by Kelly, Diane
Again he let his words trail off. But this time I filled in the blank for him.
“Talked to me? Opened up a little? T-trusted me?”
He wrapped both hands around his coffee mug and looked down into it. “Yeah,” he said finally. “That’s exactly what I should have done.”
We were both quiet a moment. He cast furtive, almost desperate, glances at me between sips of steaming coffee. His eyes communicated what he couldn’t bring his mouth to say. He’d missed me. He wanted me back in his life. I was the most intelligent, most gorgeous creature he’d ever seen. Okay, maybe I’d just wanted to flatter myself with that last part, but he could have been thinking it.
“Look, Seth,” I said finally. “I’d be willing to give you a second chance.”
His face brightened.
“But it’ll have to be on my terms.”
He cocked his head, his smile now wary. “Such as?”
“If I ask you questions, you have to give me answers.”
It wasn’t like I planned to extensively interrogate the guy. After all, he’d been very tight-lipped about his family so far and, other than asking about his grandfather, I hadn’t pushed the issue. Having grown up with a stuttering problem, I wasn’t much of a talker myself. But if we were going to have any kind of real relationship there would have to be at least a minimum of openness and honesty between us.
He stared at me for a long moment before looking down into his coffee mug again. “Okay.”
“Here’s question number one.” I watched him closely as I tested these new waters. “What’s up with your grandfather?”
Seth began to shrug, but slowly lowered his shoulders as if realizing a shrug was not an answer. At least not one I’d be satisfied with. “He’s got … problems.”
“Problems,” I repeated. “You mean health problems? Is that why he uses the oxygen tank?” I’d noticed the old man pulling one behind him that day at the house.
“Yes,” Seth said. “He’s got breathing problems, among other things.” Evidently realizing that answer was vague, too, Seth added, “He’s belligerent. Withdrawn. Paranoid, sometimes. My grandmother used to tell me that he hadn’t always been that way, that he used to be a nice, happy person, but as long as I’ve known him he’s been like this. It got worse after she died.”
“Any idea what caused it?”
“Oh, I know exactly what caused it,” Seth said.
“What was it?”
“Vietnam.”
His gaze locked on mine, his eyes full of pain and grief and knowledge. A knowledge of things no one should ever have to learn. A knowledge of things, once learned, that can never be forgotten, no matter how hard someone might try to forget.
I realized that Seth’s grandfather must be suffering from PTSD. Given the ease with which Seth recognized his grandfather’s symptoms, Seth likely suffered from it, too. This revelation gave rise to so many more questions in my mind, but I could tell from the expression on Seth’s face that he already felt too exposed. I wouldn’t push him further now.
As much as my heart ached for Seth, as much as I wanted to be a source of comfort to him, I couldn’t put all my eggs in one basket. At least not yet. Seth would have to earn back my trust before I could consider getting serious about him. Besides, before I got in too deep, I wanted to know exactly what I was getting myself into. As attracted as I might be to him, it was clear any relationship with him could be fraught with emotional landmines.
“Let’s take things slow,” I said. “See how it goes. No obligations, no commitments.”
“Agreed,” Seth said. But, really, why wouldn’t he? A no-strings-attached relationship was every guy’s fantasy, right?
I skewered him with a look. “You realize this means no sex, right?”
The two of us had yet to be intimate. Though I found Seth sexy as hell, there was no way I’d consider fooling around outside a meaningful, monogamous relationship.
“No sex?” He threw his head back and groaned. “Why not?”
“Because we’re keeping it casual.”
“Ever heard of ‘casual sex’?” He eyed me, raising a hopeful brow. “It was invented specifically for this type of situation.”
I shook my head. “Not my style.”
“Catholic guilt?”
“Not entirely, though that’s probably part of it.”
“I thought the new pope threw all the rules out the window.”
“It’s not quite that simple.”
Another groan, followed by a roguish grin as he began to relax. “I think we should negotiate on this. Like maybe I can touch you over your clothes?”
I shook my head.
