by Carsen Taite
Tossing the keys to the valet, she told him to keep her car ready to go, she might need to leave in a hurry. Smothering a grin at his curious stare, she strode through the heavy draped curtains and into Morgan’s boutique home.
“May I help you, ma’am?”
Parker turned to the bellman who approached. She nodded. “The bar?”
“This way, ma’am.”
She followed him. At first she was annoyed at being led around, but when she saw Morgan seated alone at the glass and chrome hotel bar, she was grateful to the human shield for hiding the spark of her initial reaction. Morgan’s hair was tossed back and the red highlights glinted in the shiny bar. Parker could see every inch of her long, lean legs. Her suit jacket was slung on the back of her chair and the sight of her bare arms caused Parker to catch her breath. She had seen Morgan without a speck of clothing, but hints of Morgan’s skin in fine fabric seemed to turn her on even more than full exposure.
Morgan was reading from a tiny bar menu and Parker was certain she did not see her approach. She was surprised when Morgan spoke to her before she even reached the table.
“Scotch, single malt?”
“Oh, first you order me here, then you order my drink.”
“Problem?”
Parker slid into the seat beside Morgan and snatched the menu from her grasp. “No, not a problem.” Scanning the menu, she continued, “You pick my drink and I’ll pick yours.” Running her finger down the page, she read the entries. “If I’m a single malt Scotch, then what must you be?”
Morgan eyed Parker, her student, and wondered why she invited her here. They were flirting, as she must have known they would. Driving around quiet neighborhoods looking at real estate was one thing, but sitting closely in a high-toned bar was a completely different matter. She relished Parker’s grin as she perused the drink menu in search of the perfect cocktail. Her dark, wavy hair fell in scattered strands across her brow. Morgan desperately wanted to reach over and brush away the strands of wayward hair. A simple gesture, but she held back because of their relative position. Did she think she would find a loss of restraint in alcohol?
“Ah, here we go. A Manhattan. A metropolitan drink for the high-powered city lawyer.” Without waiting for a response, Parker flagged down the cocktail waitress and ordered a Manhattan for Morgan and a Macallan, neat, for herself.
“High-powered city lawyer? At the moment, I’m a humble college professor.”
Parker laughed. “In three years of law school, I don’t think I’ve ever met a humble professor. I suppose there’s a first for everything.”
Morgan feigned hurt. “So you think I’m conceited?”
Parker searched Morgan’s eyes and found sincerity behind the question. The hurt on her face might be a put-on, but on some level she needed reassurance. Interesting, Parker thought, I would have never guessed she ever doubted herself. Parker placed her hand on Morgan’s. “I think you’re confident. And with good reason. You have an amazing track record as a trial attorney and you’re an amazing teacher.” She gave Morgan an earnest look before continuing. “And I think you’re amazing for a variety of other reasons.”
As Morgan shifted on her seat Parker withdrew her hand, wondering if she had gone too far. She invited me here—for drinks, after all. If anyone is blurring the lines, it’s not me. She was about to deliver some equivocation when Morgan reached across the table for her hand.
“Well, Parker Casey, I think you’re pretty amazing too. For a variety of reasons.”
Parker pushed the point. “I feel as if we’re crossing certain lines here. Lines you seemed to think were very important not so long ago.”
“I see. Too many mixed messages?”
“It’s only an observation. I’m not necessarily complaining.” Parker had her own reservations about taking whatever it was they were doing any further. Before she could give the idea much consideration, Morgan pressed on.
“I can’t explain this, but I want to get to know you better. You have many layers, Parker Casey.”
Parker smiled. “More than you thought when you were having a one-night stand with the bartender, right?”
“Ouch.” Morgan frowned and Parker was instantly sorry for the remark.
“Sorry. I suppose that constituted an unnecessary dig. But I am terribly curious about why you were lost in the alley.” Parker hadn’t realized it until that very moment, but she was indeed curious about why a successful, good-looking woman like Morgan had been standing alone in the dark by a Dumpster. When she met Morgan again, she was too stunned by the realization she was her professor to give much thought to the logistics of their one-night stand.
