by Rick Murcer
“I still didn’t say you could talk. Just shut the hell up until I ask for your opinion, got it?”
Ellen sighed. This was the weird part about this anger curse. She should be turning into the Wicked Witch of the West because of the way Big Harv was talking to her, except she wasn’t. The department shrink had said her pissy thing wasn’t surfacing so much because she was dealing better with the “incident” and subconsciously accepting it. Maybe. Or maybe the instinct to survive and keep her job was all-powerful at the moment. He’d fired more than one cop for screwing up. She loved being a CSI and shivered at the thought of being denied that opportunity. Big Harv knew it, too. She didn’t need this meeting crap, but she couldn’t stand to lose her CSI job and go to work behind the counter in one of the expensive shops littering the Magnificent Mile with the rest of the “sparkle” girls. Talk about Hell on earth.
“Look. I know it hasn’t been easy since your asshole husband left. I’ve made allowances for the effect something like that has on folks, especially in your case. I know a little about this shit, you know? But it’s been over a year, and you can’t use that as an emotional crutch anymore. You’ve got to get your head screwed on straight.”
Ellen’s eyes moved to her high-cut leather boots. Joel Harper’s handsome face flashed across her mind, again threatening to stoke her unpredictable anger.
Big Harv was right. It did still hurt and it did still piss her off every time she thought about it. What he’d done to her remained a constant companion that only went away when she was sleeping or drunk, and she didn’t drink very often.
She still didn’t get it. How could Joel have done that to her? One day, they were the happy professional couple; the next day, literally, he texted her and told her that he was in love with someone else and had filed for divorce. At first, she thought he was messing with her—he knew all of her buttons, especially the good ones. Only when she’d arrived home and found all his stuff gone, including one of the large-screen TVs, did it start to sink in.
On the handmade mahogany coffee table were a copy of the text sending her out of his life, a dozen red roses, a seemingly heartfelt apology, and neatly stacked legal papers from his attorney. After reading everything, twenty minutes later and still in shock, she’d moved to the framed mirror near the fireplace and stared at the woman it reflected. She was a good wife. Took care of herself. Maybe not a total knockout, but good-looking, witty, and sexy when she wanted to be, and they had been best friends. He’d said so a thousand times.
After reading the stack of papers a second time, she’d left the apartment, gotten into her Mustang, and searched for him at all their usual haunts, and places where they hadn’t been but talked about going, until the wee hours of the morning, with no luck. Praying to see him and, at the same time, dreading the possibility of seeing another woman on his arm. Or worse.
Finally returning home, she’d crashed for a week, drinking Caribbean rum and watching old Katharine Hepburn movies in between sobering-up episodes where she fought inglorious hangovers. Her uneasy, fearful sleep was littered with vivid nightmares.
Three days after Joel had left, her father had come over and done his best to console her—not one of his strengths, but she appreciated it. Plus he was all she had now, since her mom, her other best friend, had died in a fiery accident on the Ryan Expressway five years earlier. Her dad rarely said the right thing at the right time but got an A-plus for trying.
She saw Joel one time after that, at the final hearing to grant the divorce. It had hurt more than she had imagined it would. Seeing him had somehow released the deep, incessant rage that had been her own version of controlled hell since he’d left. She knew she would have shot him if she hadn’t checked her Beretta before entering the courtroom. Instead, she had to settle for blackening both his eyes. Her dad had pulled her off him, but she still remembered the twinkle in his eye.
“Ellie? Did you hear me?”
She glanced up, leaving the dark memories behind for now. “Yeah, I did, sir. Just taking another one of those rosy walks down memory lane.”
“Does it help?”
“Hell no, but I can’t avoid it, some of the time.”
“You’d better fix that, now.”
She leaned forward. “I’m trying, sir. Really trying. And most days, it’s better, but sometimes . . . Well, I end up in here.”
The captain’s hard face grew soft.
