Justifiable Risk

by V. K. Powell

When Greer stood and looked at her watch, Eva felt uneasy. “Leaving already?”

  “I have to talk to Agent Long again, and I’d like to get this photo card to Craig. Will you be all right here?”

  Eva started to speak and Greer stopped halfway to the door. “What?”

  “Bessie asked, well, actually ordered, me to get the rest of my belongings and come back to your place. She said it’s not safe way out here but—”

  “And she’s exactly right. Better do as you’re told. It’s much simpler that way.” Greer’s smile was both reassuring and welcoming. Eva wanted to hold her and feel her warmth soak into her bones.

  “Are you sure it’s okay with you?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll see you there later.”

  The certainty of Greer’s response caught Eva off guard. She’d expected Greer to reluctantly acquiesce to Bessie’s offer, but she actually sounded pleased. “Thank you, and before I forget, Bessie said dinner’s at seven and you better not be late.”

  Greer laughed as she closed the door behind her. Eva gathered her clothes, packed her suitcase, and checked out of the Sunset Motel with more than a little relief. She was glad to be moving closer to town and, if she was honest, closer to Greer. She welcomed the unusual sense of security that being around Greer and Bessie provided. In her profession home was where she washed her clothes and packed a bag for the next trip. But right now this feeling of family was the only reassuring thing in her life.

  *

  Greer couldn’t stop the anticipation that had fluttered inside her since Eva had announced that she’d be staying at the house. Her self-control had been tested all morning as she worked closely with Eva, breathing in her orange-ginger fragrance, watching her flip her long strands of wavy hair, hearing the hint of jealousy in her voice when Sandy touched her at the diner. And her expressive gestures as she talked made Greer want those hands all over her body. Everything about Eva Saldana was becoming more exciting, challenging, and sensuous. How would she manage with Eva living in the house just steps away from her?

  As she pulled up to the police station, Greer told herself this wasn’t the time to indulge her imagination or her hormones. She had to clear herself in the shootings of Tom Merritt and Sergeant Fluharty, then close Paul Saldana’s case properly. Until she addressed those two major responsibilities, everything else would have to wait—including her growing attraction to Eva.

  When Greer walked into the squad room, Craig Myrick was in his usual spot, at his desk on the computer. Greer handed him the camera card and explained what she needed and how quickly. “Any news on the sergeant today?” she asked.

  “Getting better. Maybe going home tomorrow.” He took the card, slid it into the computer slot, and pulled up the photos. “Check back in an hour.” Sometimes his confidence annoyed Greer, but he always did a good job. When she asked if he’d seen Agent Long, Craig nodded toward the sergeant’s office.

  Rick Long had made himself comfortable in Sergeant Fluharty’s office. His files and reports littered the desk, and empty coffee cups spilled out of the trash can. The smell of a sausage biscuit drifted from a crumpled container on the file cabinet. “I was getting ready to track you down, Detective Ellis.”

  “Here’s the Saldana file, everything I was given.” Greer conveniently left out the register of hotel guests that wasn’t included with the original case. If he wanted that information, he’d have to work for it like she did.

  “Thank you. Are you ready to get the rest of my questions out of the way?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  Agent Long shuffled papers, looked at his notes, and said nothing for a while. Greer let the time pass without filling the space. She’d been to enough interview and interrogation classes to know what guilty people did at times like these. She wasn’t one of them, so she patiently waited for Long to begin.

  “The gunpowder residue test hasn’t come back yet, so you’re not entirely off the hook in spite of Fluharty’s revised statement. I’ve been talking with the rest of your squad, other officers, and a few town folk. It’s hard not to hear things in a place this small.”

  Greer’s anxiety rose even though she had nothing to hide. She recognized Long’s approach as a technique designed to throw her off-kilter. “Can we get on with the questions, please? I still have a job to do.”

  “Is it true you were denied access to the crime scene when your lover was shot?”

