“Did you really think Julia made me up?” I asked.
“No. We were all at the bar that night,” another woman spoke up. She had long, thick dark hair and a petite frame. “I just don’t think any of us believed Jules was actually in a relationship with you.”
I furrowed my brow, self-conscious all over again. “Why not?”
“I think Alana means they were surprised I was in a relationship. Period,” Julia supplied. She shifted her weight so she subtly pressed against me. “I didn’t have much of a dating record before you.”
“No shit,” Alana snorted.
“So you all went to college together?” I asked.
Julia had only told me that they were her friends, not how they knew each other, but I could vaguely remember someone saying it was a class reunion when I’d first become acquainted with them so many months ago at that Minneapolis bar. I doubted these women had all grown up in Embarrass.
“We were in the same sorority,” one of the women—a brunette in glasses—supplied.
I nearly coughed up my soda. “Sorority?”
Alana, the dark-haired petite woman, thrust her drink in the air. “Alpha Chi Omega!”
Several of the women cheered and raised their glasses as well.
I glanced in Julia’s direction. “Sorority?” I repeated myself.
My girlfriend seemed awfully interested in the bottom of her wine glass.
“Julia was my Big Sister in AXO,” Michaela boasted. “She showed me the ropes around campus.”
“More like showed you the way around a wop party,” the leggy blonde snickered.
“Wop?” I echoed. It was like they were speaking a foreign language.
The brunette with glasses frowned. “You know—you dump every kind of alcohol into a trash can with like Kool-Aid or juice?”
I shook my head harder.
“Didn’t you ever go to a frat party?” the leggy blonde asked.
“I didn’t go to college,” I said. I choked on the words. “I was in the military.”
“The Marines,” Julia was quick to jump in. “Cassidy was stationed in Afghanistan for eight years.”
Someone whistled in approval. “Damn. G.I. Jane.”
I rubbed the back of my neck as I felt too many pairs of eyes intensely inspecting me. “Nah, I could never do a one-handed pushup.”
“Oh! Let me try!” Michaela dropped to the hardwood floor and the others crowded around to cheer her on.
The brunette in glasses wiggled her way between my girlfriend and me as we watched Michaela flail on the hardwood floor. “Hey Jules, remember that party at Theta Chi sophomore year when Grant Osmond didn’t believe you could do a keg stand?”
Julia cleared her throat. “I didn’t realize how late it was; Cassidy and I should be going.”
I clamped my fingers around Julia’s wrist before she could take flight. “Nuh uh. Things just got interesting.”
This. This was what I craved. Until that moment, I hadn’t known how nice it would feel to be at a dinner party with strangers, and yet not be compelled to be attached to my partner’s side. Julia periodically caught my attention from across the room to share a private smile—a knowing look—but it felt good that she had faith I could carry on in this setting without her hovering near.
I sat at the dining room table with some of the other women while Alana told a story about her work. She did something financial for a living, although I wasn’t quite clear what—a banker maybe. I felt a hand touch my right shoulder and drag across the length of my shoulder blades to rest on my left shoulder.
“Having a good time?” Julia spoke into my ear.
I nodded. “Your friends are very welcoming.”
Julia perched on my lap even though there were plenty of empty seats to go around. I certainly didn’t mind, though. My arms reflexively curled around her waist.
She lightly pressed her lips to my cheek, careful not to leave behind any lipstick residue. “You’re charming. I’m sure that has something to do with it. They’re not normally so open.”
I lost track of the other voices and conversations swirling around me; they always became background noise whenever Julia was near.
“They’re not boring you with their stories, are they?”
I shook my head emphatically. “No way. I love this. I love you.”
Her lips curled into an amused smile. “See? Charming.”
She cradled my face in her hands and drew me in for a soft kiss. I could taste the red wine she’d been drinking that night as her tongue sought mine. I kissed her deeper and my hands tightened on her hips. When she nipped my bottom lip with her teeth, I choked back an involuntary noise of pleasure, barely mindful that we weren’t alone.
