SETH WAS LUCKY that the sticky summer heat had remained
for so long. Standing outside on the street while winter’s humid chill
seeped into her skin was not conducive to a healthy work environment,
in her opinion, but either way, it was better than frowning at the cluttered
pikes of paperwork forming mountain ranges on her desk.
For this particular assignment, her hair was down ( instead of attempting
to wrangle it into an updo -- attempts that more often than not resulted in
increasingly impressive feats of escapism. If Seth’s hair was an
imprisoned convict, it would have a 9:1 ratio of successful jailbreak
attempts ) and she was permitted to wear clothing that showed more skin
than the usual business attire. What this meant for her was shorts that
showed off a generous expanse of bare thigh, and heels that pushed her
dangerously close to six feet tall.
Of course, the truly dangerous part of her was not the skin she showed
( much to her chagrin ) but rather what was not seen: the handcuffs, badge,
and gun strapped to her--no, actually, a lady deserved some measure of
privacy. Her task seemed a simple one. Prostitutes were a fact of life for
this part of Kirkwall, but they had rights as much as any other person.
When reports came in of a man brutalising workers that fit a certain profile,
the rest of her unit turned to her and told her that this, apparently, was her
time to shine. Maybe not the most subtle method of alluding to her sex life,
but it seemed a simple enough assignment. Find the guy who was assult-
ing sex workers, partially seduce him, and then arrest him. Hopefully in
that order. What could go wrong?
