4

Daisy:

The whole place is a mess.

It still reeks liquor and sweat. I can see broken champagne glasses, wrecked tables, booze were spilled everywhere. It's a complete disaster and I can't imagine I've just been here last night. I cringe in the smell and the thought of what went wrong in here. Who would've thought it's illegal?

Who would've thought there's something fishy going on in here and who would have thought someone would die? The world is mad.

I carefully threaded my way under and over some barricade tape the police set up. I'm not the only photographer here. Aside from the flickering lights, flashes of cameras light up the place.

It's a story.

Not every day we get this kind of story so no wonder why media will swarm around. Not to mention a dead body. Where there's a dead body, there's always a story. A story that will keep everyone afloat for a few days. A story that will sell out newspapers everywhere. A story that will be added to history again.

"Everything okay in here?" I heard a voice of a man.

"Yes Sir." another man answered but I ignored them.

I took another shot of the male's bathroom where the body was found. It hasn't been cleaned yet. Blood and vomit are everywhere. I felt sorry for the girl and her family. It's hard to lose a loved one and I understand the dilemma they're going through right now. I know.

I heard a heavy footstep behind me and I looked around and almost froze to death when I see a familiar face. "Holy crap."

He looks surprised to see me too. He just stared at me, and I can almost hear the gear inside his head. What he's thinking, I don't know. He's wearing a navy-blue shirt under the black leather jacket. His hair though in mess still looks good on him. I've never seen a man as gorgeous as him before. Jake is handsome, but not compared to this man.

He looked me up and down before our eyes locked, "I never thought you can kill a dress." he said with a smirk on his face.

I looked at my dress too, it's old, but it fits my body perfectly, emphasizing my curves. It complements my pale skin in its dark brown shade and I topped it with my cream-colored coat.

I rolled my eyes, "What a perv." I muttered.

"It's called compliment, it sounds like you don't get much." He started to look around him leaving me dumbfounded.

"Are you saying I don't deserve compliments? What, I'm ugly?!"

He stopped in his tracks and turned to face me "Nope. I never said that." He took his small sticky note and started to stick some on the walls.

"Whatever," I said and went back to my task. I took a few shots of what he's doing.

"What are you doing here anyway? Taking shots for remembrance of your experience last night?"

Ugh! This despicable man! I took a few steps towards him to shove my company id to his face, he didn't budge "I'm a photojournalist for Boston News Daily you moron!"

"Did your boss know you've been here last night? And worst, got arrested for possession of drugs?" he chuckled.

"He didn't have to know." I took a few more steps and I look up at him. Even with my heels on, I'm still a no match with his height "And besides, you were there when Spencer admitted what he did to me. And who are you anyway? Why do you have to come down here and walk in here like you own the place?!"

Before I knew it, I noticed a few people around, looking at us. I just realized I'm already raising my voice.

He showed me his badge, "Detective Adam Conway. I'm in charge of this operation and the crime scene you're taking pictures of."

That answers my question. I breathed heavily. How could I ever argue with a detective who always and would always have a say in everything? "Fine. My work's done here anyway. I'm leaving. The place is all yours."

"She was drugged until all the organs in her body fail. With that, she vomits blood until her last breath. Her name is Elisa Elwood. 18 years old. Her family is mourning, and they seek justice for her death."

"Why are you telling me that?" I asked.

He just looks at me like I know the answer to my own question, well, to be honest, yes, I know. "That's one of the things you're here for." He said.

"How could you possibly know?" I crossed my arms over my chest and stare at him. Oh, I would never get tired of looking at him even if he's so irritating, why does he have to be so handsome?

"Experience." he simply answered. I ignored him. I did one last sweep of the place if I miss anything and I started to climb up the stairs and out of the club when he called me.

"Hey! You dropped your pen!"

I looked at the place he pointed to and there's my pen. Without hesitation, I bent down to pick it up. And the moment I did, he whistled. "Nice ass" he commented.

I felt my face heat up and I can tell now that it's all red. If killing is not a crime, he'll be dead by now.

"Perv!!" I shout at him and walk upstairs to leave making sure to stomp my feet.

Adam:

One of the hardest parts of being a detective is tracking down the victim's activities. What she did, who she spoke to, where she went. I've been doing this not very long but I know the frustration of wanting to find the culprit so the victim could have the justice she deserves.

Sometimes, all it takes for me is a distraction. And not every day, you get to a crime scene with a gorgeous brunette wearing a body-tight dress, attracting all the male attention that she's not even aware of.

Daisy Johnson.

I never thought of her as the type of woman who can wear a dress like that. I saw her last night wearing ripped jeans and a sweater that looks like her grandmother's. Her face was not painted, though she has a few mascara residues, indicating she washed her face before the incident.

She has long curly hair that she wears in a low bun today. The dress hung on her perfectly, emphasizing her breasts, hips, and those asses. I've had a fair share of women in my life but I haven't met anyone like her. They say you'll find true beauty in a woman when they can wear both burlap sack and elegant dresses and can carry herself the same way.

I set my eyes on her the first time I saw her coming out of the toilet and being grabbed by another woman. Someone tipped me last night that she has pills in her. No one saw them coming out of the back door so I went after them. She runs like a mad man so I took my time knowing I'd catch her eventually.

I can see how her face turns red when I told her she has a nice ass. Well, she has, and someone has to tell her that. She's feisty which is a major turn-on especially when she scowls at me like I'm the most annoying person she ever encountered. I can't blame her; I annoy myself most of the time too. And I've been pretty harsh on her last night.

I'm just so glad she's not using. Fuck that guy who asked her to keep the pills. I'm also glad he came forward, clearing Daisy's name completely. I don't know her. Who she is and who she was? All I know is that, behind that strong and feisty exterior is a soft and vulnerable woman. I saw it in her eyes last night, and I saw it in her eyes today.

I don't want anyone anymore to end up the same way as the victim. I'm really hoping I get the break I need to arrest the suspect and find her justice. I have a few leads now but it will still take time. Killers are hard to find especially if they don't want to be found. But I know, somehow, they'll make a mistake that will lead to their arrest.

I stare at her as she sashays her way up the stairs leaving me alone, contemplating. Daisy Johnson is something. I am fascinated by her. She's gorgeous in so many ways and I never felt like this before. The feeling of wanting to know the person well. The feeling of wanting to see her every day.

It's cliche, I know. I'm a guy too, I know, I shouldn't be cheesy and all but I already forgot the last time I fell in love. It was a long time ago.

I devoted myself to solving crimes and giving justice to the deaths of the people around me that I forgot I have a life too.

Meeting Daisy brought all that feeling back. And I promised myself this second time will not be the last.

I will meet her again. One way or another.

I went back to my job with Daisy still in my mind.