  Greer dug her fingernails into her palms to control the anger and keep her voice even. She resented having Long drag Clare’s name into another police investigation. “That has nothing to do with this case. But to be clear, Clare Lansing wasn’t my lover. She was my partner for ten years, so when you talk about her, do so with respect.” Her tone was flat and hard, and she realized that alone would reveal the significance of her statement.

  “I understand and I certainly meant no disrespect. Did Sergeant Fluharty have anything to do with your exclusion from the scene? It goes to motive.”

  “Fluharty and about half the New Hope Police Department. They kept me from contaminating the scene. If that was motivation, I’d have gone after Chief Bryant. He’s the one who knocked me out.” Greer traced the scar through her left eyebrow.

  Agent Long considered her comment as more time passed. He seemed in no particular hurry. “Your records indicate you were ordered to take a psych evaluation and leave of absence after the incident. Who made that decision?”

  “You obviously already know the answer to that question.”

  “And?”

  “It was Sergeant Fluharty, but you don’t have all the facts, Agent Long.”

  “Then why don’t you fill me in?”

  “Sergeant Fluharty kept me out of Clare’s crime scene. He did his job and protected evidence. As soon as everything was processed, he took me to see her. And, yes, he ordered me to have a psychological evaluation and to take leave. He needed to be sure I was fit for duty. The safety of other officers was at risk, not just my own.”

  “I see.”

  “No, I don’t believe you do.” It pained Greer to talk about that time to a man who thought her capable of murder. But he needed to hear the truth and she needed to say things that she hadn’t uttered for two years. “After the eval, Sergeant Fluharty also took me into the homicide squad, let me work at my own pace, and helped me through the most difficult time of my life. So, no, I didn’t shoot him or Tom Merritt. Tom was a friend. We went to school together, worked as closely as cops and reporters can, and I had no reason to hurt him.”

  Agent Long looked at her for several minutes. If he was trying to make her nervous and contradict herself, he failed. She’d spoken the truth and didn’t need to say anything else.

  He finally stood and offered his hand. “Thank you, Detective. I’ll be in touch.” Before she got to the door, he asked. “Oh, by the way, why wasn’t Detective Derrick Bastille on the stakeout at the warehouse?”

  “I believe he had to go to court at the last minute.”

  “That’s what he said. Thanks for your cooperation.”

  The squad room was empty when Greer left the sergeant’s office. The other detectives had apparently gone for the day, and she cursed Long for making her miss Craig. Those camera cards might be her only lead. She stopped by her desk to check messages and saw a file folder with Craig’s childlike scribble: You owe me.

  She flipped the file open and examined the last two photographs. Craig had done an amazing job of enhancing the shady images enough to make out facial features of one of the individuals in the shadows. She recognized the man immediately—Baron Wallace, local drug lord. But how was he connected to Paul Saldana? Perhaps Paul had been a user and Wallace was his contact. Or maybe Paul stumbled on a meeting that he instinctively knew was important enough to photograph. But more likely the picture was a random shot. The answer was in the identity of the other person with Wallace. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be as easy to identify that individual. The darkness veiled his features more
completely. Whatever the connection, Greer had to find Baron Wallace to unravel it.

  As she made a mental note of the locations Wallace frequented, she slid the pictures back into the folder and headed home. If she put Icarus in the wind, she’d make it just in time. The thought of Eva sharing a nice family meal with her and Bessie warmed Greer and made her twist the throttle a little harder. She decided to wait until after dinner to tell Eva about the pictures of Baron Wallace.

  *

  Eva wiped her hands on her apron and looked at the appetizing dishes with an odd sense of satisfaction. It had been years since she put a meal on the table that didn’t come out of a takeout container. She’d insisted that Bessie let her help make a traditional Portuguese meal, in honor of her homeland and Bessie’s affinity for the country. “This looks delicious. I hope Greer likes it.”

  “We’re about to find out,” Bessie said as the motorcycle rumbled past the main house toward the garage. “But, trust me, she’ll eat anything that isn’t nailed down.” Bessie took Eva’s hands and squeezed. “You have no idea how much I’ve enjoyed this. I miss some of the foods I used to get in my travels and the pleasure of someone else’s company in the kitchen.” Her eyes misted with tears as she ushered Eva toward the pantry. “Now get a bottle of white wine from the chiller before I start crying like a big baby.”