Morgan took a long drink from her Manhattan and stared at Parker as if trying to read her thoughts. Seconds felt like minutes before she broke her gaze, looking down at her drink. She fished a cherry from the glass and twirled it on the end of her swizzle stick. Parker waited with a cop’s patience. Finally, Morgan stopped playing with her drink, ate the cherry, and downed the rest. She signaled the waitress for another round before she spoke.
“I’ve been staying here since I moved to Dallas.”
Parker waited, certain the story was longer than those few words.
“I moved to Dallas because my partner, and I don’t mean law partner, of ten years was offered a great opportunity to turn around a tech company.”
Parker waited still, calling all her powers of concentration to bear in order to keep Morgan from seeing her stiffen at the mention of a partner. Where is she going with this?
“Tina moved here a couple of months before me. She came early to buy us a new house while I dealt with all the details of getting our home back East sold, packed, and shipped. I finished with time to spare and decided to show up a week early as a surprise. I got to the house late in the evening, but Tina wasn’t in. There were a few messages on the answering machine, and from what I could tell, a group of her new Dallas friends were heading out to the bar and wanted her to come along. I had it partly right.
“I decided my early arrival would be an even better surprise if I showed up at the bar. Tina was always bitching that I never cut loose, so I decided to sex up my look. You remember the low-riding jeans, halter top, the fuck-me shoes?” Parker nodded. “Well, that outfit is not my normal fare. In fact, I rarely go to bars at all. I just thought…” Morgan’s voice trailed off. Parker waited while Morgan took a drink of her Manhattan and fiddled with the ice in her glass. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Tina and I spent the last ten years going our separate ways. I suppose I thought the move to Dallas would be a step back toward each other. I was wrong.
“I took a cab to the bar, sure I would have a ride home at the end of the night. I went in, got a drink, and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dark. I was sitting at the bar, sipping on one of these,” Morgan held up her new drink, “when I saw them. Tina and what had to be a model melded together on the dance floor. The music was fast, but they didn’t seem to notice the beat, or anything else for that matter. They were practically wearing each other’s clothes, they were so close. In ten years of living together, Tina never kissed me like that, never looked at me with that much longing in her eyes. To tell the truth, she could probably say the same for me. Later, I realized seeing her direct that much passion toward someone else was exactly what I needed to finally make the break I knew was best. But when I saw her wrapped around that woman, all I could think of in that moment was getting out of there with some of my dignity intact. They had danced their way into the path of the front door, so I headed for the only other exit I could find.”
“And wound up in the alley.”
Morgan smiled ruefully. “I’ve had better exit strategies.”
“What were you going to do if I hadn’t come along?”
“Scale a fence, call a cab, find a place to sleep for the night. Wake up, dust myself off, and start over.”
“Regrets?”
Morgan felt the weight within the question
, and carefully considered her answer. “None that mattered at the time. You were everything I needed. White knight, passionate lover, gorgeous woman. I decided right then I could feel sorry for myself or I could make the best of a bad situation. I sought solace with you and you didn’t even know you were salve for my wounded ego.” Morgan reached across the table. “I’m sorry. I suppose I used you, and on some level I feel bad about it.”
As Parker listened to Morgan’s story of her first day living back in the city where she grew up, her stiffness melted. Morgan’s telling was straightforward and even self-deprecating, but it invited comfort and affection, which Parker desperately wanted to give. As she listened, she realized in a way she already had, even if it wasn’t the kind she felt she should offer now. Their first meeting had been about physical need, satisfaction. What she felt now was different. Now she wanted to hold Morgan in her arms and tell her she was beautiful, tell her she was amazing, tell her she was cared for.