“Above the waist only?”
I shook my head again.
“What if I only use one hand? That’s a fair compromise.”
“Nope.”
“What if you bend over to pick something up? Can I at least peek down your shirt?”
I shrugged. “Guess that’s fair.”
He proceeded to reach out and push my spoon off the table. It hit the floor with a resounding ping. A grin tugged at his lips. “Better get that.”
I reached across the table and snatched his spoon instead. “Nah. I’m all set.”
“Damn. I’d forgotten how smart you are.”
Maybe I should’ve indulged the poor guy. After all, he was putting himself on the line here and, besides, he wouldn’t get much of a glimpse given the sweatshirt I wore.
I sat back against the booth. “That’s my offer,” I said with more forced nonchalance. “Take it or leave it.”
Seth sat back against his booth, too, and tilted his head first one way, then the other as he appeared to be considering. He nailed me with a look so sexy and sensuous I felt naked despite the sweatshirt and pants. “Do I still get to play with your hair?”
A warm flush rushed to my cheeks. “Sure.”
He stretched his right hand across the table. “It’s a deal.”
TWO
MEAT AND GREET
Fort Worth PD K-9 Sergeant Brigit
Brigit lifted her nose to the air, sniffing as the woman who’d brought her partner coffee approached with two loaded platters of bacon and sausage. Is she bringing it to our table? Dare a dog from the streets hope for such a feast?
She stood on the vinyl seat, licking her chops as drool pooled in her mouth and drops of saliva fell from her jowls to the tabletop.
The woman stopped at the end of their booth and slid one platter into place in front of Blast, another in front of Brigit.
Score!
THREE
SUGAR DADDY
Robin Hood
She woke with a dry mouth, a pounding headache, and not a stitch of clothing on. All that champagne last night had been a bad idea. But she hadn’t been about to turn down a free glass of Dom Pérignon.
Or two.
Or seven.
What a New Year’s Eve party it had been! She had never seen anything like it in her twenty-one years on earth. An open bar with bottle after bottle of high-end spirits and liqueurs—none of that cheap, off-brand crap she drank at home—as well as a professional bartender to serve the guests. Waiters circulating through the crowd, bearing silver trays laden with crab puffs, caviar, and diamond-shaped mushroom-polenta hors d’oeuvres topped with roasted red peppers and mascarpone. She had no idea what polenta or mascarpone were, but that hadn’t stopped her from sampling several of the delicious appetizers. A dessert table with dozens of tortes, tarts, and pastries, each painstakingly prepared and topped with fancy icing, chocolate shavings, or whipped cream. It was the kind of event she’d only read about in the newspaper society pages.
The house, owned by one of the Lockheed Martin corporate executives, nestled on a lushly landscaped yard in the exclusive River Crest neighborhood west of downtown. A far cry from the trailer park she’d grown up in on the flat, treeless prairieland north of the city.
Applying for an administrative assistant position at the company had
been the smartest move she’d ever made, a big step up from her telemarketing job. No more trying to sell solar window screens to people who had no idea what they were, couldn’t afford them, or just weren’t interested. A smart homeowner like you won’t want to pass up this opportunity. You’ll save the planet and cut your cooling bills in half. There’s absolutely no downside! We’re running a half-price off-season special and can send someone out to measure your windows right away. How does five o’clock look for you?
Some had politely turned her down. Some had complained that she’d interrupted their nap or their dinner and asked, with varying levels of civility, to be removed from the call list. Others considered her unworthy of a single second of their precious time and simply hung up.
Click.
Click. Click. Click.
Although she knew she shouldn’t take it personally, it was hard not to, especially when these cheapskates prevented her from meeting her quota and put her out of the running for an all-expenses-paid trip to Hawaii.
Given that she’d have her own desk and a chair to sit in, she’d thought the telemarketing job would be a step up from the retail sales positions she’d held before. But the job had proved to be just as menial, the clientele just as rude and condescending. After three months, she’d had more than enough and quit.