The abrasive sound of a high-pitched wolf whistle snapped me back to attention.
“Geez, guys. Get a room.”
Pleasant laughter erupted around us. My cheeks grew warm at the attention, and I buried my head into Julia’s shoulder.
Julia threw her arms around my neck in a protective gesture. “Oh, don’t act like you weren’t enjoying the show,” she chastised her friends.
She gently drew me out of my hiding spot with a finger under my chin. “Why don’t we hit the road?” she suggested. “I’m sure my friends are anxious for us to leave so they can talk about us.”
CHAPTER FOUR
After my haphazard orientation to the cold case division, I stayed after hours my first week on the job, not for the overtime—which apparently Captain Forrester never gave out anyway—but because the learning curve was so massive. When it came to work, I had never skated by with good enough. I wasn’t about to start now.
The number of unsolved cases was both frustrating and overwhelming. Most were for missing persons cases or unsolved homicides. The oldest cases dated back to the 1970s with the most recent only a few months old. I’d gotten a visual representation of the task we faced at the cold case evidence warehouse, but the computer database revealed just how sparse the evidence or leads were for these cases. It helped explain why so many had gone unsolved for so long. A number of the files were for single people living on their own in an apartment who’d gone missing from their jobs or had been found dead when they failed to pay their rent. No witnesses. No suspects. No unexplained DNA. No leads.
I was deep into the details of a woman whose body had been found on the banks of the Mississippi River, when the overhead lights came on. A woman whom I didn’t recognize stood in the doorway.
After working only by the light of my desk lamp, I blinked into the bright halogen lights. “Can I help you?”
“Shit!” The woman pressed her hands to her chest and audibly exhaled. “You scared me! I didn’t know anyone was still here.”
I looked at the clock in the corner of my computer. Besides the small, rectangular windows near the ceiling, the basement office provided no natural light to indicate the passage of time. I’d thought it might have been late, but I hadn’t realized it was that late.
“You must be Detective Miller,” the woman noted.
“Guilty.”
“I’m Sarah Conrad,” she introduced herself. “You might have heard of me.”
“You split your time between a Victim’s Advocate office and here, right?”
“That’s me,” she nodded. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” I returned.
Sarah Conrad was attractive. Beautiful, really. She looked young—maybe even younger than my twenty-eight years. Long dark hair. Large brown eyes lined with dark eyeliner. She looked long and lean in skinny jeans and ankle boots. Bright red lipstick painted her wide, expressive mouth. Her deep v-neck top showed off plenty of cleavage that I’d have to do my best to ignore.
“What are you doing here so late?” she asked. “You know Forrester doesn’t give out overtime, right?”
“I’m trying to get caught up on some of these cases,” I explained. “I don’t like being behind the curve. What are you doing
here?”
“I left a thumb drive in my computer.” She strode across the open room and ducked behind one of the desks. She popped up a moment later with a green flash drive in her hand. “Got it.”
I shut the manila folder in front of me and sighed. “I guess I can save this for tomorrow,” I decided.
“That’s probably a good idea,” Sarah agreed. “You wouldn’t want to burn yourself out on the first week. This job is a marathon, not a sprint.”
I stood from my desk and stretched out my stiff legs. I wasn’t used to sitting at a desk for so long. “You need anything else? Or can I lock up?”
“I’m good. Just needed my flash drive.” She cocked her head to the side and regarded me. “Hey, you wanna grab a drink?”
“I really shouldn’t. I’ve gotta be back here in a few hours.”
“Just a coffee.”
My eyes strayed once more, inadvertently, to Sarah Conrad’s office-inappropriate cleavage. “I’ll be up all night.”
“That’s why they invented decaf, Miller.”