  Eva warmed at Bessie’s obvious appreciation. Helping with dinner reminded Eva of many days with her mother doing the same thing. They’d worked effortlessly together, as she and Bessie had, anticipating the other and sliding into an easy rhythm of preparation and cooking. She hadn’t imagined feeling that comfortable anywhere other than her childhood home.

  Rummaging through Bessie’s collection of wines, Eva thrilled at the variety. Her host was apparently a connoisseur of fine wine from many countries. She pulled a familiar bottle from the rack and read the label—Quinto do Vallado Douro 2007. “I can’t believe you have my favorite wine. How wonderful.”

  “I thought you might like it. I made some of my fondest memories of Portugal over a bottle of that very brand. Honey, would you mind giving Greer a shout to hurry along while I finish? We don’t want this feast to get cold.”

  “Of course.” As Eva crossed the backyard toward the garage apartment, Greer met her halfway. She held a file folder and her blond hair was wet and full of finger ridges where she’d combed it. Her T-shirt clung in damp splotches to her body, and the hiking shorts she wore stopped mid-thigh, revealing a long expanse of shapely legs. She’d changed from her earlier attire, and the skimpier version caused a sudden burst of arousal in Eva. Nobody should look this good. “I’ve been sent to summon you to dinner. We don’t want our masterpiece to get cold.”

  “Our masterpiece?”

  “Yes, Bessie let me help with dinner.”

  “But she hasn’t allowed anyone in her kitchen since—”

  “Since Clare, she told me. I’m honored. We worked together nicely. Your aunt is an amazing woman.”

  “She certainly is.”

  “What do you have there?” Eva indicated the folder.

  “We’ll talk about it after dinner.” Greer pressed her palm against Eva’s back and guided her toward the house. The small, possibly unconscious, gesture that initially annoyed Eva now felt protective and surprisingly enjoyable. Greer ushered her inside and held her chair, then Bessie’s. “This smells great.”

  “Wait until you taste it. Eva and I created a touch of Portugal for your dining pleasure. Dig in, I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

  Eva felt pride for having helped with the meal and grateful to share a cherished tradition with people who mattered to her. She hadn’t felt this welcome at a family dinner table in a long time.

  Bessie dug in first and rumbled appreciatively. “Mmm. This is some kind of good. It reminds me of a story.”

  “Oh, no.” Greer groaned. “She always does this. Food always reminds Bessie of a story and it never has anything to do with the food. It’s usually a made-up tale about my childhood.”

  Eva was immediately more attentive. “Do tell, Bessie.”

  “Well, as you can imagine, Greer has a bit of a God complex. When she was a child she convinced herself she could fly. Most kids go through that phase, but hers persisted and she tried numerous times to prove it.”

  “Oh, Bessie. You’ll spoil my dinner.”

  “Shush,” Eva said. “It’s rude to interrupt.”

  “When Ruth and I were building the garage, Greer climbed to the roof and jumped. She was a horrifying and hilarious sight, after the fact. We were terrified. But this little tow-haired minx flapped her arms and yelled for us to watch her fly over the pond.”

  “Oh, my God. Was she hurt?” Eva stopped chewing, gazing at Greer.

  “Not a scratch. She hit the ground, rolled a few times, and started back for another try.”

  “What?”

  “She said she wasn’t flapping her wings fast enough.”

  Eva and Bessie laughed while Greer stuffed more food in her mouth and shrugged. The dinner chat remained light and entertaining. Bessie told a few more stories about Greer’s escapades, and Greer corrected and revamped the stories to suit her superhuman vision of herself as a child. Their laughter bounced off the high beams in the ceiling as they created memories of their own.

