by Mia Carson
Cheryl stabbed her fork into her salad. “A few things, but I’d like to have a civil dinner.”
Merriweather choked on his mouthful of burger as Chris shot daggers at him with her eyes. “You told her? Seriously? Come on, you’re supposed to be a friend, too, not just my hard-ass boss.”
“Language,” he said, nodding to his daughters. “Girls, are you finished?” They nodded together, hiding smiles behind their hands. “Go and play then. I think we’re about to have a very grownup conversation.”
The girls, Mary and Tammy, pushed back from the table and raced off to play out back in the small yard behind their townhouse. Chris watched them, a smile tugging at her lips. She’d dreamt of having children with Jeff eventually, years down the road, but that would never be a reality. The sour taste of regret filled her mouth, and the whiskey in her glass did nothing to wash it down.
“We’re worried about you,” Cheryl said, reaching out a hand to place over Chris’. “It’s been four years, hon. That’s a long time to mourn someone you loved.”
Chris dropped her burger to the plate and blinked furiously. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on, Chris, you can stop pretending,” Merriweather insisted, wiping his mouth and leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “Everyone knew it, and if they didn’t before, they damn well did the day he died.”
“Rick,” Cheryl hissed at him, but he shrugged.
“What? She’s hiding everything because she thinks we don’t all know.”
“You knew the whole time?” Chris’ heart ached at the frown on Sarge’s face. “You never said anything.”
“You both kept it to yourselves,” he told her. “I never had to. At work, you were both on the job. What did I care if you had a relationship outside of the station? It never affected your work and that was what mattered.”
Chris wasn’t sure if it was relief washing over her or annoyance at someone else telling her it was obvious she loved Jeff, although neither of them was ever able to say the words. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?”
“Sadly, no,” Merriweather agreed, “but my wife, as usual, is right.”
“About what? Moving on? And how the hell am I supposed to do that when I haven’t even avenged his murder yet?”
“Avenged his murder?” Merriweather repeated. “You mean caught the bastard.”
Chris hunkered lower in her chair. “Yeah, that’s what I meant.”
“Chris, you can’t hunt down and kill Simone Dowell,” he exclaimed. “Please tell me that’s not your plan if you ever find any leads on the man?” When she didn’t respond, Merriweather hung his head, a stream of curses slipping from his mouth. “Damn it, Chris! What do you think Jeff would say to you, huh? You’re not a killer. You’re a cop, remember?”
“Yeah, I do, thanks,” she snapped. “I remember I was a cop who lost a partner.”
“That does not give you the right to turn into a criminal.”
“Why the fuck not?” She slammed back the rest of her whiskey and set the glass down so hard on the table she was surprised it didn’t break. “I’d be good at it. Give me a chance to actually get something done on Jeff’s murder case instead of standing around with my head up my ass all day long.”
“You think those detectives aren’t doing everything they can to find a lead on where the hell he disappeared to?”
Chris nodded sternly. “Not even close.”
“You really have lost it, haven’t you?” he stated sadly, and all the anger disappeared from his eyes as tears burned in hers. “Chris, four years have passed. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. Please, if not for your sake, then for the rest of us at the station.”
She swiped at her eyes, staring pointedly at the tablecloth, but she heard Cheryl’s chair scoot back and the woman’s arms appeared around her shoulders, hugging her close. Chris tried to hold it back. She was stronger than this, but she’d held it together for so long. The dam broke and the tears slipped down her cheeks in a fury. Cheryl murmured something in her ear, but Chris didn’t hear it and didn’t care to. She never thought she would have a chance to mourn Jeff as she wanted to mourn him, as so much more than a lost partner. Merriweather’s large hand found hers and held it secure in his own as she cried.
“You know,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion, “for a while there, I really expected you two to get married. I’m so sorry you never made it that far.”
Chris squeezed his hand tighter. “Me too. I found the ring hidden in a drawer at my place.”
“Oh, honey,” Cheryl whispered, and she leaned back to look at Chris’ face.
“Two weeks after we buried him, the ring fell out of his sweater. I didn’t know what to do with it. I still don’t.” Her bitter laugh tore at her even more, thinking of the ring tucked away in her apartment, somewhere out of sight where she would hopefully never see it. “Why did he have to die?”
“It’s a tragedy,” Cheryl told her, wiping the tears gently from her face, “but you can’t do this to yourself forever. This grief you keep bottled up inside you? Depression won’t be the worst of it if you don’t let it out. Anger, resentment… you’ll fall into that dark hole with no way out. What would Jeff tell you to do?”
Chris groaned. “You know how many times your husband has said that to me?”
“Because he’s right,” Cheryl said with a grin. “What would he say?”
“He’d say to stop being a stubborn ass and get to work,” she grumbled.
“And?” Merriweather pushed.
“And to not dwell in the past because all it does is drag our sorry asses down.”
Cheryl let her go and picked up the whiskey bottle from the middle of the table to pour Chris another. “So maybe you should do what he would tell you.”
“How can I simply let his death go?”
