Fall by Candice Fox

offering up examples from her own personal life as encouragement – stupid ex-boyfriends and herloser father and a nightmare boss who had come down on her too hard.
    â€˜Are you dating right now, Eden?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Single for a while?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜I used to work with this guy named Nick who I think would be just perfect for you,’ Imogen grinned and glanced at me. ‘He’s an anxiety specialist. I met him for the first time when –’
    Now it was my turn to drift off. I like to tune out when Imogen talks about other men, in case I catch tales about guys with better jobs, bigger dicks, houses without possums in their upper floors. I don’t know why women insist on talking about their ex-boyfriends and crushes in front of you, but over the years I’ve learned to ignore it. All impotent angst over guys I’d never met had ever given me was grey hair and restless nights. When I drifted back in it was because Eden was kicking me under the table.
    â€˜What does it matter what my parents do?’
    â€˜Oh, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. That’s not what I mean.’ Imogen laughed uncomfortably. ‘It’s just, I don’t know. My dad inspired me to do what I do. He was a very clever man but he never really fulfilled his potential. He could have been so much more than he was. When I decided I wanted to be a psychologist … I mean, maybe your father –’
    I got out my phone, glanced at the time.
    â€˜We’re going to have to wrap this up, ladies. I’ve got calls to make tonight.’ I put my arms around both of them. ‘Not that I’d rather be anywhere but sandwiched between you two gorgeous creatures.’
    Eden peeled my hand off her and got up, started sifting through her wallet with the hard-edged face of a john looking for money to pay a prostitute. Somehow it seemed appropriate.
    When I got back from the bathroom, Imogen was still sitting at the table, staring at the lone fork left over from the swift clearing the waiters had done. There’s something sad about a freshly cleared restaurant table. The stains of a party attended, enjoyed, finished. Imogen didn’t look sad, though. She looked cold. I sat down and went to grab my phone from where it sat in front of her but her hand was over it before I could.
    â€˜What the fuck is this?’ she asked. She pushed the button at the bottom of the phone and the screen lit up, flashing a preview of a message from Hooky. Hook me up!
    â€˜She’s talking about the Lyon case. The jogger. She wants some part in it. I don’t know. She’s hungry.’
    I shrugged. Imogen stared at me.
    â€˜What?’
    No response.
    I opened the message stream and showed her.
    â€˜See?’
    â€˜Why isn’t she texting Eden?’
    â€˜She doesn’t know Eden.’
    â€˜Why isn’t she texting Command?’
    â€˜She doesn’t know anyone in Command,’ I laughed. ‘Jesus, they wouldn’t want her kept in the loop anyway. It’s not her case.’
    â€˜So you’d be doing her a favour.’ Imogen licked her painted lips. ‘You and some hungry little girl texting back and forth, doing each other favours.’
    â€˜Fuck me, Imogen. This thing you’ve got going with Hooky is just … it’s madness. She’s a child. She’s texting me in a wholly and completely work-related capacity. That’s it.’
    â€˜Oh, I’m sure.’
    â€˜Babe, I don’t know why I’m sitting here defending myself. I don’t have to explain this to you. It’s nothing, and I’m telling you it’s nothing and you’re ignoring me. What you’re insinuating is kind of sick. She’s seventeen years old.’
    â€˜I’m not insinuating that you’re trying to interact inappropriately with a seventeen-year-old, Frank. Open your ears. I’m insinuating that a