Free Harmonic by Erica O’Rourke

I?” I shrug, though my chest feels as fluttery as a fresh pivot. “Filtering out the reports is a slow process. We ended up having to look at each one individually.”
    He grins, a sly twist of the lips that tells me to be careful. “I figured you were trying to spend more time with that archivist. Laurel, right?”
    I fold the wrapper precisely, gathering my thoughts. Del’s obsession with origami makes sense now. It helps you stall, helps you focus, helps you play it cool. When the silver paper is as small a square as I can make it, I say, “That was a long time ago.”
    I don’t know if he’s trying to be chummy or creepy, but it feels like a warning. He knows what I’m doing, even when he’s not around.
    â€œNo crime to have a relationship,” he says, and grins. “Literally. I’m Enforcement, and I’m telling you: nothing illegal about you two.”
    â€œThanks for the vote of confidence. But it’s not in the cards for me right now.” To emphasize my point, I pull out the report for the world we just visited, comparing it against the readings I took with Eliot’s phone.
    â€œYou’re all about the job, huh?” At my nod, he adds, “I get it. That’s why we’re such a good team. Maybe after this you could transfer to Enforcement. Make it official.”
    â€œThat wasn’t the deal I made with Lattimer.” Garnett’s a nice enough guy. He’s a little intense, a little unsettling, even if he’s good at what he does. But I’m not interested in teaming up permanently. I want to finish this without getting Laurel or Del into trouble, and then I want life to get back to normal.
    â€œThings change,” he says, and then we’re back at CCM, and I can escape the too-warm confines of the car.
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    When I get home that night, Del is sitting at the kitchen island, working her way through an enormous bowl of cereal. She’s changed out of her pajamas, I notice.
    â€œDid you go to school today?” I ask, though it’s foolish to get my hopes up.
    â€œAmelia’s,” she replies. “Iggy needs walking, and it wears her out.”
    â€œDo you think it’s a good idea to spend so much time over there? All you’re going to do is sit around and miss him.”
    â€œThat’s all I do anyway,” she says. “At least at Amelia’s, I’m not doing it alone.”
    True enough.
    â€œHow’s Lattimer’s project?” she asks. “Are you saving the day again?”
    I’m surprised she can bring herself to ask, so I ignore the snark. “I have an office. And a partner.”
    Her eyebrows lift.
    â€œHe’s okay,” I say. “A little weird, but . . . nice, I guess. And good at tracking.”
    Del frowns. “That not good.”
    â€œBecause he’s weird?”
    â€œWeird’s fine. Nice is fine. Weird-but-nice-I-guess is what girls say when a guy creeps them out and they don’t want to sound like a bitch.”
    I force a laugh. “According to you, I have no problem sounding like a bitch.”
    â€œSure, when you want to. But you don’t want to, because this is work and Lattimer’s watching. You’re too worried about making a good impression when you should be watching your back.”
    â€œNot everyone’s like Monty,” I say gently. “Garnett’s a little odd, but we want the same thing. He’s not a problem.”
    Unless he’s the mole.
    She shrugs and returns her attention to the bowl in front of her.
    Someone knocks at the front door and she jerks, a reflex left over from Lattimer’s visits. I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to see anyone from the Consort right now. She’s too raw and messy, wearing her grief like an open wound.
    But when I open the door, I’m the one who feels exposed. Laurel is standing