+++
I followed Sarah’s little red car to a quiet corner coffee shop in Minneapolis. Because of the late hour we had little trouble finding an empty table for two. I put up a fight, but Sarah insisted on buying both coffees—mine decaf and hers regular.
I warmed my hands on the outside of my coffee cup. The temperature was starting to dip, especially in the evening. Soon I’d have to store my bike for the season and resort to public transportation. I anticipated having to dodge Julia’s repeated remarks about the impracticality of a motorcycle in Minnesota, but I liked my bike. I liked the freedom it afforded.
“So, how are you liking cold case so far?” Sarah pried.
“I’m still feeling it out. The job. My new co-workers.”
“Stanley?” she chuckled.
“No. Stanley’s been great. He’s a little quirky, a little socially awkward, but he seems like he has a good heart.”
Sarah nodded. “You’re right about that. Plus before you, the poor guy was basically the only thing keeping the office afloat. I’m only part time.”
“What about Captain Forrester?”
Sarah looked up at me from beneath heavy eyelashes. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No,” I said slowly. “That’s a legitimate question.”
She took a brief sip of her coffee, leaving a lipstick stain behind. “You’ve heard the phrase riding the desk until retirement?”
“Yeah.”
“The Captain mostly stays out of the way. We’ve come to an understanding these past few years—he doesn’t do any actual work unless we need someone with a badge. He makes arrests and gets the paperwork started on warrants. But now that you’re here, he probably won’t ever come out of his office.”
I pursed my lips. “Perfect.”
“Hold that thought,” Sarah said before standing. “I’ve got to pee.”
While I awaited Sarah’s return, my cell phone vibrated in the pocket of my leather jacket, which I’d hung on the back of my chair. I fished the device out of the zippered pocket and read the new text: Another late night at work, Detective?
Left the office after all, I replied. Getting a drink with a co-worker.
Julia’s response was immediate: Do I have to be worried?
About the drink or the co-worker? I couldn’t help tease.
The three little bubbles that indicated Julia was penning a response popped up on my screen. They started and stopped and started again before disappearing altogether.
Those little dots thankfully reappeared: I’ve just opened a bottle of wine. You should come over when you’ve finished so I don’t have to drink it all myself.
“Husband checking up on you?”
I looked up from the phone’s screen to discover that Sarah had returned from the bathroom. “Huh?”
She pulled out her chair and returned to the seat across from me. “I didn’t mean to pry. You just had this look on your face—an indulgent smile.”
I stashed my phone back into my jacket pocket, out of sight but not out of mind. “My girlfriend wants me to come over and save her from a bottle of wine.”
The g-word still felt surreal to me. Julia didn’t care for the label, thinking it sounded juvenile, but I liked to throw it into conversation whenever the situation allowed.
“Girlfriend or friend who’s a girl?” Sarah pressed.
“Girlfriend.”
“Good,” she clipped. “I’m glad you’re not one of those women who call their friends ‘girlfriends’ to be edgy or something.”
“No, the only girlfriend I have is the woman I sleep with.” I immediately cringed at my response. “Sorry. That was probably inappropriate,” I apologized. “I’ve never really worked in an office with civilians before. I’m used to taking to other cops and soldiers. We tend to be on the crude side.”
“Please,” she dismissed with a wave, “I’ve heard much worse.”
Sarah’s own cell phone chirped, interrupting what could have been an awkward moment. She flipped it over to read the new message.
“Gotta get back to your husband?” I lightly teased.
Sarah set her phone back on the table. “No. Just a booty call.”
I made a noise and brought my coffee cup up to my mouth, not knowing how else to respond.
“Did you always want to be a cop?” she asked.
I breathed easier at the topic change. “Not always, no. I kind of fell into it.”
“How does that happen?” she smiled. “You tripped and fell into a police academy?”
“I was in the military for a while, and when I came back it just made sense—an easy transition. What about you?”
