burned your nose. 

You imagined your partner.

 Agatha Harkness can kindly get fucked. 

With her blue eyes and harsh comments on how you didn’t know your shit. 

Whatever. 

Thanks to all your gay drama, you’d stress-cleaned the whole apartment before seven am. 

Once everything looks better your eyes land on the floor.

That spot. 

The spot Rio had fucked you hard and raw…

‘“That’s my girl, Daddy’s going to pump and dump inside of you. Push my seed inside real good, make sure it leaks out in front of everyone. I own you.”

You shudder, remembering how Rio’s seed felt gushing inside of you. 

No, no, no you had to focus. 

It was just like you to get horny from the pain, always such a juicy mix. 

No.

No sex with anyone until you solve the case. 

You try to use your tippy toes as you plop down in your chair and type on your computer. 

You find Mind Stone Manor. It’s popular online, lots of stories of people curing their sexual proclivities. Families are putting loved ones there. 

The more you read the less you understand. 

Was it a mental hospital? Was it a retreat? Did they do hormone therapy? The images were all of the view of upsate new york and spas. 

But it felt mysterious in a way. 

You found an address, your fingers tapping on the mouse without clicking. 

You should go look at Pepper's body. 

But what good would that do? You knew without a shadow of a doubt that her body wouldn’t tell you much more than Darceys had. 

That a person would go to such disgusting measures to mutilate a body. 

No, you needed to see it. 

Stop yourself from thinking from a place of emotion, of rage.

You had to be a detective. 

You signed, if you were going to be bound to a desk by Agatha, no matter what. You might as well go out with a bang. 

You stood and packed a bag; upstate New York meant a drive. 

One where you might have to stay over, so you packed some bare necessity clothes, you hesitated on your badge, but threw it in with your gun. 

Then an extra box of bullets. 

Just to be sure. 

On top of the duffel bag, you drop your birth control on top of the gun. 

Then smirk at the image of it. 

Your sweatshirt, jeans, badge, gun, and then birth control. 

Something in your wants to grunt out ‘feminism.’

You zip up the duffel bag, sling it over your shoulder and eye the coffee pot, you didn’t even get- whatever.

You unplug the pot and lock up, heading down the steps.

But you spot one unmarked police car and one old cruiser. 

Fuck. 

You walk over to Agatha, unsure why you hate her less this morning. 

She’s asleep, head back, cigarette burning between her fingers, three coffee cups in the cruiser. 

Plus a box of donuts, and the casefiles stacked. 

You drop the dufflebag loudly in front of the homicide detective. 

Nothing. 

Wow, what reflexes, Officer Harkness.

You grab her cigarette slowly, and the officer makes a grunting noise.

You missed nicotine, and your bloody feet told you today was the day to fall off the wagon. 

You flick the ash and put the cigarette between your own lips.

Happy your partner at least went for Malboror, and not something like Camels or Newports. 

Agatha’s obnoxiously open mouth snoring.  

This butch is ridiculous. 

If your phone wasn’t gone, you’d take a photo. 

You look in her window at the stack of case notes on her passenger seat.

You duck through her window and Agatha jerks awake just as you grab the case file. 

“Hey,” she grumbles as you pull it out. 

Flipping it open as you inhaled the cigarette, thumbing through the folder until you got to Pepper. 

“She had the lobotomy too.” You say and lift the cigarette from your lips. Letting smoke flow out from your lips. 

Agatha rubs roughly at her face and sits up. 

“Yeah, but keep reading.” She says and finds the cold coffee mug that only had a little at the bottom. It was stale, but the homodice detective was immune; she chugged the last of it. 

Before palming her pockets for her pack. 

You read on.

“They ran out of time.”

“Must have heard you, or saw you - recognized you. Whatever it was- keep reading.” Agatha tells you as she finds the crumpled pack of cigarettes.

She’s got two left, it was a long night of watching your apartment, evidently. 

She fiddles with her lighter but stops to watch you read it. 