As she’d hoped, her new position at Lockheed Martin put her in contact with some of the up-and-coming junior executives at the company. The one lying next to her had certainly been both up and coming last night.
She slipped out of Evan’s bed and slunk to his bathroom, opening his medicine cabinet in search of relief. She spotted aspirin. Tylenol. Jock itch ointment. Ew. At the back sat a bottle of Excedrin. Ahh. That’s the one.
She popped two pills into her mouth and washed them down with a glass of water from the faucet. Then she made the mistake of looking in the mirror. Ugh. Her eyes were crusty with sleep and mascara, her skin was ruddy, and her platinum-blond hair stuck up in every direction like a disheveled porcupine. No time to do much about all of that, but she couldn’t very well hit Evan up for a couple hundred bucks with a raging case of morning breath.
She found a bottle of mint mouthwash under the sink and swished until it no longer felt like her tongue was wearing a sweater. Returning to the bedroom, she slid back into her black lace thong panties and bra. The silky red cocktail dress lay in a wrinkled heap on the floor. She slipped it over her head and shoved her feet back into her silver heels. She’d looked like a million bucks last night. Not too shabby for a girl who didn’t have two nickels to rub together. She’d snagged the dress and heels at a five-finger discount on Christmas Eve when the store clerks at Nordstrom had been too busy to keep a close eye on the dressing rooms. She was like a modern-day Robin Hood—or should she say Robbin’ Hood?—providing a vital public service, taking from the rich and giving to the poor. The fact that she was the poor was entirely irrelevant and made her efforts no less virtuous.
Sitting on the edge of the bed next to Evan, she put on her most helpless and beguiling face before gently rubbing his shoulder.
“Evan? You awake?” If he wasn’t yet, he soon would be. She rubbed harder, fighting the urge to slap his cheek. Patience might be a virtue, but she’d never claimed to be that virtuous. “Evan?”
One eye popped open, eventually seeming to focus on her face.
“Sorry to wake you,” she said. “But I need to get going. I promised my mother I’d stop by to see her today.”
“Okay,” he rasped, his voice gravelly with sleep.
The ass made no move to sit up in bed, let alone offer her breakfast or see her out to her car, a clear sign this relationship had run its course. Fine with her. The sex had been mediocre at best and Evan’s conversations tended to focus on his career, his golf swing, or his ex-wife, whom he was clearly still hung up on. That said, the relationship hadn’t been totally without benefit. Evan could always be counted on for some quick cash. At thirty-seven years old with a high-level job and no family to drain his wallet, he had far more money than he had time to spend it. Besides, after the things she did for him in bed, she knew he’d feel like a total prick if he didn’t toss some spare change her way. The line between sugar daddy and john could be blurry, but she didn’t much care. Women had been using their bodies as a bargaining chip since the dawn of time, and she’d always seen their relationship as a business deal anyway.
“I hate to ask.” She ducked her head and looked down at her lap as if ashamed to be making the request. “But could you spare a couple hundred dollars? The electric company’s threatening to turn off my mother’s service unless she pays her past-due bill in full.”
“No problem.”
He sat up, reached for the pants on the floor next to the bed, and pulled his wallet from the back pocket. Opening it, he fished out ten twenties. She noticed that several bills remained. There’d been a time when he would have offered her everything in his wallet. Looked like that time had passed.
She took the money from him and bent over to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “Thanks. You’re so good to me.” And good to her mother, who’d been confined to a wheelchair for years, ever since that car wreck. Or had she been hit by a bus? Train? Garbage truck? Oh, well. It didn’t much matter anymore.
She stood, folded the bills, and slid them into the inside pocket of her purse. “Bye, Evan.”
His only reply was a soft snore.
FOUR
A COUPLE OF STALLIONS
Megan
On a cold but sunny Friday morning in mid-January, Brigit and I were cruising the streets of the Western 1 Division, or W1 for short, when my shoulder-mounted radio crackled to life.
“Officer Luz,” came the voice of the dispatcher. “Report to the chief’s office at HQ ASAP.”