It was Parker’s turn to finish her drink. As the amber liquid burned a gentle path down her throat, she contemplated whether she felt used for the events of their first encounter. Would it even matter if they had never met again? If Morgan had been one of her usual one-night stands, she would have been resigned to never seeing her again. But fate had dealt them a curious hand, throwing them into this situation of juxtaposed power and intimate connection. She pushed the empty glass aside and reached for the new one, taking another swallow. The mellow haze of the alcohol allowed her to admit to herself she did feel used, but she was strangely proud she had been available when Morgan needed her.
A comfortable silence enveloped them as Parker negotiated her own feelings about their chance encounter and where it had taken them. They were one of only a few occupied tables in the bar and the waitress was exercising excellent diligence in her ability to anticipate their needs without interrupting either their words or silence. Parker’s nod ordered their next round. She sensed her heart-to-heart with Morgan was in its infancy.
Morgan proved her correct. No sooner had she licked the sugar rim of her new glass than she posed a question for Parker.
“What is a star homicide detective doing working in a bar and going back to school?” Morgan almost winced as she delivered the words. She felt duplicitous. She did know part of the story from Ford, and Parker had to know Morgan would have ready access to courthouse gossip. But she didn’t know the whole story, and she sensed the complete tale held the key to unlock the mystery. Parker was an enigma in so many ways. She was earnest and hardworking, yet she had chucked an entire career and was building a new life for herself from the beginning. It had to be hard to go back to school with students much younger and compete again for accolades she should have already earned from life. Top it off with the fact Parker worked in a bar and lived in a house with roommates. There were indeed many layers to Parker, and Morgan wanted to see more than what was visible on the surface.
Why? she asked herself. Is it because we slept together? Has it been so long since you had a one-night stand you feel as if you have to get to know the person you were with so you can justify the relationship, however fleeting? Despite the nagging questions, Morgan knew the reason for her need to know came from a deep place. Once again she was struck by the force of the connection she felt with Parker, whose body she had thoroughly known but whose heart she had barely glimpsed. She hung on Parker’s answer.
“Star homicide detective, huh? You might want to review the evidence, Counselor. This here detective was fired from the force.” Parker’s expression was cold, but sadness clouded her eyes.
“Can you tell me about it?”
Interesting phrasing, Parker observed. Sure, she was capable of recounting the story of how her stellar career had crashed and burned. She knew Morgan’s question was more probing than a simple inquiry about whether she could tell a tale. She wanted to know if Parker had the fortitude to survive the telling. Had time and distance severed the emotion surrounding the collapse of her aspirations? She wasn’t sure, but she wanted to share her story with Morgan and she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was simply because she had asked.
Parker met Morgan’s patient gaze and answered, “Yes.”
Morgan waited.
“I don’t want to do it here.” The flat words were tinged with a plea. Parker had not told her story in its entirety to anyone. Some knew the details, but only because they had lived it with her. She had no idea how sharing her experience would affect her and she did not want to wind up blubbering in a hotel bar.
Morgan slid from her chair and motioned for Parker to wait. She sought out the waitress, ordered another round, and asked that the drinks and the bill be sent to her room. Returning to the table, she lifted her jacket from the back of her chair, shrugged into it, and walked away from the table, signaling Parker to follow.
She squelched her desire to hold Parker’s hand, to put her arm around her waist and pull her close. Once in the elevator, she pushed the button for her floor, resisting the urge to jam the car between floors and exercise the physical yearning stirring in her core. She sensed Parker needed some distance for what she was about to relay, and the feelings she had for Parker outweighed the needs of her body. Idly she wondered at her shift from lust to yearning. She pushed the thought away, but the feeling lingered. What she felt in this moment for Parker was vastly different from anything she had ever felt before, with Tina, with anyone. Protective, empathetic, caring combined with infatuation, affection, and craving to form a new emotion for which she had no words.
You are falling in love.
