Dead Waters - Anton Strout [18]
“Really,” I assured him, hoping to end the discussion.
“Well, maybe you could try not sounding so pissed off when you say it, then,” he said.
I looked up from my desk, sighing. I pushed the anger down. “I thought I was doing a fairly good job at hiding it. I’m that transparent, am I?”
“Not to most people,” Connor said. “No. Probably not. But to your partner in slime? Yeah, it’s pretty obvious.”
I swore under my breath. “Remind me to sign up for No, You Can’t Read My Poker Face when they offer it up next time.”
Connor settled back into his chair. “Will do,” he said. “Am I detecting trouble in young hipster paradise?”
“Something like that,” I said, attempting to dodge the question by delving back into my paperwork.
Connor shifted a stack of case files from his in-box to right in front of him. “I’m all ears, at least for the next few hours,” he said, then looked at the rest of the stack still sitting there. “Maybe even a few more than that.”
“Fine,” I said, rubbing my eyes. I put down my pen. “I had a little psychometric episode earlier unlike any I’ve ever had before. The two of us were helping your brother with that ghost problem they’ve been having over at the Gibson-Case Center.”
“The tattooist?” Connor asked. I nodded. “Aidan told me about her before. Seems like he was a bit frustrated to be dealing with something he couldn’t punch, kick, or bite.”
“Yeah, that’s about right,” I said. “Anyway, I psychometried my way into the woman’s past and. . . I don’t know. It felt different. She was all Fatal Attraction over this guy who was cheating on her and I just got caught up in her whirlwind of emotions. She was passionate, angry, outraged, all at once. . . and when I pulled out of it, I couldn’t shake her severe emotional state. I still can’t. It flared up at Professor Redfield’s apartment when Jane teased me about the drawer space.”
“And this hasn’t happened before?” Connor asked. “The emotion of someone’s past lingering like that?”
I shook my head. “I’ve always had trouble with using my powers,” I said. “You know that, but nothing quite like this, not since before I joined the Department and started working with you on controlling them. The emotion was so. . . raw that I couldn’t ignore it. When I first came out of the vision, I was so caught up in it still I ended up snapping at Jane.”
“About. . . ?”
“Something stupid,” I said, avoiding looking over at him. “A piece of furniture.”
“All great fights are over stupid things when it comes to building a relationship,” he said.
“Thanks, Master Yoda, but I don’t think a chest of drawers is something to get all worked up about.”
Connor shrugged and started in on his paperwork. “Depends on the chest of drawers, I suppose.”
“That’s just it,” I said. “One second we’re fighting ghosts; the next I’m snapping at her about the dresser she liked there.”
Connor looked up at me. “And that’s an issue . . . why?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Because right now she only has a single drawer in my apartment and wants something more, I suppose.”
“And you think this was all due to your interaction with the tattooist, kid? You sure you just don’t have commitment issues?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I know I have my issues when it comes to women. I’ve never gotten as close to someone as I have with Jane. I’m in untested waters there. Plus, you know how particular I am when it comes to antique furniture and all that. I spent years making money off of pieces here and there. Let’s face it, Connor. . . there’s an importance to assigning a piece of furniture to someone, a charge of emotional attachment that comes from taking a big step like that. Don’t you think?”
Connor rolled his eyes at me. “Yeah, I can see how her wanting more than your old underwear drawer to keep her stuff in is totally unreasonable,” he said. “Oh, wait. No, I can’t. It’s not like she asked to move in.”
“You think she wants to move in?” I asked, a strange panic rising in my chest.
“Did she say that?”
“Well. . . no.”
Connor rolled his eyes at me. “Relax.”
“Forget it,” I said, trying to calm