bioinnovel Chapter 736 Special Case
Chapter 736 Special Case
She paused, looked up at him, and said, "And I don't want to stay here another minute."
Lynn didn't try to dissuade her.
In fact, he felt the same way. What Greyridge Manor left behind that night wasn't just the case and evidence, but also a feeling of being touched on the back by an unseen hand. You know the people have been caught, you know the most obvious danger has been put in a car and taken away, but the carpets, wall lamps, corners, doors, and corridors of that place still retain all the paths of last night. That sense of path can't be erased for a while.
“Let’s go then,” he said.
The car was a dark-colored SUV temporarily provided by the federal government, parked outside the main building. As Lynn put Gwen's bag into the trunk, the sheriff came out, carrying a stack of handover documents that had been hastily prepared overnight.
"You're leaving already?"
"Okay." Lynn closed the trunk.
The sheriff glanced at Gwen, unusually avoiding his usual sarcastic tone: "Don't reveal any details when you get back. The media will be sniffing things out today, especially since you were almost framed as the murderer; you'll attract the most media attention."
Gwen leaned against the car door, holding her coffee. "Don't worry, I don't like being in the newspapers. Especially not with this kind of excuse."
“That’s for the best.” The sheriff’s gaze shifted to Lynn’s hand. “How’s your hand?”
"It can still drive."
"I asked whether I could get infected, not whether I could be reckless."
The deputy sheriff followed him out and immediately added, "I bet he'll be able to drive with one hand like he's in an advertisement."
Gwen glanced at Lynn's bandaged hand and said calmly, "Then I'll remind him that if he knocks me into the ditch with him, I'll strangle him first, even if I'm still alive."
The deputy sheriff burst out laughing, but the sheriff just snorted, "Alright, looks like you're in better spirits than at dawn."
Gwen gestured with her paper cup at him: "Thanks to your resort coffee."
"This is not my villa."
“That’s not what you said last night.”
The sheriff probably realized that this retort wouldn't be very effective, so he simply ignored it and said to Lynn, "Federal Technology will conduct the first round of dismantling at 10 a.m. Rowan will be escorted separately, while Harold, Rachel, Elena, and Thomas will be interrogated separately. You need to come back as soon as you wash your face after you get back to town, don't even think about slacking off."
“I know,” Lynn said.
The sheriff nodded and looked at Gwen: "If anyone comes looking for you, whether they claim to be a reporter, lawyer, investigator, or a victim's family member, call this number first."
He pulled out a business card and handed it to her. Gwen took it and put it in her coat pocket.
“And another thing,” the sheriff paused, “though I don’t usually say it like this, you were… quite good last night.”
Gwen was visibly taken aback for a moment, then gave a slight smile: "I'll remember that for a long time."
"Don't remember it for too long," the sheriff said. "I'm afraid you'll be even more smug next time you see me."
The deputy sheriff chimed in under his breath, "She's really smug now."
“That means I’m worthy,” Gwen replied quickly.
This time, even the sheriff's lips seemed to twitch slightly, but only briefly. He waved his hand, gesturing for them to get in the car: "Get out of here, don't block my door."
As the car drove out of the winding mountain road leading to Gray Ridge Villa, the sky finally began to brighten little by little.
The mountain wind was still cold, and the shadows of the trees were faintly obscured by the morning mist and thin light. From a distance, the forest paths where they had chased people last night looked like ordinary dark lines on the mountainside. No one could tell how many people had run through those dark lines overnight, how many things had been hidden there, or how many decisions had been made in the darkness.
Gwen initially sat upright, with a paper cup on her lap and her hands wrapped around it for warmth. But about forty minutes into the drive, the tension that had been gripping her shoulders and back began to ease, and her head slowly tilted toward the car window.
Lynn glanced at her sideways.
"Go to sleep when you're tired."
Gwen's eyes weren't fully open, and her voice was hoarse with weariness: "I'm asleep, don't leave me in New Jersey."
"I'm not that wicked."
"You looked like someone who might suddenly become immoral when you were catching fire last night."
"Those are two different things."
Gwen smiled faintly with her eyes closed, then her breathing gradually calmed down. She wasn't really asleep, just a light sleep where her body automatically shut down some of its alertness due to exhaustion. The light from outside the car window swept across her face in segments, illuminating the dark circles under her eyes, the slightly dry lines on her lips, and the tiny bits of grass still clinging to the ends of her hair.