  When the chatter quieted, Bessie pushed back from the table. “That’s about the best meal I’ve had in years. You two run along while I clean up.” Eva started to object but Bessie cut her off. “Nope, you helped cook and I wouldn’t trust that one,” she nodded toward Greer, “with my dishes after such a feast. She’s already headed into a food-induced coma. Skedaddle. Washing up will give me a chance to savor it again…and lick the pots.”

  “It won’t do you any good to argue with her.” Greer hooked her arm through Eva’s and led her toward the back deck. “Come on, we need to talk anyway.”

  “Thanks, Bessie. It was delicious,” Eva said.

  “The best.” Greer retrieved the file folder from the counter and closed the kitchen door behind them. “I don’t see how you kept your figure if you ate like that growing up.”

  “I’ve always been a runner. That helps, though I haven’t had much time to indulge since I’ve been here. But you’re stalling with the flattery, so let’s have it.”

  “Jeez, I didn’t use to be so transparent.”

  “Maybe I see the real you.” She was simply stating her opinion, but it obviously made Greer uncomfortable.

  She scuffed her sandals against the decking and hooked a thumb in the rear pocket of her shorts. “Yeah, maybe you do.”

  “What is it?”

  Greer handed Eva the folder. “Craig made some headway with the photos on Paul’s camera card. I recognize one of the people in the shadows.” She waited while Eva looked at the enhanced images. “It’s Baron Wallace, a.k.a. the Baron, top man in the local drug scene.”

  Tension grew between her and Greer as she stared at the man’s face. “And you’re thinking, what, that Paul bought drugs from this man? Are we back to that again?”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions, Eva. I’m not sure what to think. It’s unlikely that Paul bought drugs, from everything you’ve told me about him, but I have to consider all the possibilities. When we clear his name, we don’t want to have any unanswered questions.”

  When we clear his name? Eva was torn between the implications of the new photos and Greer’s inclusion of her as a real part of the investigation. Greer didn’t have to share this information with her. She could have withheld it until she found the connection. Perhaps Greer was starting to trust and believe in her. “You’re right. I don’t want questions. We have to find this Baron. I’ll have the New Hope paper run a picture of him. I’ll offer a reward. Somebody will come forward.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Of course I can. It’s the fastest way to locate him.”

  “And blow our chances of finding out what happened.”

/>   Eva didn’t understand Greer. One minute she included her in the details of the case and the next she blocked her efforts to help. “I don’t follow.”

  “We need to ID the other person in the picture. If there’s a conspiracy, a media blitz will send Baron into hiding, maybe get him killed, and his boss will cover his tracks. Please let me handle this, Eva. I need to know you can do that, without interference. Will you trust me?”

  Greer’s plea touched Eva, and her urgency lessened. She stepped closer and placed her hand against Greer’s cheek. “I trust you with my life. Don’t you know that?” The words were out before Eva could edit them, but she meant every one. Pure instinct told her she could and should trust Greer completely.

  Greer turned her face into Eva’s hand and kissed her palm. The tenderness shot up Eva’s arm and straight to her heart. Greer’s stormy blue gaze dug into her soul as she slid her hands up Eva’s sides, pausing at her waist. She knew what would happen next before Greer asked.

  “May I kiss you?”

  “Pleas—” Greer’s mouth was on hers before she finished the word. She was gentle and timid, as if asking further permission. “Yes.” Greer outlined Eva’s lips with the tip of her tongue, her breath hot and sporadic. Eva placed a hand behind Greer’s head and brought them together. “More.”

  Greer eased her tongue into Eva’s mouth tentatively, as if kissing for the first time. But her technique was exquisite, the slow, deliberate pace of an intended seduction. It was torment of the sweetest variety—every stroke delicious, every touch an explosion of arousal, every spark of desire spiraling straight to her core. Greer kissed her deeper, pulling their bodies so close Eva could barely breathe.

  She’d never had a kiss that felt so much like a request. Now she understood why Greer hadn’t done this before. A kiss wasn’t just a kiss to her. It meant something more significant, more revealing. As Greer’s mouth closed over hers, she surrendered to whatever that something might be.

  “Take me to bed, Greer.” But the cool night air against her lips swept away her hopes.