Chapter 56
[Claire's POV]
Three days had passed since that night at the hotel with Marcus. I tried not to think about it as I sat in Professor Williams's Modern American Literature class, listening to him drone on about Hemingway's sparse prose style and the iceberg theory.
"In 'A Farewell to Arms,' we see Hemingway's masterful use of understatement..." Professor Williams continued, his voice a monotonous backdrop to my wandering thoughts.
I glanced at my laptop screen, checking my calendar for what felt like the hundredth time this morning. This was my last class of the week—a small mercy, considering graduation was only a month away. The other students around me were diligently taking notes, preparing for finals, worrying about their post-graduation plans. Normal concerns for normal people living normal lives.
Yesterday, I'd finally taken the plunge and submitted my resume to the Silverwood Police Department for an internship position. Six months ago, the idea of working for law enforcement would have been laughable. But everything had changed since the dreams started, since I'd found something that felt like purpose.
My phone buzzed against my thigh, and I carefully slid it out to check the message. My heart jumped when I saw the sender: Silverwood Police Department Human Resources.
Ms. Coleman, Your application has passed initial review. Please report to SPD headquarters today at 2:00 PM for an interview. Ask for Detective Reid at the front desk.
I bit my lip to suppress a squeal of excitement, quickly glancing around to make sure no one had noticed my sudden movement. The student next to me—a girl I barely knew named Jessica—looked over curiously.
"Sorry," I whispered, lowering my head in embarrassment.
Professor Williams continued his lecture without missing a beat, but I could feel a few pairs of eyes on me. I forced myself to focus on my laptop screen, but the words on my screen blurred as excitement coursed through me. They wanted to interview me. This was actually happening.
The rest of the class passed in a haze. As soon as Professor Williams dismissed us, I practically ran from the classroom, pulling out my phone to call Samantha.
"Hello?" Samantha's voice was crisp and professional, as always.
"Sam, it's me. I got it! I got the interview!"
"Slow down, Claire. What interview?"
"The police department. They want to see me today at two o'clock." I could hear the breathlessness in my own voice, the barely contained excitement. "Can you drive me? I don't want to show up looking frazzled from navigating downtown traffic."
There was a pause on the other end. "Are you sure about this? You've been through a lot lately with the cases and—"
"I'm sure," I interrupted. "This is what I want to do, Sam. For the first time in my life, I know exactly what I want."
Another pause, then a resigned sigh. "Alright. I'll pick you up at one-thirty. Wear something professional but not too formal. You want to look capable, not like you're trying too hard."
"Thank you, Sam. Really."
"Just be careful, okay? "
After we hung up, I spent the rest of the morning getting ready, changing outfits three times before settling on a navy blazer and dark slacks. Professional, but not intimidating. Capable, but approachable.
Samantha arrived precisely at one-thirty, and we made the drive to downtown Silverwood in comfortable silence. As we pulled into the parking lot of the police headquarters, I felt a familiar mix of nerves and anticipation.
"Good luck," Samantha said as I got out. "Call me when you're done."
The inside of the police station bustled with activity, but Officer Sarah Chen directed me to wait outside a conference room on the second floor. "Most of the detectives are in an emergency meeting," she explained apologetically.
I settled into a metal chair outside the conference room, trying to appear calm and professional. But through the thin walls, I could hear raised voices, heated arguments that made my stomach clench with worry.
"—six days since the Swan Lake Forest Park disappearance, and we don't have a single useful lead!"
"—serial killer James Lewis has been on the run for nearly a week now, and the joint FBI-State Police manhunt has turned up nothing!"
The voices grew more agitated, and I could make out what sounded like finger-pointing and blame. Someone was clearly frustrated with the lack of progress, and the tension in that room was palpable even from where I sat.
I checked my watch: 2:15 PM. The meeting was running long, and the arguments inside seemed to be escalating rather than reaching any resolution.
Suddenly, the conference room door flew open with enough force to bang against the wall. Marcus emerged, looking utterly exhausted and irritated. His hair was slightly mussed, his shirt wrinkled, and there were dark circles under his eyes that hadn't been there a few days ago. He walked directly toward the building's exit, presumably heading for the smoking area, and didn't notice me sitting there until he was pulling a cigarette from his pocket.
His eyes met mine, and for a moment, we just stared at each other. The memory of our interrupted encounter at the hotel hung between us like a tangible thing—his hands on my skin, my fingers in his hair, the desperate hunger in his kiss. My cheeks flushed, and I looked down at my hands.
"Claire," he said, walking back toward me. "I'm sorry. The last few days have been... intense. The whole team is under pressure, and it's affecting everyone's mood."
"It's okay, Marcus," I said quickly, still not quite meeting his eyes. "You have important work to do. I can wait."
He frowned slightly, as if trying to remember something. "Wait for what?"
"The interview?" I prompted gently. "For the internship position? HR called this morning and said to ask for you at two o'clock."
Marcus's hand went to his forehead, and he let out a short laugh that sounded more like a groan. "Christ, I completely forgot. HR scheduled that interview, and with everything that's been happening..." He trailed off, looking genuinely apologetic. "Once this meeting wraps up, I'll conduct the interview myself. That was always the plan."
From inside the conference room, Tony Rodriguez's voice boomed out: "Marcus, where the hell did you go? Are we continuing this damn meeting or not?"
Marcus winced and looked back at me with an expression that was part apology, part frustration. "I'm sorry, Claire. I know this isn't the most professional way to handle things. Let me get back in there and try to wrap this up as quickly as possible."
"Take your time," I assured him, though my heart was racing for entirely different reasons now. "I'll be right here."
He paused at the conference room door, glancing back at me one more time. In that look, I saw the same conflict I felt.