Why did I even care? I didn’t know her.

I moved on to a small bookshelf tucked into the corner of the room. I didn’t immediately recognize any of the spines, but I made note of many of the titles written on them to search later. Almost every classic sat on my own personal bookshelf, but these were different. Pinks and pastels made up most of the color scheme, and it didn’t take much deducing to realize they were romance books.

Not my typical choice, though I could give it a chance. There was always room for more reading.

Lenore startled me from my focus, placing a cup of water on the side table next to the couch. The noise jolted my attention, and I found her carefully studying me, skepticism in her gaze.

“Thank you,” I said, grabbing the cup and taking a sip. The ice cold water woke me from the endless thoughts that raced through my mind. It was ludicrous that I was even sitting in Lenore’s apartment. Never in my career would I have involved a civilian in a case, not like this.

Why didn’t I say no? What about her made it impossible? The probability that the FBI would find out and force me home was what I kept telling myself, but deep down, I wasn’t convinced.

She grabbed her laptop from a nearby armchair and sat down in it. “Most of the research I have is on the victims. I don’t know much about the case beyond what was made public record that the museum has,” she started, her eyes scanning the screen.

“Do you have it printed?” I asked, eager to get a look at everything she had.

She paused and glanced up, frowning. “No,” she said slowly.

“Do you have a printer?”

I knew the moment I asked, it was a self-evident answer. Everything Lenore had was mainly in the space we sat, aside from her bedroom. I supposed she could’ve kept one in there, but I spotted other office supplies and her laptop accessories throughout the living room.

It was a reasonable guess.

“No,” she answered quietly.

“Thats alright. You can just show me what you have then,” I noted.

She glanced to the empty space on the couch beside me and hesitated.

“It was your decision not to email me the work,” I noted, her continued hesitance slowing my efficiency.

“I barely know you,” she pointed out. “And I’m not just going to hand over three years of work to a stranger.” Her laptop slid closer to her in her lap as she sank further into the chair.

“Again, you have no choice,” I explained.

“Then get your warrant, and I’ll be waiting here,” Lenore countered.

“I’d prefer your cooperation.”

“And I’d prefer to work alone, but we can’t all get what we want,” she muttered back.

“Touché,” I answered.