“The reason you answer to me, Ellie, is because the commander thinks I have the best shot at keeping you straight so that we don’t lose the best CSI on the force. I want him to be right, so no more problems. Another incident and you’ll be suspended pending a hearing from Internal Affairs. If we go there, it’ll probably be your job. The assholes in IPRA aren’t as lovely as me, understand?”
She did get it; she just hoped her shitty attitude got the message.
“I promise to play better with others, okay?”
Big Harv narrowed his eyes and slowly shook his head. “Hardly a ringing commitment, Harper.”
“It’s the best I’ve got.”
The big man leaned back, then sighed. “All right—and I do have one more question.”
“Yes?”
“How fat did Detective Sanchez look in that dress?”
She held her hands wide. “Hippo.”
That old sparkle returned to his eyes, and he even smiled—a little, but it was a smile nonetheless.
She stood up and moved around the desk, embracing Big Harv in a tight hug. “Thanks. I’ll try to make you proud . . . Dad.”
She felt the catch in his throat come and go, and then he broke her embrace. “I’m already proud. Just don’t make me fire your ass. Your mom would come back and beat the life out of me.”
His phone rang, and Ellen thought he couldn’t have looked more relieved to answer it. Her father was nothing if not consistent. Father and daughter moments were number one on his list, he often said, but he simply had no idea how to handle them. Still, he tried, and that meant more to her than he could imagine.
He answered the phone. “What?” A few seconds later, Big Harv laid the phone gently in the cradle, then glanced at his daughter, his face filled with pain. He buried it as quickly as it had come. But she’d seen it, and her heart felt for him. Emotion like that wasn’t really allowed for men like him.
Exhaling, he pointed to the door. “Take Oscar Malloy with you and get to the South Side, to Jackson Park. They found that kidnapped woman, Clara Rice, on a park bench. She’s . . . she’s dead.”
CHAPTER 3
Usually when men looked at her the way this one did, Joannie Carmen felt a little creeped out, even threatened. She thought they were undressing her in their minds, indulging in their own personal fantasies. Not that she hadn’t done that a time or two herself. Women appreciated the physical, too. Some men just possessed an animal magnetism that couldn’t be ignored. Women, however, weren’t considered creepy when they fantasized. She’d heard that men even found it sexy.
She had read on the Internet, on one of those “be all the woman you can be” sites, that when women thought men were undressing them with their eyes, it was rarely the case. Men were just being men—gawking, curious, even bordering on rude sometimes—just being who they were. Once in a while, however, she felt like she was feeling now. He was great-looking, in fantastic shape, and dressed like he’d stepped out of a fashion magazine. Not all that rare in Chicago, but she hadn’t ever dated anyone of such movie-star caliber. This man just sort of stood out from the crowd. Great looks, perfect hair, and a chiseled body would do that.
Sipping her afternoon latte, she risked another peek his way. He looked down, almost shyly, then glanced back at her with a smile that melted her resolve completely away. He must have sensed it because he got up, hesitated, and then walked toward her.
Fidgeting, she scanned the room and noticed she w
asn’t the only one watching him. He was hard to overlook. He moved within three feet and stopped, another insecure expression masking his marvelous face.
How charming.
He exhaled and took another step toward her.
“Ahh. Excuse me. I’m not very good at this sort of thing, but I simply cannot help myself. I was wondering if I might buy you another, and we could introduce ourselves properly.”
His deep voice and articulate speech were impossible to resist. She didn’t.
Joannie studied her would-be coffee-drinking partner and felt her pulse rise. She wasn’t very good at this game, either, even though she’d dated several men in the Windy City since arriving from Michigan.
There were far too many masqueraders in this enigmatic world of dating and relationship seeking. In more than one instance, the next-step second date implied by the end of the first one had never come. She didn’t understand why people couldn’t be honest.
He seemed different. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she felt his sincerity. Refreshing, to say the least. Hot, too. Even better.
