Crime (h.s. au)

Chapter Six

Ava

"Where'd you go to school?" Harry asks after we're seated. I unbutton my suit jacket and cross my legs, placing my hands in my lap.

"I'm from Denver and I moved out here at 18 to go to John Jay College of Criminal Justice," I explain, his eyes looking into mine. I hadn't noticed just how green they are until looking at him, sunlight casted down upon his face in a golden sheen.

"I lived in Denver for a while with my father, actually," he tells me, my lips pressing together. What a strange coincidence; I'm sure our circumstances for leaving are polar opposites.

"Did you travel a lot?" I wonder, and he nods.

"Yeah, my dad worked in regional sales. He had so many people working for him and when I turned 18, he gave me a job. Told me I had the physique to be in asset protection. So, I was a glorified security guard," he explains, my curiosity in his background growing. However, I'm not one to ask about the past like that. I don't find it all that necessary.

"Did you enjoy it?" I ask, grabbing my water glass.

"Not so much. It wasn't a job I wanted, but he paid me. When I got injured on the job, I decided to leave to go to school. I stayed there for school and went to Colorado Tech. Nothing special so when I moved out here, I took more classes to further my education," he elaborates as I take a sip of water.

I'm always fascinated to learn what makes people go into the field. At our station, I'm the only female in higher ranks than police officer. I've only worked with a few other women on cases; it's quite a male dominated field. It took me a decent amount of time to develop thick skin and confidence with my work. I had never been one to show my emotions well, so I'd always come off as stoic. My best friend had told me I have a 'resting bitch face', and at first I did not take the news well. However, getting further alone in my education and work, I'd grown to appreciate it.

Our waitress returns shortly and as Harry orders his food, I take note to a horizontal scar running along his cheekbone. It's faint, so only noticing it now isn't all that surprising. It may have been a result from the accident he had at work when he was younger.

I order after and the waitress returns to work, Harry turning his attention back to me.

"So," Harry starts, my eyebrow raising. "Can I ask you a question?"

I shrug. "Depends on the question," I reply, not one for casual conversation to which he could learn more about myself. I live a very private life.

He smirks at my response and I can't help but roll my eyes, unable to stop the smile that settles upon my lips. "Ask away," I say, his elbows moving to rest upon the table.

"What do you do for fun?" he asks, my eyebrows pulling together. I don't get asked this question all that often, and I know the reason why. I don't do much for fun; my job very tasking to a point where I'd drop everything to attend to it at a moment's notice.

"I'm not sure what you're looking for here," I explain, his hands moving up in almost a surrender. But he looks at me.

"Just want to know what you do outside of work, aside from other work you more than likely do at home. You're dedicated to your job. I just want to know what else you do," he tries, and I adjust myself in my chair. I take a moment to think about his question.

"Well, I do yoga every morning after I wake up. I like to read. I enjoy cooking. Every so often, I'll go out for a drink. Typically I only do so when I end a big case or need to relax a bit before attending back to work. Last night, for example. I went out for a few drinks," I tell him, and he nods.

"See? Wasn't so hard," he grins, and I let out a small laugh. It wasn't nearly as bad to give him small insight into my life, considering it's just to inform him of 'what I do for fun'.

"What about you? What does Detective Styles like to do for fun?" I ask, picking up my glass of water again.

"I take care of Zeus, get drinks with my friends every so often, and I read. A lot," he informs me, my lips smiling as I take a small drink from my water.

"Seems like you and I aren't all that different," I remark, and he smiles. The dimples on his cheeks are more prominent in his smile right now. He's one of the only people I've ever met who has them.

"Maybe, just maybe, once we are able to get through this case, we can get a drink together," he suggests and I raise an eyebrow. Unsure of what he means by his suggestion, I press my lips together.

"Maybe," I say, not trying to give any sort of interest in the fact.

The waitress comes with our food and my salad is placed in front of me, and I thank her. I take note to the way she looks at Harry. She has a blush forming on her cheeks as he thanks her, my eyes flickering back to the salad.

I take a moment to think to myself about their encounter. My hand picks up my fork and I brush aside the tomatoes on top of the salad, not particularly enjoying the food. My eyes quickly glance at Harry and I move back to look over my food.

It's only now I start to see Harry in a different light; a very different light that is only assumed to be dangerous. He's attractive, and it seems women are attracted to him as well. The chocolate curls on the top of his head are almost perfectly styled, a few strands tending to fall over his forehead. He has bright green eyes and dimples that form on his cheek each time his moves his cherry lips.

I shake my head as if it will get the thoughts out of my head, trying not to think about anything revolving around Harry. It's unprofessional to think about these things and I disregard the past minute where I let it slip.

"Not a fan of tomatoes?" Harry asks, taking note to the tomatoes that currently reside on the side of my plate.

"Only if they're incorporated in something. If they are just the top of the salad, I don't really eat them," I share, and he nods.

"Me either," he says, taking the tomatoes out of the sandwich he ordered. "Could have asked for no tomatoes, come to think of it."

I softly laugh and I say the same, moving to take a bite. We don't make much conversation as we eat and I ponder the interview we had just conducted. The main interest I have is Bernadette's boyfriend. He didn't like Victoria, and Victoria was not fond of him dating her friend. It's a strong suspect. My main question is always motive.

I'm interested in his past, as well as his coworker. There could be a possible correlation between the two, and they could have very well worked together in some regard. If the coworker lived near the Zetters, there is an easy way for Alexander to target Victoria.

"I have ideas I need to write down," I state, Harry looking at me. He reaches into his suit coat and pulls out a small notebook and pen, handing it to me. I quickly sketch out connections and bite my lower lip, looking it over.

"We can take a look at the station," I tell Harry, and he nods. I hand the notes back over to him and he just places it back in his pocket.

Harry asks for the check and it comes in minutes, my thoughts circling in my mind. When I get in the zone, it's hard for me to get out. There have been many days I'm in the station until late in the night.

"I know you're deep in thought. I'll let you think and we can discuss at the station," Harry says, respecting my method of work.

It's a quick car ride as I flood my mind with thoughts, too many analyzations to go over. There are brief moments where I scratch out certain thoughts, figuring they may not lead to anything. However, it's always good to over analyze because there could be answers lying beneath the surface. Sometimes, it's the most obvious facts that prove to the best evidence. Other times, digging for the answer may obtain the highest reward.