by Anna Sugden
“Yes, sir.” He pushed forward in his seat, intending to stand.
“Relax, Peterson.” Polaski stood first. “Think of it as a vacation. Do some things around that project house of yours.”
“I’ll try” was all he could manage.
“And we’ll take care of the rest.”
It was the commander’s way of saying they would look for the truth, no matter what it was. He wouldn’t promise any more than that, and Ben would never expect him to. A fierce commitment to justice was something the two of them shared.
“Thank you, sir.”
Pulling open the door, he started down the hall. At least no one was still in the squad room as he made the walk of shame to the locker room and then to the parking lot. Even Delia was finally gone, which was probably good. He wasn’t prepared to see her right now, especially not with accusation in her eyes.
He scanned the half-filled water bottles and coffee-shop cups spaced around the room, suggesting that the others had left in a hurry. As much as he appreciated his fellow officers giving him space, the empty room made him feel abandoned. He was so used to being able to count on his Brighton Post family. And now that he was in trouble and could use a little help from his friends, he no longer knew who his real friends were. He cared about these people, would lay down his life for them, but he couldn’t escape the truth that one of them had targeted him.
Yesterday, he was surrounded by friends. Part of the only real family he’d had in years. Today he’d never felt more alone.
CHAPTER FIVE
“WHAT ARE YOU doing here?”
Delia tried not to bristle at the way he asked the question. She couldn’t blame him for wondering, though. Not when she was asking herself the same question as Ben Peterson stared out at her through the narrow opening of his front door. Make that frowned out at her, squinting behind his glasses.
Okay, it was too early in the morning by ordinary standards for her to show up on anyone’s doorstep, especially his. An address she wouldn’t have known without snooping in personnel records. But it didn’t seem too early to be there when she’d been up all night repeating the reasons she should steer clear of Ben. And the logical case for keeping her nose out of his current situation altogether. She’d lost the arguments around sunrise and hadn’t been able to wait another minute to do something she would regret.
Ben clearly wasn’t happy to see her. His hair stood at odd angles, at least to the degree possible with a cut so short. Blue flannel pajama bottoms showed beneath his navy bathrobe, and a pair of what had to be freezing bare feet peeked out from those. She definitely did not notice that he was bare-chested beneath that cinched bathrobe or wonder if that tiny tuft of chest hair at the opening was as soft as it looked. And she absolutely wasn’t imagining how he would look if that belt magically untied and how it would feel to press herself against all of that skin.
Delia blinked. Despite the chill, her cheeks burned. She’d never had thoughts like that, and starting to have them now would be a worse idea than even coming here was. So she pushed the images away, refusing to acknowledge the warmth that had spread from her face to her neck and downward.
“Hello, Lieutenant,” she managed and then dampened her suddenly dry lips. “I mean...uh... Ben.”
He crossed his arms and rubbed one foot against the other, probably to fend off frostbite. She was shivering just standing on his porch with a full armor of winter gear.
“Well, are you going to answer my question?”
She gripped the rickety handrail tighter with her gloved hand and shifted forward, the wood creaking beneath her boot, her step smearing the pristine dusting of snow.
She didn’t do things like this, either. She didn’t bend rules, let alone break them. For anyone. Yet these days she was breaking them like it was her job. Too bad the career that meant everything to her was what this sabbatical of her good sense could cost her. Forget hunting child predators, if this didn’t go well, the only thing she would be tracking down was a good spot in the unemployment line. As if sticking her neck out wasn’t foolish enough, she was doing it because of a feeling that Ben might be innocent. A vague notion that was in no way based on fact. Feelings and hunches didn’t belong in a solid criminal case. Or in her life.
“I just wanted...” Delia let her words fall away because she didn’t really know what she wanted or why she couldn’t follow her own advice to stay away.
“Well, you shouldn’t be here. Didn’t Polaski tell you that?”
He studied her, his gaze so narrow his eyes had to hurt. Little red lines snaked out from his irises, and purple half-moons had settled beneath his lower lashes, suggesting that the game he’d played last night had involved too many bent-arm throws. His liquor-store-Dumpster cologne confirmed her suspicion. This was so unlike the man she’d thought she knew. But then the responsible man who’d nursed just one beer at the Driftwood was the same one who’d neglected to mention that his father was convicted in his mother’s death. Could he also have failed to mention ties to a suburban Detroit drug ring?
“Oh, he told us. He was pretty clear.”
“Then why would you—” Ben stopped and sighed. “Well, I guess this is going to take a while. You might as well come in. Can’t afford to heat the outdoors.”
Heating bills would be the least of his worries if he faced charges in the state probe, and they both knew it, but neither bothered saying so.
Just as Ben pulled the door wide, a gust of wind dumped a few dozen snowflakes on the wood flooring in the entry. Delia grimaced at Ben’s automatic frown as she stepped into the place she never would have imagined him living. It appeared to have been decorated in Early Floral Explosion, from the dated wallpaper and the welcome mat to the wreaths and swags on the walls near the staircase.