Lynn turned the car's heater down a bit and drove more steadily.
He'd driven the road back to Manhattan from upstate many times, but this time it felt different. Perhaps it was because the passenger was someone who'd just barely escaped someone else's trap, and in just over ten hours had been forced to see through all the facades of the mansion. And perhaps it was because last night, the route from Gray Ridge to the boiler room, from the maintenance driveway to the north lookout tower, was so tight—so tight that even now, driving back into the city, parts of his mind hadn't completely calmed down from that high-speed pursuit and judgment.
To put it more bluntly, he was somewhat interested in Gwen.
This concern wasn't solely based on the sense of alliance formed during the case, nor was it just that she remained accurate in her judgment, steadfast in her memory, and ruthless in her wrist kicks even in the worst circumstances. There was something more complex, like being in a collapsing situation and suddenly seeing another person who, instead of going down with the collapse, points out the right door to you amidst the rubble.
That's something that's hard not to care about.
Gwen herself clearly didn't see this as an ambiguous signal that needed serious attention. At least not yet. Her brow was still slightly furrowed as she slept, as if even in brief relaxation, her body still remembered the fragmented thrills and malice of the previous night.
It was nearly nine o'clock in the morning when the car entered Manhattan.
The city and the mountains offer completely different ways to wake up. Elevated roads, bridges, horns, morning light filtering through glass curtain walls, coffee takeout bags on street corners, people hurrying by in long coats, the rising steam from subway entrances, the noise of garbage trucks and delivery trucks clashing along the roadside—all are vividly clear, almost jarring. Strangely, once you return to this familiar, crowded, concrete daily routine, you feel as if the events of the previous night have been quickly distanced.
Gwen lived in an old apartment building near the river in the Lower East Side. It wasn't one of those ultra-luxurious high-rises, but rather a renovated old building. The exterior walls were quite old, the lobby wasn't large, but it was fairly clean. The elevator was incredibly slow, and there was always a half-dead potted plant by the door.
When the car pulled up downstairs, Gwen was finally fully awake.
She glanced out the window, paused for half a second, as if it took her a very short time to confirm that she was back in the city.
"You actually didn't send me to New Jersey."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you." Lynn turned off the engine.
Gwen remained seated, as if she suddenly didn't want to go upstairs right away. Her fingers unconsciously traced the rim of her paper cup; the coffee inside had long since gone cold.
"Is it safe upstairs?" Lynn asked.
“The door lock is stronger than the gray ridge,” she said.
"I mean, does anyone know you live here?"
Gwen looked up at him: "I know in a normal social sense. But I don't know in the sense of the murder case chain. I don't usually bring people home casually, and I haven't told the people at the manor my address."
"It would be safer to stay somewhere else for a couple of days."
Gwen thought for a moment: "I could go to my friend's, but right now I'd rather go inside, take a shower, throw off my clothes, and then pass out on my own bed. Even if it's just for an hour."
Lynn nodded: "I'll take you up." "Can you even carry a bag with your hands like that?"
"can."
Gwen seemed about to say something, but in the end she didn't. She just put the paper cup in the door pocket, opened the door, and got out of the car.
The hallway and lobby had a common smell of old apartments: a mixture of heating, wood floor cleaner, metal mailboxes, and the lingering odor of someone cooking onions and tomatoes the night before. The elevator was so slow it was almost unbearable, so Gwen opted for the stairs. She lived on the fifth floor, not too high, but after all the commotion the night before, climbing the stairs still made her pause for two seconds at the corner on the third floor.
Lynn stood behind her and watched as her shoulder line slumped slightly for a moment.
“I can carry you up,” he said.
Gwen nearly choked on her own saliva, turning to look at him: "Didn't you sleep all night? Is your brain finally starting to malfunction?"
"I'm just providing options."
"Thank you, but I don't want to turn my life into a cheap romantic comedy just yet."
"Then walk faster."
"Your hands are all bandaged up, and you still dare to rush me."
She said that, but continued walking upstairs. Reaching the fifth floor, she stopped before a dark green door, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for her keys. It wasn't fear of not being able to open the door, but rather an instinctive hesitation before returning to the boundary of her private space—you know that once the door opens, everything tense might suddenly relax; and sometimes, people are afraid of that sudden relaxation.
