Marlboro Lights

At some point in the night, I'd wandered out of bed and slipped out of Zayn's jacket, abandoning it in the center of my tiny living room while I roamed my home cold and still slightly drunk. I think I got a glass of water, I'm still not sure what I was doing at 3am in the dark, but I know that I never made it back to my bed. I know this because at an hour of morning that I had never experienced awake, my front door was thrown open and the cool morning air hit me like a ton of bricks in my uncovered state.

"Jette!"

Someone was in my house, hollering my name, and I could barely figure out how to use my hands to shield my eyes, let alone put a face or name to the voice. The sun had risen and was blinding me from the open door...either it wasn't as early as I'd initially thought, or I'd fallen asleep in Georgia and woken up in Alaska.

Grunting and groaning in response to the booming voice that I still couldn't place, I struggled to sit up, the blood rushing to my head and reminding me that I'd finished half a bottle of very strong red wine to myself. If I ever saw Zayn again, we'd have a chat about his seduction methods. No more alcohol.

"Wake up before I wake you up," the voice boomed again, and this time...I knew exactly who the voice belonged to. There was only one person in the world who would let himself into my apartment and the threaten me awake.

"Dad..." I croaked, finally finding an upright position that didn't create a Stomp The Yard sequel in my head.

"Where were you last night?"

He was in front of me now, kneeling in all his suited glory, the eyes of a practiced interrogator locked on me. Had it not been so early, and had I not been slightly hung over, I would have come up with an extravagant lie that was sure to keep me off the chopping block. Alas, that just wasn't happening today.

"The lake," I answered simply, clearing my throat and hoping that the basic truth was enough to keep him from questioning me any further.

I wasn't so lucky.

"With?"

I covered my throbbing face with my hands, "A friend...from school."

"Why don't I believe you?" I peeked through my fingers to see that he was eyeing me suspiciously, and I suddenly realized why he'd been named the Top Interrogator three years in a row. He was relentless.

"Because you've got twenty years of professional training warping your perception," I finally replied, standing and excusing myself to my kitchen where I stood dumbly for a moment while I tried to figure out what I was doing there. Before I could figure out something to busy myself with, my father was entering the kitchen with the most intimidating stride I'd ever witnessed.

"Jette, I'm serious. The store closed two hours early last night, and Ms. Warren from across the street said she saw you get on a motorcycle and leave town. So, I'll ask you again...where were you?"

I was really beginning to lose my patience, and it had more to do with my mounting headache than my father's persistence. I braced myself on the kitchen counter and raised lazy eyes to his accusing ones.

"At the lake. With a friend from school...who drives a motorcycle."

"Does this have anything to do with those guys outside the station the other day?"

I won't lie, I was more than a little shocked that he not only remembered Zayn's strange meeting in the alley, but also that he would think one of the guys was my motorcycle-riding 'friend'. Granted, he was right...but he'd never been so observant.

I debated arguing further, but I knew better. The more I pushed, the more he pushed. I'd never win, especially in my current state. "You're paranoid and nosy and I need to get ready for class," I told him, ducking around him and disappearing into the living room, snatching Zayn's jacket as I moved towards my bedroom.

"It's Saturday," he called after me, which stopped me in my tracks. "No classes."

I practically growled, "Fine, I'll open the store early. Make up for last night."

"Grant's got weekends."

Grant was the high school Junior who only had time to work during the weekends, and normally I was more than ecstatic for him to take over and give me some time away, but today was really shaping up to be crap. I needed something to keep me away from my father's prying eyes and I was coming up short.

I spun around to face him, now very impatient and growing more irritated with each passing second. He was backing me into a corner and I was the opposite of 'Grace Under Pressure' when trapped. "Is there anything I can do today?"

He crossed his arms and propped himself against my door frame, his smile taking a smug turn. "Gopher."

"No. No way."

I was already pushing past him and heading to lock myself in my bathroom when he caught my shoulder.

"One shift, you owe me. Plus, we never see each other."

I snorted, my eyes rolling. "Bull. You just wanna interrogate me some more. Find out what I'm really doing with my free time."

"Maybe, but you really do owe me. So, get dressed. I'll wait."

He excused himself without another word, and stuck as I was, I stalked into the bathroom to shower and change for my exciting day plans.