“By understanding there are others working to bring his killer to justice,” Merriweather insisted. “Besides, if you can get a handle on yourself again, I’ll let you back on homicide—but only if you stop obsessing over his death.”
Chris tapped her nails against the side of her glass. He was right and she knew it, but it didn’t make her answer any easier. “You’ll switch me back by the holidays?”
Merriweather considered the whiskey in his glass before he held it up to her in toast. “By the holidays, but you have to prove to me you’re not going to go all crazy ass again. Deal?”
“Deal,” she said before she had a chance to change her mind. They clinked glasses and drank long and deep until empty, and then flipped them upside down.
“You two are ridiculous.” Cheryl sighed as she cleaned up dishes.
Chris and Merriweather helped, carrying everything from the dining room into the kitchen. A plate of freshly baked cookies sat on the counter, and Cheryl told Merriweather to take them out to the girls so she and Chris could have some woman-to-woman talk. Her husband stared at his wife suspiciously but picked up the plate and ducked outside, calling for the girls to come and get dessert.
“I promise I’ll do better,” Chris promised. If only doing it was as easy as saying it.
“I know you will, but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” Cheryl stacked dishes in the sink, running the water so the basin would fill up as she poured soap in. “When was the last time you went on a date?”
Chris nearly dropped the stack of plates in her hand. “Uh, a while, why?”
“I think you should keep trying, because that sorry excuse for a look of confusion on your face tells me it’s been longer than a while.”
She turned so Cheryl couldn’t see her cringe, walking into the dining room to gather more dishes. The second she stepped back through the doorway, Cheryl was there to greet her with her arms crossed and one brow raised.
“Chris? How long?”
“Two years,” she whispered and coughed to muffle the words.
“Two years? Is that what you said?” she
exclaimed loudly. “Jesus, woman, how are you surviving? When was the last time you had sex—and please don’t tell me it was with Jeff.”
Chris’ shoulders slumped. “Would you rather I lie?”
“That’s it, I’m setting you up with someone. I have a few single friends and so does Rick.”
“Aw, come on, Cheryl, don’t do this to me. I’m a little too erratic for that type of shit.”
“Just don’t punch anyone on the first date,” she suggested and stuck her hands in the sink to start on dishes.
Grudgingly, Chris picked up the towel to dry for her. “I shouldn’t be helping you.”
“You’re allowed to be pissed at me. That’s what friends are for.”
“I don’t think I’m ready for commitment yet.”
“Then when? When you’re fifty? Sixty?”
“Ouch,” she said, clutching mockingly at her chest. “Do I look old?”
“No, not even close, but you sure as hell don’t sound twenty-nine either. Stress will do that to you—or smoking, but I know you quit that nasty habit, right?” The mom-look she gave Chris made her burst out laughing. “I had to check.”
Chris dried a few dishes, setting them to the side to be put away. Merriweather stepped inside, his eyes wide as he stared from his wife to Chris. “I think it’s safe to enter,” she told him.
“Good. The girls ate all the cookies.”
“Sure they did,” Cheryl mused. “Don’t you go blaming them for something you did.”
Merriweather set the empty plate down and hugged his wife, kissing her cheek as she threatened to splash him with the soapy water as she giggled. Chris smiled at the two of them, and the longing for that type of life sprouted in her again. She’d felt it with Jeff, but they were both right. Jeff was gone and he was not coming back. Unless she wanted to end up like a crazy cat lady without the cats, she would have to move on and figure out her life.
“What about the new guy?” Cheryl asked after shooing Merriweather away.
“What new guy?”
“Yeah, what new guy?” Merriweather echoed, leaning on the counter to study his wife. “What were you two talking about in here?”
“Girl stuff,” his wife assured him. “The new guy for this case, the Jones guy.”
“Timothy Jones?” Chris asked loudly. “What about him?” Cheryl flashed her a toothy grin and winked, wiggling her hips. “Him? You want me to start dating again with the man who is currently a suspect in an embezzlement case for one of the most prestigious firms in the city?” Chris asked, tossing the towel to Merriweather. “I’m pretty sure my boss would not allow that, right?”
She expected him to back her up and put his foot down immediately on such an idea, but he ducked his head low and tossed the towel over his shoulder with a casual move of his hand. He refused to meet Chris’ stare and her stomach flopped.
“Sarge?”
“She does have a point,” he said, drawing the words out as if seriously considering them.
“See, I have a point,” Cheryl beamed. “He has a beard, right? Scruffy type? You like those, and those blue eyes? They were quite dreamy.” Both Merriweather and Chris stared at her as she smiled.
“I’m standing right here, you know,” he grumbled.
“I know, but I have to remind Chris of what she’s already seen and not pounced on.”
“Because he’s a suspect!”
“Actually,” Merriweather corrected, holding up his finger, “didn’t you tell me you were ninety percent sure he had nothing to do with it?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Nope,” Cheryl cut across her. “No buts. He’s attractive, and I can see you think so by the look in your icy eyes, snow queen,” she teased. “What’s wrong with going on one date with him? Seeing what happens? I mean really, how much longer are you going to wait before you hop back in the sack?”