“I never dreamed of being a Victim’s Advocate when I was a little girl—that would have been weird,” she chuckled, “but I like my job. It’s slow going, and the red tape and bureaucracy can be a little maddening at times, but most days I go home feeling like I’ve done some good in the world.”
“Yeah, I get that,” I agreed. “Some days are worse than others, but I generally like being a cop. Honestly I don’t know what I’d do other than police work.”
Sarah’s phone made another sound. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I know it’s rude.” She picked up her phone and checked the screen again.
“They’re awfully persistent,” I noted, careful with my pronouns.
“Different guy,” she said with nonchalance. She typed this one a response, but I wasn’t nosy enough to try to read her screen.
I sat in silence while I waited for Sarah to finish texting. She laughed aloud at something the person on the other side of the conversation had said and continued to type. Eventually, she stood from the table. “I suppose I shouldn’t keep you out too late. Early morning tomorrow.”
“I don’t know if your concern is genuine or fueled by the prospect of a booty call,” I coyly observed. She’d barely touched her coffee.
Sarah laughed as she put on her jacket. “Oh, definitely the booty call.”
+ + +
Julia lay across her all-white couch, holding a glass of red wine in one hand. A magazine was open on her lap, cradled in the space between her thighs. The uncorked wine bottle and an extra, empty glass waited for me on the coffee table. Her makeup and hair looked newly applied and styled, and not as though she’d been working all day and had gotten ready for bed. The done-up-ness of her hair and makeup were unusual for the hour, but there was only one element that really looked out of place—she was wearing a Minnesota Vikings jersey. Only a Minnesota Vikings jersey.
I dropped my keys on the catchall table in the foyer. “Is that my jersey?”
Julia turned a page on the glossy magazine, but didn’t look in my direction as I entered the apartment. “I found it in a drawer.”
The TV was on, but she’d muted the sound. A Viking’s pre-season game played on the flat screen, but my attention gravitated back to Julia. The purple and gold jersey was oversized on her small
frame, but it stopped high on her thighs like a miniskirt. Her bare legs looked smooth and sun kissed from our time at the beach.
I wanted to run my hands along them. I wanted them wrapped around me as I kissed her deeper into the couch.
My heartbeat quickened from the visuals bouncing around in my brain, yet Julia continued to disregard my presence—all a game, I was sure. She’d invited me over just moments before; this was all for show.
I swooped down and pressed my lips against hers. I swallowed the quiet, surprised sound that came out of her mouth. I kissed her hard, not bruising, but aggressive. She blindly set her wine glass on the coffee table so she could pull me closer and dig her fingers into my skull. I loved that she kissed me back with equal ferocity.
She finally acknowledged me when I broke off the kiss. Her fingers went to her mouth; I’d smudged her lipstick. “What was that for?”
“I love it when you wear my clothes.”
“If this is how you react, maybe I should do it more often.”
“How about every night?”
My throat constricted when I realized the inference of the offhand comment. “Shoot, I-I mean …” I sputtered. “That sounded like I was asking to move in together.”
Julia’s gaze went back to her magazine. I couldn’t tell if she was concentrating on a particularly interesting article or concentrating on avoiding me. I assumed the latter.
I sat down on the couch near her feet. I didn’t want to offend her, but I also didn’t want us to turn into a lesbian cliché. “I know it’s way too soon for that,” I treaded lightly. “Right?”
Maybe it was; maybe it wasn’t. I didn’t know if the timeline of our relationship was typical or unique.
She nodded curtly. “It is.”
I poured myself a glass of wine and returned Julia’s glass to her. She set her magazine to the side and pulled her legs up to give me more room on the couch. The movement also caused the jersey to hike up higher on her thighs, and I caught a glimpse of grey lace underwear.
She not-so-subtly changed the subject. “How were drinks with your colleague?”
“It was just coffee. But she seems nice. Her name is Sarah Conrad, and she works part-time in the cold case office and the rest of her week she’s a victim’s advocate.”
Cold Blooded Lover Page 5
