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“Oh, God.”
Shameka stared down at herself then at me in surprise. He hit me.
“You’ll be all right,” I promised.
People were suddenly all around us, beat cops as well as detectives. The paramedics on standby for this op pushed me aside to clear a path to the victim.
I maintained eye contact with Shameka until whatever they’d put in her IV for pain dragged her into unconsciousness. And then I just stood there, watching as they loaded her into the ambulance and drove away.
If she died…
No. I would not think that way. That dirtbag couldn’t win. I shifted my attention in the direction where I’d last seen the Caddy. They had to catch Johnson.
Anything else was unacceptable.
The next morning I dropped into the chair behind my desk and attempted to focus on reports. It didn’t matter that it was Saturday. Cops were cops 24/7.
I’d spent most of the night at the hospital.
Shameka was in stable condition. She’d made it through surgery with no problem. The surgeon had assured me she would fully recover. Two cops were stationed outside her room for protection.
Clarence Johnson would learn that she had survived.
The scumbag had gotten away.
I couldn’t believe it.
Metro had found the Caddy. Apparently I’d hit him since there was blood in the front seat. Good. I hoped he died a slow, painful death and I didn’t even feel guilty for thinking it.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I looked up to find Jesse Holderfield hovering over me.
Chief wants to see you. He rolled his eyes. He’s in a mood.
“Thanks, Holderfield.”
Jesse Holderfield reminded me a lot of my dad. Quiet, reserved. Nothing like you’d expect a homicide detective to be. But he was good. He had thirty years under his belt in this division.
I got up and headed toward the Chief of Homicide’s office. His domain was down a long hall, just far enough away from the bull pen to maintain some of its dignity where decor is concerned.
Not that the bull pen was that bad. The place had a decent paint job even if the off-white color lacked creativity. The carpet was commercial-grade and beige. Each detective had his or her own cubicle, also beige. Standard-issue metal desks, each topped with a computer only one generation behind the current technology.
But the chief’s office, now that was a different story. A plusher grade of carpeting. A nice cool blue color on the walls. To match his eyes, I mused.
But then I wasn’t supposed to be noticing his eyes anymore.
And I knew exactly what Holderfield meant when he said the chief was in a mood.
I tapped on the door and stuck my head inside. “You wanted to see me?”
Have a seat, Detective.
Not Merri, like he used to call me, or even Walters. Just plain old Detective. This was the game we played now. The vibes he gave off confused me—at times, it felt like he wanted to pick up where we left off after our first case, with a budding personal relationship. Other times, I was almost convinced he’d never felt anything for me at all.
I stepped into his domain and sat as ordered.
Steven Barlow had risen to the position of Chief of Homicide because he was most assuredly the best man for the job. His reputation as a detective was unparalleled, though I’m working on matching that record, and his dedication was legendary.
He looked great. Still wore his dark hair regulation short and no one, I mean no one, dressed as classy as Barlow. I had to smile. Yep, he looked amazing. Made me feel a little warm and fuzzy inside. I did so love to look at him.
And then his gaze connected with mine.
Amazing morphed directly into angry. He was not a happy camper, his expression reflected the mood Holderfield had mentioned.
We’ve spoken about this before.
The warm, fuzzy feeling evaporated.
Here it comes, the talk.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I said, in an attempt to derail his momentum. We’d been through this a dozen times in the past year. “I take too many chances. I shouldn’t have moved out of position. I had my orders and I didn’t follow them. Let’s cut to the chase here, Chief. Am I in trouble?”
God, I hoped not. I didn’t want to get suspended or worse, fired. I hadn’t come this far to throw it all away. I had done what I had to do. Any cop worth his or her salt would have done the same thing.
You understand that disobeying orders is a serious offense.
I understood, but I pretended not to notice. I’d found that feigning ignorance often got me off the hook.
Didn’t appear to be working this time.
I swallowed, tried to read his expression. I shouldn’t have bothered. Seeing more than what he wanted me to was impossible. He was too good at putting on the poker face. Just another skill that made him a good chief.
Made for figuring out this thing between us extra tough, as well.
“Yes, sir, I understand.”