Taking a step back, he shrugged. “I presume by your silence that your answer is no.” That brilliant smile flashed again. “I’m terribly sorry to have bothered you—”
“Wait. I was just debating whether I should buy yours or enjoy the old-fashioned chivalry concept,” she said, displaying some brilliance of her own. “Please sit.”
Moving gracefully, he sat down across from her, relief flooding his face and a resolute sparkle in his hazel eyes that she found incredibly appealing. The man had more poise than he realized.
The whole package. Really?
“I’m Joannie,” she said, extending her hand over the table.
“Joannie, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m Kyle, Kyle Black.”
As he shook her hand, his warm, firm grasp hastened the tingle through the rest of her body in an instant. He’d cast the spell, or so it seemed, and she had fallen under it.
“Please allow me to buy you whatever you’d like to drink and then we can get to know one another, if that’s all right with you. I lean a bit toward the old-school side of things and believe a woman should be catered to, especially one as lovely as yourself.”
The words rolled from his mouth like velvet, and she was unable to resist him. Why would she?
“Well, if you feel that strongly about it,” she said, smiling like a giddy high-school girl. “I’d like another skinny vanilla latte.”
“Coming right up.”
He moved to the counter and returned a few minutes later with a drink in each hand. She was pretty sure she hadn’t taken her eyes off him the whole time.
Kyle settled into the chair opposite her and grinned, saying nothing.
“What? Do I have something on my dress?” she asked, returning the smile.
“No. I’m sorry. I just want to say the right thing so I don’t scare you off. I’d like to be witty and unassuming, yet with a degree of mystery. At least that’s what the damn men’s magazine said to do.”
Joannie knew exactly what he meant. Maybe those tips worked for some folks, but the idea of having a relaxed, open conversation was far more appealing.
“And I’m supposed to be hard to get, yet sexy and obtainable at the same time.”
They both laughed and then settled into a conversation that seemed to be heaven-sent. He was witty and a tad mysterious, which only added to his allure.
Two hours later, the late-March sun began to set. She felt as if they’d known each other for years . . . and she decided to forgo the early dinner she’d planned with her best girlfriend, Beth.
Her phone vibrated in her purse. She excused herself, looked at the screen, and then decided not to answer. Beth would understand when she called her later, after she and Kyle had parted company, which, by the way things were going, wouldn’t be for a little while. Perhaps longer.
“Do you have to leave? I’ve tied you up quite long enough, I fear,” asked Kyle.
He just keeps getting better and better.
“Just a friend. I’ll call her later. And I don’t believe you’ve tied me up; it might be the other way around,” she said, grinning.
“Well, if that’s the case, would it be too forward to ask you to continue this conversation over dinner? I’ll make it worth your while, I promise, Joannie.”
The way her name cascaded from his tongue caused her insides to quiver. “I don’t want you to think I’m easy, but I’d love to have dinner with you.”
“That’s the farthest thing from my mind, Joannie. We’ll have a dinner for the ages, one that neither of us will forget.”
More of that electricity ran around her insides. She was sure he was right. “Is that more of your mysterious persona?”
He shrugged playfully. “Just the facts, ma’am. Just the facts.”
“If you say so. Are you sure I can trust you?” she teased.
He stood, smiling, and reached for her hand.
“Come with me, and your life will never be the same. I promise.”
CHAPTER 4
As Ellen stepped on the accelerator, flashing lights danced on the hood of the Forensic Services SUV, prompting most of the vehicles to pull to the right or left, allowing her passage from I-90 to the 47th Street exit. Some of the drivers had to be coaxed with the loud siren that Oscar loved to manipulate.
“Are you having fun?”
“Why, yes. Yes, I am. Thanks for asking, Ellie. Something has to get these ‘citizens’ out of the way,” he said, wearing his toothy, infectious grin.