I should tell you that 'Gopher' isn't nearly as strange and sadistic as you may think. Well, sadistic...maybe. But it's a rather boring job. For a six hour shift, I get to be the 'Go For Girl'...anything the officers and detectives in my father's precinct need, I get. Coffee, files, dinner. Sometimes I make tobacco runs, and one time I even picked up the Chief's granddaughter from Day Care. It was a dreadful job, and I didn't get paid, but the Chief signed off on volunteer papers for my school and it looked great on my transcript. But he was right, I owed him. The last time I'd been scheduled to Gopher, I whined my way out of it to watch my college friend Louis play a Soccer game. They lost. It rained. It was a horrible night, but at least I wasn't ordering 14 drinks from Starbucks and balancing scones like I was a trapeze artist.

So, I dressed in all black (to show my rebellion, my father only laughed) and heavily debated wearing Zayn's jacket. In the end, I left it at the foot of my bed because I wasn't ready to answer any more questions. If he hadn't already seen it and wondered who it belonged to, I wasn't going to push my luck.

We left my dinky apartment and I followed my dad up the hill that Zayn had led me down, and stopped short when I saw what he was driving. "Why did you bring a squad car? Were you planning to arrest me?"

My dad never drives a squad car. I was becoming more and more suspicious of him. His little laugh as he opened the passenger door for me didn't do much to help.

"I just like to remind people what your father does, that's all," he so graciously informed me as he slid into his seat, buckling his seatbelt and annoyingly staring at me until I followed suit.

"You're actually the worst."

He flashed a cheeky grin before starting the car, saying nothing else because this was a game with us and he knew that he was winning.

I considered jumping out and running, but my boots limited my ankle mobility and my dad had handcuffs. I could just imagine Zayn driving by and seeing me belly down being handcuffed and stuffed into the back of a squad car. That would almost make a better impression than falling off a ladder and creeping on him in the parking lot. Though, if I was being honest, he might have to visit me in prison anyway. Six hours with Chief Straub was a lot like six hours of being poked with a stick. I could only take so much. Which reminded me...

"Coffee before station, I'm gonna need a triple shot if I have to be called Jetta all day."

* * *

The first two hours went by quickly enough, and the Chief only called me by the wrong name twice (the caffeine wasn't doing much to quell the homicidal rage, but I was doing my best to keep myself in check). I did the usual coffee and fast food runs, and tried unsuccessfully to leave early twice. My father only tried to question me about the motorcycle once more, but I happily answered a call from the Chief in that moment and explained that 'Gopher comes first'. If he was the Top Interrogator, I was the Top Avoider. We were a perfect match.

With thirty minutes left of my time as Gopher, I offered to empty the trash bins and tidy up the general area. It needed to be done because police officers were terribly messy, but it was the perfect time for me to collect tips. More than one Detective slipped a twenty dollar bill in the pocket of my jacket and I smiled as sweetly as I could in thanks. So, there were perks to being Gopher after all.

As I came full circle to my father's desk, he stopped me by tugging at the pocket that stashed my tips for the day. The stern look on his face suggested he was going to lecture me about taking money for a job I was volunteering to do, and I was ready to inform him that I'd actually been forced against my will, but he winked up at me.

"How'd you do?"

I grinned in spite of myself, "Eighty-eight, Lowe is still a cheap bastard."

"I'll have a chat with him, have a seat?"

He was being awfully polite, so I obliged, dropping the large garbage bag filled with smaller garbage bags next to his desk and happily lowering myself into the seat across from his desk.

"More questions?" I guessed.

"Naw, I'll let you off the hook for tonight. I just wanted you to know-" he started, closing his folder and crossing his hands over it, he was giving me his full attention. This was serious. "-I don't like being the mistrusting dad. I just worry about you being alone all the time. You're my little girl, I just don't want you getting tied up with someone who isn't good for you."

I felt my face soften immediately and I sighed heavily, he really knew how to lay it on thick.

"I know, I know," I stressed, "I promise - you have nothing to worry about. He's a good guy."

He cocked an eyebrow immediately, "He?"

I didn't reply, I only smiled. I'd said enough.

"Does he know I'm a cop?"

"Yes, dad, everyone knows you're a cop. He's even a little scared of you."

This seemed to please him.

"Good, I may like this kid after all," he said, leaning back in his chair and seeming to relax a bit. "Just...keep the motorcycle riding to a minimum, okay? Never liked those things."

I let a breath out in a puff of air, pretending to be irritated - but I got it. While my first ride ended nicely enough, I knew why so many people were afraid of motorcycles. It was a bit overwhelming.

"So," I started, pausing to raise my most innocent eyes to him. "Am I done?"

He rolled his eyes mockingly and shrugged, "I guess. Go on, get out of here." He pushed back from his desk and retrieved a set of keys from the top drawer, holding them out for me. "Take my car, I'll get it back tomorrow. Don't forget we've got Shawn's tomorrow."