“Someone thought she was alive, someone tried to kill her again?” You ask, and Agatha makes a sort of proud look. 

“I showed you mine.” Officer Harkness eyes you carefully. 

You dig into your pocket where you’d kept the card.

Agatha took it and flipped it over a few times. 

“Pepper was smarter than they gave her credit for.” Agatha offered to the woman no longer with this world. 

You twist to the unmarked black sedan. 

“Did the chief send over someone to watch my apartment?” You say, knowing it would be practical, in case someone came after you.

But Agatha snorts. As if she’d let some stupid beat cop watch you.

“He tried, I took the job, been awake all night, you caught my ten minute catnap.” Agatha stops, but looks at the rearview mirror as if deciding if she wants to continue. 

“Check the treads,” She says then lights the cigarette tip and you hear the zippo click shut as you eye the tires.

“FBI,” you murmur, and Agatha smiles again - proud of you.

“Vidal, it seems, is lovesick. And with your phone not working, neither of us could call.”

“What, you didn’t want to give each other blowjobs in the same car?” You say back so irritated, but your partner doesn’t even flinch. 

“You would have liked that, wouldn’t you?” Agatha doesn’t look away, doesn’t blink. SHe stares at you, and you put the cigarette out with your shoe. 

“Let’s not make this into a bigger thing. You didn’t want FBI agent sniffing around anyway.” You say, and Agatha laughs a little, looking at her rearview mirror. 

“The way I see it, you can either get in and hope she’s asleep too. Or I’ll call the chief and tell him you stole evidence. What’ll it be? Wanna ride with me to upsate, I’ll even let you pick the tunes, Probie.” Agatha added charismatically. 

You pick up your duffle and round the car, chucking it into the back and then getting into the passenger side.  

You shut the door quieter than normal, and Agatha turns the key in the ignition and flicks her two drags of a cigarette out the window.

The engine roars and the transmission leaps into gear - making the whole thing jerk to life. You get onto the freeway, and it takes about twenty minutes of sitting in silence before Agatha speaks. 

“Modelo, didn’t pick you for it.” She says about your sweatshirt.

“You made a lot of assumptions about me before knowing me Officer Harkness, let’s not do this. Just drive.” You say, all but adding a hurumph at the end. 

“Probie, I know you’re mad. But can you just admit that the idea of me and Rio wasn’t so far from your mind? That the three of us-” Agatha pushes, one hand opening on the steering wheel, and you scoff, cutting her off.

“I’d rather walk upstate than talk about this.” You interject, and Agatha groans but stops talking. 

“How are the dogs?” She asks, nodding towards your feet.

“Why do you give a shit? Because partners are some kind of bond? How did that go? I eat it, and you shit it? Tell me officer, do your feet hurt too?” You say with enough venom that Agatha actually doesn’t have a sarcastic thing to add. 

“Probie-”

“Save it,” you say and reach into Agatha’s pocket making her cock strain. But you don’t linger, you take the last cigarette like it always belonged to you. 

And Agatha’s boner hurt as it pressed against the zipper of her dickies jeans. 

She huffed as you lit it with her Zippo lighter. 

Your crankyness makes her desire to stop the car and fuck you almost unberable. 

“We’ll need gas soon, and coffee, and- cigarettes.” She adds and you roll your eyes but push the radio and turn it all the way up, making blue eyes glare in your direction, then flick back to the road. 

Johnny Cash sings ‘Folsom Prison Blues’ as loud as the speakers will go, it shakes the cup holder and rattles the side panel of the car. 

Agatha grits her teeth, but seems to be further impressed with you somehow. 

Modelo sweatshirt, blue jeans, and Converse, you look good enough to marry. 

If only she gets to you before Rio does. 

You start to flip through the file again, reading the notes on Pepper and then opening the notes on Darcey. Trying to figure out why. 

The car lurches again, and Officer Harkness pulls off rearing to go to a gas station.

This was going to be one interesting ride.