Uh-oh.
Getting called into the police chief’s office was rarely a good thing. Last time Chief Garelik had summoned me was after I’d Tasered my former partner in the nards. My Irish temper had gotten the best of me but, hey, it wasn’t like the ass hadn’t deserved it. That lapse of judgment led the chief to team me up with Brigit. I’d been none too pleased at the time, but the alternative had been to turn in my badge. No way. I’d never make detective if I quit. I’d accepted my fate, partnered with the furry beast, and, well, here we were.
“On my way,” I told dispatch, hooking a U-turn in the specially equipped K-9 cruiser to head downtown. I glanced at my partner in the rearview mirror, our gazes meeting through the built-in metal mesh dog enclosure. “I hope we’re not in trouble.”
She cast a look in my direction before turning back to the window to scout for squirrels. What did she care? Even if the chief canned me she’d still have a job.
I racked my brain, thinking over my actions the last few days.
Had I made a mistake?
Deviated from protocol?
I’d tossed a bag of Brigit’s crap into a yard, but I didn’t think anyone had seen me. The yard belonged to Richard Cuthbert, a jackass who’d hassled me when I’d issued him a citation for repeated water-rationing violations. The poop was a little street justice. I’d also caught a couple of thirteen-year-old girls egging a house, but let them go with only a stern warning when one of them began to cry. Four of the confiscated eggs ended up in spinach frittata. I’d scrambled the other two for Brigit. No sense in letting them go to waste, right? Still, using seized property for personal use was against department policy. Would the chief can me for skimming half a dozen eggs? What the cluck?
Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting outside the chief’s office in an uncomfortable plastic chair, my K-9 partner lying at my feet.
The chief’s administrative assistant, a middle-aged woman with brown hair and a pill-covered pink cardigan, sat at her desk typing on her keyboard. She pushed her intercom button to inform the chief of my arrival, then glanced my way. “You’re quite the celebrity, Officer Luz. I’ve been fielding calls from reporters for days.”
Afte
r I’d taken down the bomber on New Year’s Eve, the chief had contacted me, reminding me not to speak to the press. His admonishment was unnecessary. I knew the drill. The department employed an official public spokesperson who’d been extensively trained on handling the media. Besides, with my unpredictable stutter, I wouldn’t take a chance on opening my mouth in front of a television camera. I didn’t really want to be in the limelight anyway. I hadn’t become a cop for attention. I’d become a cop to make the world a safer, more just, more fair place. Also for the ability to violate traffic laws with impunity.
I pulled my telescoping baton from my belt and flicked it open. Snap! Rotating my wrist, I twirled the baton in a basic flat spin. Swish-swish-swish. The motion and sound soothed me, leaching nervous tension from my body. Back in high school, I’d twirled with the marching band. Surprisingly, my baton skills came in handy on the beat, too. Who would’ve thought?
When the woman’s intercom buzzed, she picked up her phone. As she listened, her eyes cut to me again. “Yes, sir.” She hung up the phone. “The chief’s ready for you.”
I stood. “Thanks.”
Brigit padded along beside me as I stepped to the chief’s door. Although he’d summoned me, I rapped twice nonetheless.
“Get in here, Luz!” boomed a voice from the other side.
I slipped inside, closing the door behind me. “Good morning, sir.”
The man wasted no time on niceties. “Sit,” he barked.
Both Brigit and I sat, Brigit on the floor, me on an imitation-leather wing chair. Brigit lifted her twitching nose, evidently scenting the various animal heads mounted around the room. A mountain lion. A sixteen-point buck. An openmouthed trout that appeared to be either gasping for breath or singing a silent opera. Rigoletto, perhaps? Chief Garelik must have spent a small fortune on taxidermy.
As for the man himself, he was bulky and broad, with hair the color of stainless steel. The visible veins at his temple and the purplish cast to his skin evidenced a severe case of high blood pressure and the threat of impending aneurysm. The bulge under his lower lip evidenced a generous pinch of chewing tobacco.