The inner voice was strong and sure and Morgan felt certain it was not her own. Love was a structured framework reached by agreement, not this heady, lust-filled passion over which she had little, if any, control. Love was sharing the mortgage, saving for retirement, swapping household duties by turn. The emotion enveloping her now held no room for such practicalities. Lust perhaps, but love? Not a chance. She shrugged away the voice’s declaration and unlocked the door to her room.
Parker followed Morgan all the way to the room without taking in a single detail of their route. She was numb. When room service arrived with a new glass of Scotch, accompanied by the rest of the bottle, the sight allowed her a small measure of relaxation. She was prepped to remain numb for the storytelling portion of the evening.
Seated on the couch, she sipped her drink and watched Morgan settle in. Slender feet slipped from designer sandals. Parker distracted herself by conjuring up a name for the pearlized copper color of Morgan’s toenails. Bronze seemed too plain. She remembered rifling through a victim’s medicine cabinet one night while the scene tech catalogued the contents. The nail polish names were endlessly creative: Cheer Me Up Cherry, Over the Top Orange. Maybe Morgan’s could be called Penny for Your Thoughts.
After an undeterminable length of time, Morgan settled in the overstuffed chair across from her, poured herself a Scotch, and waited. Parker knew this was her cue. She leaned back and closed her eyes, picturing the events in her mind as she told the entire story for the first time ever.
“We’d worked on the case for weeks without a break, and the killings were coming faster. Each body was found wrapped in plastic and dumped in the Trinity River. Days old, still buoyant, surrounded by cast-off debris. Young women, beautiful women, their bright futures and dreams violated, suffocated and abandoned. Skye and I had delivered the news to four families and we were drained. Listening to their wails, their tears, their dashed hopes, I vowed we would bring this killer to justice, and I didn’t much care what form justice took. I had no idea my resolution would spell disaster.”
Parker paused. Already she could tell dredging up these memories was going to be harder than she imagined. She met Morgan’s patient glance, took a drink, and pushed through.
“Vice had been investigating this guy, a sleazy little man who got his rocks off looking at blondes in torture scenes on the ’net. Not your average S&M, but full-on brutal torture—fire,
baseball bats, racks. They were convinced he was a key player in a child porn ring in North Texas. Turns out they were right, though we didn’t confirm it until it didn’t matter anymore. They had him dead to rights on obscenity, but they decided to hold out for more. Child porn is a sure trip to the pen. One image saved on the computer is all it takes to fuck up someone’s life for good.
“Turns out one of the women we found showed up in a picture streaming from this guy’s computer. Vice brought us the info, desperate to have us bring him in. Skye was all for it, but I didn’t want to spook him and made the call we should wait until we had more. We were working hard to connect this guy with the killings when next thing we know Vice tips us off. The guy’s booking a one-way to Rio and putting his house on the market. We didn’t have time to wait for the forensics, and we decided to take a chance on talking to him to see if we could turn up any leads on the killings. The investigation was ramping up and we had nothing except the lead on this guy. We were determined to follow it and nail the bastard. He had to know something, right?”
Morgan nodded, but Parker wondered if she truly agreed. Morgan had never worked the other side, hadn’t had a chance to learn frontline respect for a cop’s instinct. Parker pressed, desperate to earn Morgan’s respect even as she feared she would never have it.“Skye and I showed up at his house. We didn’t have a warrant, but sometimes these guys—sociopaths—enjoy talking to the cops, playing with us. As we rolled up to his place, Vice showed up as well, Detectives Morales and Ranell. I’m sure they were either watching his house or following us to see where our investigation was leading. Probably both.
“Sure enough, the guy, Edward Tucker, invites us in, dripping hospitality. He offers to serve us afternoon tea, complete with finger sandwiches and tiny cakes. Morales and Ranell left the questioning to us and Tucker was more than accommodating. He went on and on about how horrified he was to know the Trinity River Killer was still on the loose and gushed about the fear all young women in the city must be feeling to know this evil force had yet to be apprehended. He was very convincing and he knew it. I wanted to punch him until the sneaky gleam in his eyes died away.