Lynn noticed it, but didn't say anything.
When the door opened, a lingering trace of night air filled the room. The apartment wasn't large, but it was decorated much like Gwen herself: few colors, clean lines, plenty of books and records, an old leather chair by the window, and an unwashed mug and an open book with the pages face down on the kitchen counter. A dark blue blanket lay tossed on the sofa, as if she had casually draped it over herself a few days earlier before leaving.
These concrete traces of life are very effective. Unlike police officers, evidence bags, interrogations, and resorts, which carry a high degree of tension, they quietly tell you: this is where your original life was, here are cups, books, sofas, chairs, and the unfinished page.
Gwen stood inside the door, seemingly struck by this ordinary moment, and remained silent for two seconds.
Lynn placed the duffel bag by the entryway and glanced around at the window locks, the back door, and the interior layout. After confirming there was nothing obviously amiss, she turned to her and asked, "Would you like me to stay a while?"
Gwen leaned against the door and looked up at him. The sharpness in her eyes, which had been hidden by exhaustion, softened a little, but it hadn't completely disappeared.
"You still have to go to the Federation later."
"It can be ten minutes later."
Gwen didn't answer immediately. She took off her coat and draped it over the back of the chair by the door, revealing a badly wrinkled black turtleneck and jeans underneath. Then she suddenly reached out and pulled Lynn a little into the doorway, without stepping back herself, and the door closed gently behind them.
The distance suddenly became shorter.
Lynn was so close that she could smell the lingering scent of shampoo and the cold wind from the previous night in her hair.
"Why did you come back to me last night?" Gwen asked.
Lynn didn't immediately understand which aspect she was referring to: "You mean—"
“Don’t play dumb,” Gwen said. “In the Grey Ridge. First in the meeting room, then in front of the boiler room, and then all the way to the lookout. You had many easier ways of searching, but you didn’t leave me to my own devices.”
Her words were not harsh, even almost calm, but there was something in them that was not easy to hear, like a bit of truth revealed after exhaustion had thinned out her defenses.
Lynn looked at her, and after two seconds said, "Because I never thought it was you in the first place. And I didn't plan to let them push you in either."
Gwen smiled slightly: "That sounds a lot like professional ethics."
"It's not entirely based on professional ethics."
Her eyes flickered: "Then what do we rely on?"
Lynn paused.
The answer isn't complicated; what's complicated is that saying it aloud would push their current delicate but still somewhat ambiguous relationship a step further. He wasn't sure if Gwen wanted that step, especially after she'd just escaped a situation where she was almost killed off by someone else's scheme.
But Gwen was still looking at him, not waiting for a perfunctory response.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he said.
The apartment suddenly became so quiet that only the distant sounds of cars on the street outside could be heard.
Gwen looked at him for a few seconds, the weariness in her eyes finally seeming to lessen slightly. She didn't say "thank you," nor "me too." She simply raised her hand and gently touched his bandaged hand, frowning, "Does it still hurt?"
"pain."
"Serves you right."
"I agree."
Gwen smiled genuinely this time, a brief laugh, but unlike the forced, prickly smiles of the previous night. Then she tiptoed and lightly touched the corner of his mouth.
It wasn't even a complete kiss; it was more like a very brief confirmation: I know you're here, and I know what you just said wasn't professional ethics.
Lynn paused for a moment, then looked down at her.
Gwen had already taken a step back, her ears slightly red, but she tried her best to keep her tone normal: "Okay, you can go now. If you stay for another three minutes, I might start talking nonsense because I'm too sleepy."
"for example?"
"For example, they might ask if you're single, or if you always like to send women who have cleared their names home," she said.
"The first answer is yes. The second is not always."
Gwen's lips twitched again: "That's good, at least I can be considered a special case."
Lynn couldn't help but laugh too: "I'll message you later."
"Don't use a work-like tone."
"Then what tone should you use?"
Gwen had already started walking inside, glancing back as she went: "Let's see what you can do."
The door eventually closed in front of him.
Lynn stood in the corridor, his hand still bandaged, a faint warmth lingering at the corner of his mouth. He looked at the closed, dark green door and realized he was probably in trouble.
It's not the kind of trouble you encounter with a case; it's a different kind.
When he came downstairs, he seemed a little lighter than when he left the villa. Even if it was just a little. (End of Chapter)