Closing the door, Ben rubbed his hands together. He didn’t bother offering to take her coat. Clearly, she wasn’t staying. Delia pulled off her hat anyway, hating that she worried about the static in her hair. What did she care what he thought? She wasn’t here to impress him.
“Well? I don’t have all day.”
“Another appointment with a bottle?” She immediately regretted stating the obvious. Still, if she found the word hangover in the dictionary, she would find a selfie of Ben in his present state next to it.
His jaw ticked, but he shook his head. “It was a rough night.”
“I see that.”
Instead of answering, he tromped away through a formal living room that was every bit as much of a flower garden as the entry. She had no choice but to keep standing on the doormat as chunks of snow dropped off her boots. She was starting to sweat, so she unbuttoned her coat, but left it on. She couldn’t risk startling him and having him throw her out before she’d had her say.
He passed through a doorway into what was probably the kitchen and returned several seconds later, a drink in his hand.
She shook her head. “I don’t need anything. Thanks.”
“It’s not for you.”
He opened his other hand to reveal a pair of white pills, popping them in his mouth and chasing them down with his drink.
“Oh. Right.” Her gaze caught on the inch of clear liquid in the glass. Could it have been...? He jiggled his hand so the liquid swished.
“Water. Want to smell it?”
“No. Thanks.”
He grimaced. “Stop shouting, okay?”
Her lips lifted. “I wasn’t.”
Even so, he squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he pinched the bridge of his nose as if pressing against a monster headache.
“I don’t know why I thought that would help last night. It’s not a regular thing for me.”
“I didn’t figure.”
He studied her as if trying to decide if he believed her. “I knew better.”
The poor guy did look miserable. Delia could relate to that next-day pain and regret. She’d allowed social lubricants to help her make poor decisions a few times. Ben
had been drinking alone, though. And she knew what it was like to feel truly alone. Without anyone in her court. She wouldn’t wish that black hole of the spirit on anyone. But the temptation to reach out to Ben, offering comfort and a soft place to land, that was new and disconcerting. And wrong. Did she need a bigger sign that it was a mistake to come here?
She cleared her throat. “Cut yourself some slack,” she managed to say. “It was a bad night.”
“Why would you say that? You don’t cut anyone slack.”
“I guess not.”
At first she was surprised that he’d noticed that detail about her, but it was hardly a secret. She’d never been comfortable with the grays in life or in the law. Not when black and white were purer neutrals, without the untidy smears of mixing paint. As for breaks, she hadn’t met many people who deserved one. And she certainly had never been given any.
They weren’t here to discuss her, though, so she stepped out of her boots and padded away from the mat in her heavy socks to get a better look into the living room.
“So...nice place.” She turned back to him. “Funny, though, it doesn’t seem to match you.”
“As if you know me so well.”
She pressed her lips together. How could she answer that when the information she’d learned in the past twenty-four hours had suggested that she didn’t know him at all? Why hadn’t he told her about his parents? Of course, she had no right to expect him to confide in her when she’d shared nothing with him.
“It was my grandparents’ house. They raised me.” He glanced around the room as if trying to see it through her eyes. “Grandma liked flowers. A lot.”
He wasn’t kidding. Petals and stems showered the drapes, the throw pillows, even the settee. Ben Peterson owned a settee?
“Haven’t gotten around to updating the place since they passed,” he said.
When had they died? Recently? Had they passed away years apart or close together? She had so many questions, but none of them had anything to do with why she’d come today, and she couldn’t get sidetracked.
“Hey, it was nice of you to stop by to see if I was okay. I am.” Ben’s gaze lowered to the glass in his hand. “Well, relatively. You must’ve drawn the short stick if they sent you here. Vinnie cheats, you know. You can tell him I said so.”
“Can’t do that. Nobody knows I’m here.”
“They didn’t send you?”
“That would be a no.”
“Then what’s going on, Delia? Tell me why you’re here. If you need to gloat, could you save it for another time? I’m not up to it today.”
She couldn’t fault him for thinking such a thing. Not so long ago, it wouldn’t have been far from the truth.
She took a deep breath and dove in. “Look, I’m here because I want to help.”
“Not a good idea. I don’t need—”
“Help?” she finished for him. “Oh, you’re going to need help all right.”
“I was going to say...pity.”
Of course he would hate that. She waved away his suggestion with a brush of her hand. “That’s good because I wasn’t offering any.”
But Ben kept shaking his head. It was probably emasculating enough for him to accept help from her, but pity? That had to be like ripping his Man Card to shreds.
“What I am offering is the chance to have someone working with you, but on the inside.”
“I can get answers,” he insisted. “I’ll just have to be more...creative.”
“Creative? You’re going to have to be a freaking magician to do this on your own. A crime has been committed here whether you’re willing to admit it or not. Someone is guilty. If you claim it isn’t you, then who is it?”
He opened his mouth to argue, but she was on a roll. She couldn’t stop now, not when she hadn’t yet convinced him to let her help. She couldn’t slow down long enough to ask why it was so important to her, either. What would she say? That it was the right thing to do? That he’d tried to help her, too? That he seemed to be a good man? It was more than any of those things alone, but she couldn’t tell him that.