Merriweather dropped the plate he dried as the women laughed at his embarrassed face. “Seriously, Cheryl, there are some details about my cops’ lives I don’t need to know.”
“Too late.” Chris held her cell phone and brought up the message from Tim. “He did ask me out for coffee—twice.”
“And you said no because you wish to turn into a hermit.”
Chris bit her lip and nodded. “What else was I supposed to do? I didn’t think my boss would condone me dating a suspect! I still think you’re both crazy, by the way. What if it turns out I’m wrong and he is the bad guy?”
“Then,” Merriweather said as he scooped up the broken plate pieces, “I expect you to treat him like any other criminal you take to jail. You said it yourself, you don’t believe he’s involved. Clear his name and see where it goes.”
“And you’re going to turn a blind eye to all of this?”
“Normally, I would say no,” he agreed. “However, my wife is right. We’re worried about you and I don’t want to lose one of my best detectives because she feels she can’t move on.” He tossed the broken plate into the wastebasket and leaned a hip against the counter. “You know, I could always make having an actual dating life part of the conditions of you moving back to homicide.”
“Oh, good idea, honey,” Cheryl chimed in.
“What? No, not a good idea. Very bad idea,” Chris argued. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously. Get your ass on some dates and show me you actually care about your life again, along with getting through the next few cases I throw your way.” He held out his hand, grinning like he was the cleverest man in the world. “What have you got to lose?”
“My self-respect,” she grunted but took his hand. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“Neither will anyone else.”
“Don’t you dare tell anyone about this,” she warned him. “I mean it. I don’t need half the department hovering around me while I try to remember how to do this whole ‘be sociable’ thing.”
“I can’t make any promises,” he warned. His eyes narrowed and he rested a hand on her shoulder. “Just remember, you always have your family whenever you need us. We love having you over, and the girls consider you their big sister most of the time.”
His words touched Chris, and she got choked up, only able to bob her head. She grew up with no parents and one brother who was in the military, so he was never around. She understood and didn’t hold anything against him. She had Jeff, and she should have always remembered she would have Merriweather and the others at the station.
However, she was not about to whip out her cell and text Tim back right away. He was a nice enough man from what she could tell, but he had a temper, just as she did, and that could be a dangerous combination. Two hardheaded people trying to figure each other out? Chris shuddered even thinking about how messy things could get if she let herself get too close to him. But then again, there was always a slim chance they would work well together and she could finally have someone else to focus on besides the man she lost. Tomorrow, she would have to call Tim anyway and speak with him more about the case, but the idea of going back to the stuffy office of his made her toes curl. She grinned, wondering how he would like to have a taste of her world. Afterwards, she would see if he still wanted to get coffee.
Chapter 5
Tim’s office door opened and he glanced up, expecting to see Nick finally sauntering into work, but Maya stood there instead. She didn’t look any more pleased to be in his office than he was to see her.
“Is there something I can help you with or did you get lost?” he asked sharply.
She stiffened and thrust her chest out, nearly popping the buttons on her blouse. Tim’s eyes remained focused on her face, refusing to give in to temptation even though he knew firsthand how bountiful her breasts felt in his hands.
“Mr. Ginghum would like a word with you when you have a moment,” she informed him.
“Is that right?”
“Yes, it is.”
“And when did you become his carrier pigeon?” Tim asked, standing up to s
talk towards her. “Is there something I should know about?”
Maya’s lip twitched, but she stood her ground. “Of course not. Why would I tell you anything anyway? You clearly only care about your business, and I was nothing more than a sad afterthought.”
“Is that really what you think?” he asked, astounded.
The anger in her eyes was slowly replaced by longing, and her frown turned into a pout. “It is. I was there for you, wanted to be there for you, but you simply couldn’t see me for who I was and what I did for you.” Her hand reached out and she squeezed his arm as she pressed her body against the side of his. Her breasts squished against him, the buttons threatening to pop even more, but his face remained fixed on hers. “You know what we had together was incredible. Truly.”
Tim grabbed her hand and pried it off his arm. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” He backed away, dropping her hand. “You never wanted me, so don’t even try to say that now.”
Maya’s pout turned back into a scowl as she tugged down her blouse. “Fine, believe that if you want. Either way, you ruined something which could have taken you far—much further than you can ever get in this company.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he shot back, but she turned on her heel and stomped out the door.
Tim rubbed the back of his neck, worry and anger cramping his stomach. She was up to something and he didn’t like it. Nick was still not at his desk, so Tim sent him a quick text to make sure the kid was all right. Not wanting to wait around to see Sal, he closed his office door, locked it, and marched to the elevators to go up one floor to where a few of the other partners’ offices were located. He stepped out and was met by more suspicious glances and sneers. He considered bellowing at them all to keep their heads down and mind their own business but shoved his hands in his pockets and forced himself to breathe in and out through his nose before he lost it completely. Getting through a conversation with Sal without punching the man in the nose would be hard enough.