His expression changed ever so slightly with my response. Not quite a flinch but almost. Did it bother him that I didn’t call him Barlow? At least I wasn’t in this alone. We were both still adjusting to the roller-coaster-like changes in our relationship. Sometimes it felt as if I was the only one frustrated and confused…it was nice to know he felt it, too.
Your instincts were on target, he admitted as he shifted his gaze away from me. The operation commander and I have discussed the issue and no formal disciplinary action will be taken considering the way things turned out.
Relief surged through me. Though I didn’t feel the least bit repentant for what I’d done, I recognized the need for a chain of command.
This time, Barlow added.
“Thank you, sir.” I would do better next time, maybe even ask permission to make an unexpected move. I chewed my lower lip. I hoped.
That intense gaze reconnected with mine and a brand-new flicker of fire shot through me. I shivered, hoped like heck he didn’t notice. Those awesome lips parted and for a few seconds I thought he would say something like, I worry about you, Merri, or I couldn’t live without you. He didn’t.
For a couple of months now, he said, we’ve been using you as a fill-in.
Oh, well. I focused my mind on his words. It was true. Since coming back on board at Homicide after attending the academy, I hadn’t been assigned a partner. Instead, I’d worked as a kind of floating detective, filling in wherever needed. It wasn’t that bad. Gave me a chance to get to know all the detectives in my division. But I couldn’t help feeling that I wasn’t official…in a sense. I didn’t complain, just went with the flow.
We’re going to change that today.
’Bout time, I didn’t say. However, I couldn’t help wondering if this abrupt decision had anything to do with my actions last night. Maybe they thought I needed more structure. Someone to keep me in line.
I still didn’t regret what I had done.
A new detective just transferred in from Hendersonville, Barlow explained. He spent three years as a beat cop before taking the detective’s exam. He graduated from the Forensics Academy just two weeks ago.
Finally, someone newer than me. Sure he had the beat experience I didn’t, but at least he didn’t have a dozen years of homicide experience over me like everyone else around here. Metro also liked for all detectives to go through the ten-week course at the forensics academy, so the new guy was ahead of the game on that score, something we had in common.
“That’s great. When can I meet him?”
I watched Barlow’s lips as he responded, but I didn’t miss the glimpse of something like reluctance in his eyes. We’ll get to that.
Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good. What was wrong with the new guy? Maybe he was physically challenged like me. You know, lame or mute or something. That would make us even. I could live with that.
Apparently he has some reservations about the assignment.
Fury whipped to a frenzied froth inside me before I could slow it down. So the new guy didn’t want to work with the deaf girl. Another wave of anger washed over me on the heels of the thought. No matter how well-adjusted I appeared or how I told myself what other people thought didn’t matter, my temper always flared whenever I encountered prejudice.
“Just because I’m deaf doesn’t mean I’m not every bit as capable as he is,” I argued. Just let me at the guy, I fumed. I’ll show him.
Barlow looked away briefly but not quickly enough for me to miss the abrupt amusement that flickered across his handsome face. Oh, yeah, I wasn’t supposed to notice that he’s handsome anymore. I tamped down the longing that had started building the moment I walked through his door. No matter that I tried to ignore it, it was always there, waiting to pounce on me whenever we shared the same airspace.
Oh, well, old habits were hard to break. I couldn’t not notice how he looked…how he smelled, for Christ’s sake. A new kind of confusion made me frown. Why would he find my feelings on the matter amusing?
He doesn’t have a problem with your being deaf, Merri.
Merri. I melted a little more inside. No, no, I wasn’t supposed to do that, either. Tough stuff. I couldn’t stop the reaction. Just watching his lips form my name was a big-time turn on.
Then the rest of his words assimilated in my brain. “Then what does he have a problem with?” Jeez, it wasn’t like I was incompetent or lazy. I worked hard. Graduated in the top five percent of my police academy class and the top three percent at the forensics academy. He was lucky to get me as a partner. Darn lucky.
He would prefer a male partner, Barlow said, his gaze reflecting the frankness no doubt in his tone.
Shock rumbled through me as realization penetrated the automatic denial. The new guy didn’t want to work with me because I didn’t have a penis? What century was this guy living in?
“Tell me you’re kidding,” I said, making my voice as flat with disbelief as possible. “That mentality went out with the seventies. Where’s this dude been living?”
I liked the amusement I saw in Barlow’s eyes but I was a little too ticked off to enjoy it as much as I should have.