“Stuck at home, you won’t have access to the databases to help you clear your name. Technically you shouldn’t be accessing LEIN for personal use, anyway, but—”
“No, but—”
“And how will you observe the other officers while at home in your bunny slippers?”
“I’m not.”
“Wearing bunny slippers?”
She glanced down and was surprised to find that he was no longer barefoot. At some point, probably while he was in the kitchen, he’d put on old hiking boots, their well-worn leather etched with the hard work of their rugged, capable owner.
The jolt that shot through her system was so sudden, so unexpected, that she was surprised she didn’t land on the floor. Forget the heat in her face earlier—she was warm all over now. Even in places where heat wasn’t allowed, she simmered like a teakettle just getting started.
“What?” He stared down at his boots. “The floor’s cold.”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Had it been anyone else reacting this way, she would have called it lust, but that wasn’t a word she’d ever applied to herself. And over a pair of work boots? Or did it have more to do with the man wearing them? Either way, it needed to stop. She didn’t have feelings like that. Not for anyone, but especially not for a coworker.
When she looked up again, Ben was shaking his head.
“Listen, Polaski told me to stay out of it and let the state investigators do their job. And that’s what I’m going to do.”
Any remnants of her unacceptable thoughts evaporated with that comment.
“Pfft!” When he lifted his chin, she continued, “Sorry, but are you planning to wait until the cell door locks with you on the inside before you advocate for yourself?”
“Well...”
“Then do you believe that justice always prevails? Well, it doesn’t.” She shook her head harder than was necessary, but then not everyone knew how malleable justice was when tapped with the tools of money and power. “Just tell that to those who’ve been wrongly found guilty and sentenced to Death Row. To the one hundred and fifty of them who’ve been exonerated and released since 1973.”
“I never said I wouldn’t check out a few things.”
“So at least now I know you were lying to me before?”
Ben opened his mouth and then shut it again. Had he forgotten that it was part of their job to separate the truth from the bull?
“Either you’re too proud—and dumb—to accept help or you just don’t want it from me.” She held up her hand to stop him when he tried to argue. “But the way I see it, you don’t have many options. I didn’t notice your other friends lined up out there offering to help you.”
She indicated the front porch, refusing to wonder whether he’d thought of her as a friend instead of only the subject of his teamwork experiment.
“How do you know some haven’t already called?”
“Have they?”
“Scott did. I told him to stay out of it.” He shrugged. “He has a wife and five kids.”
“And the others?”
He lifted his chin and pinned her with his gaze. “Maybe they’re not used to disobeying direct orders from a superior. Maybe they’re not in the habit of acting alone.”
“Are you saying that I am?”
Instead of answering, he waved around her to indicate her presence in his house.
“You might have a point.”
Ben took a deep breath, puffing up his cheeks and then releasing it slowly. “Okay, I admit I’m at a disadvantage to find the information I need. But I can’t ask you to risk your career to help me.”
“You didn’t ask. I offered.”
“That’s what I don’t understand. Why did you?” But then he didn’t give her time to answer. “How do you know I’m not guilty?”
That was definitely the question of the day. He looked away from her as
if it didn’t matter to him how she answered. Oh, it mattered, all right. She hated that she couldn’t tell him what he needed to hear: that she believed he was innocent. But she couldn’t do that. Not when she didn’t know for sure yet that he was.
If only she could announce her fervent support for him the way the other troopers had right after the news segment. But she wasn’t built that way. She needed proof. Police reports and lab evidence reports were like the building blocks of her constitution, and proof was the glue bonding them together. Indisputable proof. She had to have it.
That Ben Peterson even tempted her to step away from what she knew and trusted scared her more than any domestic or shots-fired call ever could. At least with them she had guidelines to follow.
“I don’t know,” she admitted finally. “Are you guilty?”
Something raw flashed in his eyes. Then it was gone. But the mask of nonchalance he used to replace it was something she understood.
“No, I’m not guilty.”
“Neither are most of the suspects I’ve arrested. At least the way they tell it.” It was supposed to make him laugh, but he only pressed his lips into a grim line. “Anyway, you don’t know if I’m the one who set you up, either.”
He studied her for several seconds. “I guess I don’t.”
“Then we’re even.”
Where her previous attempt at humor fell flat, this one must have rubbed his funny bone because he grinned for the first time since she’d arrived.
“Not exactly,” he said. “Only one of us is on a paid holiday of sorts and has been banned from the place he’s been working for ten years.”
“More time to watch cooking shows.”
“Why cooking shows?”
“Well, that’s what I’d do. I like to cook,” she said with a shrug. “I record the shows and watch them after work. They’re my secret addiction.”
He smiled again. “I guess everyone has a few secrets.”
Delia only nodded. He was probably just talking about the shows and about her being a rule breaker, but his comment unsettled her just the same. She knew his secret about his family now. But he didn’t know her secrets, the ones she’d kept so carefully walled off that they seemed like someone else’s life.
