The cocktail lounge was never usually busy this time of evening; business workers, who’d just gotten off, and those who were hopping to get lucky littered the bar. Soft jazz filled the area, creating a pleasant atmosphere.

She fell into one of those categories, but, you were hoping to make it both. Her shoulders were tensed, her eyes never staying on one thing for too long; even off duty she couldn’t relax. Hopefully you could change that.

Pushing up your chest - You have the goods, why not use them? - You made your way over to the bar, sliding onto the stool beside her.

She was slick, but, so were you. Her eyes ran over you, lingering on a certain area - She was so predictable. You called over the bartender, ordering the same drink as her, “A dry Martini, thankyou.”

Again, you didn’t miss it, but she didn’t try to hide it this time - She was looking at you.

You had her.

Adalee Huxley: a detective, or to most she was THE detective. Any case that hit her desk was solved in a week - Except one: yours.

Bodies had been found all over the city - without a trace left behind, making them impossible to solve. Except, they were all the same. Men - business men - all in 5 star hotels across the city, the cause of death: a single bullet to the head.

It wasn’t your fault men were so easy, you’d flash the good, give them a wink, and they were basically on their knees.

You were your crews, “lucky charm”. Nothing could go wrong with you on it, and now she was a problem, and your crew needed her gone - How different could she be?

“So, who do you work for then?” She asked flatly, not missing a beat.

Shit.