Standing and reclaiming the garbage bag, I came around his desk and took the keys, bending down to kiss his cheek. "Couldn't forget if I tried. Love you, dad. Don't work too hard."

"Love you, kid."

With a wave to the rest of the detectives still at their desks, I slipped out of the building before Chief Straub could call me Jetta again. I dropped the garbage off in the dumpster and made my way around to the parking garage. Knowing I had three floors before I could get to my father's car, I made a dash for the elevator, and was pleased to see that a man in uniform was holding the doors for me. I slipped inside and mumbled a breathless thank you.

I punched the number three and stood back, never too fond of elevators. The man in uniform also stood back, then turned just slightly. He was looking right at me.

"You an intern?" He asked.

I cleared my throat and turned my head to look at him properly. Something about him was terribly familiar, but I just couldn't put my finger on it.

"Daughter," I told him.

His eyes narrowed, but he looked harmless enough. "Oh yeah? Who's your old man?"

I puffed out my shoulders to make myself seem bigger and less vulnerable. It wasn't that I was scared, but - like my father - I was paranoid at all times. Atlanta wasn't the friendliest of cities (which was exactly the reason my father almost demanded that I stay in Pine Lake until I finished school). We trusted no one until proven worthy. This guy - Police uniform and all - was no exception.

"Detective Marwood," I responded, just in time for the elevator bell to ding, the doors opening to the parking level my father's car was waiting.

"Ah, well, nice to meet you. Have a nice night, Miss Marwood," he offered, nodding his head in a polite goodbye. Just as I stepped over the threshold of the elevator, I turned to face him properly and the familiarity of his face hit me again. I didn't bother asking about it, but I did catch his badge number - 3742 - and began to repeat it in my head so I wouldn't forget.

"Thank-you," I replied kindly, "Good night."

Thankfully the officer was going further up, so I was left on the platform alone. The entire walk to my father's car, I was plagued with the idea that I'd seen that man before. I kept repeating his badge number under my breath, making my last turn before my father's black sedan came into view. I pressed the button on the keys to unlock the doors and in my last few steps, as I reached out for the door handle, it dawned on me.

I had seen that man before.
I'd seen him at the police station, even.
But he hadn't been wearing a uniform that day.

I paused, my hand mid-pull to open the door.

The officer in the elevator was the same man Zayn had been meeting with in the alley the day I'd left with my father.

Instinctively, I turned to see the path I'd just taken, relieved to see that no one was around and that I hadn't been followed. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention, so I slipped into the driver's seat and closed the door, locking them immediately.

Why had Zayn been having a 'business' meeting with a police officer?

Along with the four-digit badge number, I repeated this question over and over my entire drive home, my brain swirling with theories that made no sense and were far too dramatic to be realistic. My imagination was running away again, and again - it was Zayn's fault. I felt guilty for being as mistrusting as my father had just been, but it was suspicious.

I parked the car at the bottom of the hill and locked the doors, and after letting myself into my apartment, I locked the door for the first time in months. It was then that I spotted the piece of notebook paper on the floor at my feet. I bent down to pick it up, staying at the door while I read.

Jette,
Sorry I missed you.
I'll be out of town for a bit,
Hold on to that jacket for me.
See you soon.
-Z

Zayn had not only stopped by to visit be, but had been considerate enough to leave a note explaining he'd be out of town. I was torn between swooning and questioning what the hell he did for work that kept him out of town for so long.

I double checked my locked door and came to the conclusion that Zayn had either slipped the note under my door, stuck it between the door and frame, or came into my apartment and left it on my floor. Fingers crossed for either of the first two options, because in my paranoid state - I was more than a little uneasy with the idea of something - even Zayn - coming into my apartment without me around.

After tucking my tips safely under my mattress, along with the rest of the twenties I'd collected from the Detectives, I plopped down on my bed and pulled my Psychology book into my lap. I scribbled down the badge number in one of the corners of the page I was on, then tried my hardest to focus on the anatomy of the brain instead of the nature of Zayn's business in Atlanta.

It didn't work.

I spent the rest of my night pacing and debating calling my father to have him run the badge number. But I didn't. I wanted to trust Zayn. I had fairly decent instincts ingrained in me, courtesy of growing up with a police officer, and nothing about Zayn screamed dangerous to me (well, actually dangerous, at least - he looked dangerous enough, but I just wasn't buying it). 3742 however, was another story. Nothing about that man seemed right to me, and I found myself more worried for Zayn than I was for myself.

Notes

The plot shows itself just a tiny bit in this chapter, if I get some comments and feedback - I'll update with a few more of my backed up chapters. Let me know what you think!

xx Katie