Originally, Mr. Patterson is from Georgia.
Well that explained everything. Bulldogs weren’t the only things Georgia boys were known for. They could be bullheaded, too. Not that I actually had anything against guys from Georgia, but my ex-fiancé was from Atlanta. Enough said.
“So, why not shuffle one of the other detectives to work with him,” I offered. Heck, I could think of half a dozen of the detectives already in the division who would be happy to partner up with me. So far I got along with everybody except the folks in charge.
That’s not the way I do things, Barlow said, all signs of amusement gone now. Mr. Patterson will learn to fit in or he’ll be gone.
Another thought occurred to me. Barlow was big on the whole team-player motto. Maybe someone else would spend some time in the hot seat besides me. I could handle that.
I shrugged. “Bring him on. I’ll teach him some proper manners.”
Barlow let a smile peek through his stern expression and, well, let’s just say that my heart did one of those tricky maneuvers best called a triple flip.
I’m certain you will. I’m counting on you to teach him the way we do things here.
“No problem. Remember, I grew up with four brothers. Patterson should brace himself.” At this point I looked forward to the challenge.
As I watched, Barlow pressed the intercom button and asked his secretary to send in Mr. Patterson, which, of course, drew my attention to his hands. Long, strong fingers; wide, masculine hands.
Focus, Merri. You’re about to meet your first partner and he’s one of those macho types who thinks women can’t do a man’s job.
I found myself holding my breath as the door opened. I forced myself to relax, refused to be the slightest bit nervous as I shifted just enough to look back at him as he strode into Barlow’s well-appointed office.
Tall, young…really young, maybe twenty-five or -six. Good-looking. But my grandmother had a saying, pretty is as pretty does. If he insisted on being a jerk about working with women, then that attitude would greatly depreciate the value of his handsome face.
Barlow stood. I did, as well, though I thought about keeping my seat just to remind him that ladies didn’t have to stand when a man entered the room. Notice I didn’t use the term gentleman.
Barlow shook Patterson’s hand, then gestured to me. Ray Patterson, this is Merri Walters.
I thrust out my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Patterson.” I plastered a smile into place.
He took my hand and shook it firmly. Call me Ray.
Okay. I don’t know exactly how they do things in Georgia, but up here in Tennessee when someone says, “Nice to meet you,” a person generally says something like, “The pleasure is mine” whether they mean it or not. That he didn’t only lowered my impression of him.
Ray turned to Barlow and I did the same, just in time to catch something about seat or seats. Barlow gestured to my chair and then I realized he’d said that we should take our seats.
Before I could settle back into mine I realized Ray had spoken to Barlow. I swung my attention back to him as he said my position clear. Man, I was a little slow on the uptake today. I’m generally much better at keeping up with a two-, even a three-way conversation.
I would prefer a male partner. Ray looked from Barlow to me. I don’t mean to offend you, Miss Walters, but in my experience women are too emotional. That natural fault makes female detectives too unreliable for my comfort.
I told myself to think before I responded, but it was already too late. My mouth was in motion before my brain jumped into gear.
“I understand completely, Ray,” I said with all the feigned patience I could muster. “But we all have our faults. If you won’t hold being a woman against me, I’ll try my best not to hold your stupidity against you.”
Chapter 2
Sunday morning I slept in.
I’d stopped by the hospital after my shift ended yesterday. Shameka was out of the woods. Looked pretty damned good for a woman who’d been shot the night before. She thanked me repeatedly for saving her life. But she was the one who deserved the respect and gratitude. It had taken mega guts to put herself out there like that. And, though Johnson hadn’t been caught yet, Shameka’s efforts were not for naught.
Having drawn Johnson out into the open again, Metro now had hard evidence against Clarence Johnson, drug dealer, on-again off-again pimp and perpetual scumbag. Not to mention we had an eyewitness regarding Johnson’s intentions on Friday night. A witness whose credibility would be impeccable with the DA as well as any judge on the circuit.
Me.
Up to now he’d been a mere suspect. All of Metro had been pretty darned sure he was their man, especially considering Shameka had insisted that Johnson was the one who’d shot the cop. She hadn’t witnessed the shooting but she’d heard him brag about it. But still, we hadn’t had the evidence we needed until now.