She looked at him and shook her head. “Citizens, huh? Didn’t you just call a group of them idiots?”
“Yep. Some are. I mean, who else would want to get close enough to the yellow tape to see guts splattered all over the sidewalk after some poor soul nose-dived from the twentieth floor?”
“You make a good point, but apparently it’s considered a right for all Chicagoans,” she said.
“Yeah? You mean like some dumb-ass privilege?”
Ellen swung around another slow mover and looked at Oscar. “That’s exactly right. Entitlement. Want me to look up the word for you?”
“You might be—Watch out!” he yelled.
Whipping her head around, she saw the moving van looming just a few feet in front of her. A quick jerk of the wheel got her around the vehicle. Barely.
Their SUV rose up on two wheels for a brief moment and then slammed back to the asphalt. She wasn’t sure how she hadn’t crashed into the van because she had gotten so close she could see the paint chips on its left quarter panel as it sped past. Never mind how she avoided rolling over.
The intermittent volley of car horns only served to emphasize how crazy the last few seconds could have been. Her knuckles were bone-white as she gripped the wheel.
“Woo, doggie. Nice move by the Queen of the Crime-Scene Techs. I thought we were going to be the next bodies in the ME’s dungeon,” said Oscar, hand on his chest.
“Me, too. What a jerkoff. Damn. Don’t they know to pull to the side of the road? I should pull over and kick their asses,” she said, exhaling. “And you know I don’t like it when you call me that.”
“Yeah. Just what you need, to smack someone else around.”
“It’s awesome therapy,” she said, grinning.
“You’re sick. But I love the smile. Anyway, that’ll get the blood pumping. Good thing it’s early spring. Snow and ice wouldn’t have been good. And as far as you being the queen, you know I’m right. For a geek like me, that’s kind of a hot thing. If I weren’t happily married, I’d make my move.”
“You’re not right in the head, you know.”
“That’s what the wife says. It’s scary how you both say the same things about me.”
She glanced at him again just as they reached Lake Sh
ore Drive. Oscar was a smallish, average-looking man with long black hair, who lived the vegan lifestyle—he always chastised her whenever she or one of her friends was about to take their first delicious bite of a burger or a steak. He was relentless in his quest to spread his proper-diet religion.
Most of the time, she either ignored him or threw some colorful daggers at him regarding his manhood. His compulsive behavior also included brushing his teeth every hour when he could. There was no question she’d drawn a strange partner. He was, however, as intelligent as anyone she’d ever worked with, great in the field, a wiz in the lab, and a self-professed family man. She’d been partnered with far worse but none better.
“So how did the meeting with The Man go? Or shouldn’t I ask?”
She shrugged as she swung to the south and gunned it. “Like always, he takes a hunk of my ass and tells me to get it right or there will be hell to pay.”
“You know, one of these days, he’ll be right. Hell-to-Pay isn’t a place you want to keep visiting, you know?”
“Maybe, but it’s not happening today, so let’s talk about something else, okay?”
Ellen’s anger rose, encouraging her to react to Oscar’s words. She didn’t need his reminder of what could happen if she didn’t get it together. She gave Oscar’s comments a quick shove, trying to send them back to wherever they had crawled from. The shrink had told her to spend some time painting—a hobby she adored and was quite good at—to release the tension. When that wasn’t possible, she was to do something fun and try to laugh if she felt Mr. Hyde coming on. Hell, the shrink had even told her to get laid. Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen. She was rather traditional, marriage before bed, for one thing. And for another, she’d felt almost no attraction to a man since the divorce fiasco.
Fun it is.
“You know what else? I’m starved. Let’s get a burger. It won’t take long,” she said with a straight face.
“What? We’ve got a serious case to work, and you want to eat meat?” He looked at her wide-eyed, shaking his head in disbelief. After a pause, he said, “Ahh. Okay. You got me, and I’m glad you think that’s funny. But that beef will kill you, mark my words.”
