Britt came in slowly, peeking around the door into the living room as if she was expecting an intruder.
“Court,” she said, opening her arms, running toward him.
He held her close. “I’m okay. I’m fine.”
“You could have texted. Called. Anything.”
“I’m sorry. I was distracted. Hey, come sit with me a minute will you?”
He dragged her over to the overstuffed sofa, patting the cushion next to him. He slipped two fingers into his shirt pocket and pulled out the little blue box. “You remember this?”
Britt took it and lifted the necklace out of its cotton bedding. She traced the letter A with her fingernail. “Of course I remember this.”
Their eyes met for a second. Court nodded, wanting her to continue.
“She wore it all the time. She told me she had pointed it out to you a couple of times. She didn’t think you were even paying attention. When you gave it to her? That’s when she fell in love with you, you know?”
“Are you saying she wasn’t in love with me before I gave her the necklace?”
“I’m saying that’s when she really fell in love. She knew, but she wasn’t sure. Do you get what I’m saying?”
Court ran both hands through his hair and laughed. “Oddly enough, I do. I want you to have it.”
Britt clasped her hand around the necklace, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you, Court. But, why not keep it yourself?”
“I can’t wear it. It’s too girly for me. And I don’t want to drape it over a photo or something like some sort of altar.” He shrugged. “I don’t want it hidden away and unused. I’ve kept my memories of Amanda and Bailey squashed down for too long. I want to look back and think about the good stuff. I can’t do that if I bury everything in drawers. You were best friends, and when she died, I was too wrapped up in my loss to see how much it hurt you.”
Britt put the necklace on. “I’m sure people will wonder why I’m wearing an A around my neck, but then, it will give me a chance to talk about her, too.”
Court wrapped his arms around her and his head dropped to her shoulder. They sat there, quietly holding each other until Morgan and Mandy rushed inside. They held up the newspaper with Court’s picture on the front and demanded to see his stitches.
72
Court knocked on the door of Allegiance Investments. Karen opened it right away; he had texted her from outside the building he was on his way up. She looked past him, scanning the hallway for curious lurkers.
“You have people giving you a hard time?” he asked.
“One of my neighbors has been hanging around his door a lot. Asked me for a tour this morning.”
“Would that have been the psychologist on the corner?”
Court could see how men would pay for the privilege of making her smile.
“How’d you guess? Come on in.”
There hadn’t been much to pack up to begin with, but the shelves in the front office were all empty of their little statues and books. Four neatly labeled boxes sat on the desk ready to go.
“Come on into the studio. I’m almost finished.”
Four huge wardrobe boxes were stationed under the hook in the ceiling; her costumes were shoved in tight. She had thrown shoes in around the base and sides, filling up the bases.
“How’re the kids doing?”
Karen pulled one of the plastic bins out of an upper cupboard and placed it directly in a box, labeled it with the code name on the bin. “Brian is anxious. He’s old enough to know what’s going on. It’s going to take some time to forget some crazy man trying to shoot him. But, I actually think he’s more upset about Aspen getting shot. Sophie’s broken leg will be out of its cast in a few weeks.” She closed the flaps over the box, deftly pulling tape across the top. “I think I’ll be spending some money on therapists. But, we’ll be okay.”
“And Aspen? She looked pretty bad.”
“Oh, that dog will live forever. She’s going to be fine. She’ll have a limp.” She shrugged. “As a parent, the worry over a pet isn’t as heart-wrenching as it used to be.”
“Do you want his cat?”
Karen stopped what she was doing, looking at him as if she hadn’t heard him right. “Jarvis’s cat? Seriously?”
Why had he asked her like that? It was a stupid idea, but it had popped out without much thought. “I told him I’d find him a home.”
“Hell no. I don’t want anything to do with him, ever again. And I’m definitely not taking care of that man’s cat.”
“He’s cut a deal with the prosecutor. No trial in exchange for a life sentence.”
She crossed her arms, studying him for a few uneasy seconds. “You’re a kind person, Court. I’m surprised he didn’t go the insanity route. I’m disappointed. Audrey Drummond doesn’t get to face the man who killed her husband?”
“Nope. But, I think justice is being done. He’s a messed-up guy who’s taking blame for more than he probably actually did. Once we got him inside he totally broke down.”
He pulled the stack of checks out of his shirt pocket. “I got clearance to give these to you. Should help your … transition.”
Karen shuffled through the checks, shaking her head. “What was he thinking?”
“Mrs. Drummond thought maybe it was his way of taking care of you. He wasn’t planning on coming back after last week. His family was expecting some huge gathering on Sunday. He was going to kill himself.”
Karen stuffed the checks into to her purse. “He was one of the gentlest men I had ever met.”
Court picked up one of the flat boxes and formed it into shape, taped the bottom and flipped it over ready to fill. He repeated the maneuver with three more boxes.
Karen dropped a plastic bin into one of the boxes he’d taped together, the tell-tale redness around her nose and eyes the only proof she’d been crying.
“What are you doing with your … practice?” Court wasn’t sure what to call her business. It was sort of therapeutic, what she did.
“I like that. Practice. Half my clients fired me. I told the rest I’m retiring.” She used the tape gun to indicate the space they were in. “There is no way I could work here again. Not after seeing Berkeley…” She shuddered and closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. “Besides, that idiot at News 7 gave everyone a very clear view of what building I’m in, my legal name, and showed everyone my house. No anonymity left in this location. Not with my face being all over the news.”
“Are you moving away?”
“No. I think I’ll be looking for something else to do. Go back to school, maybe. I’ve got considerable savings and the cash Berkeley left me.”
“What about your house? The damage the tree had done must be expensive.”
“Insurance will cover it. We’re moving into the apartment I normally use while Robbie has the kids. They’ll move back and forth for a few weeks until the repairs are done.”
They worked together in companionable silence, filling and taping boxes in a steady order. After an hour, they were done. Court looked around the room, now stacked with neat boxes ready to be hauled to somewhere new.
He held out his hand to her. “There’s no trial with the guilty plea. So, I think this is it. You don’t have to ever talk to me again.”
She side-stepped his hand, slipping in to hug him. “I’ve been trying to find a way to thank you for saving my life. But, the only thing I can think of is this.”
She linked her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his. A simple, sweet kiss to start. When she leaned back, asking with her eyes, he didn’t step back or try to disengage. Her breasts pressed into his chest as she kissed him again.
He held her close, shifting the kiss into a need-driven exploration. Their tongues danced in each other’s mouths, testing and probing with the delicious freshness of someone new. He pulled away before he got in so deep he wouldn’t be able to remove himself.
“You’re welcome?” he said,
dazed by the sudden and unexpected interaction. He tucked a hair that had come loose behind her ear.
She chuckled softly, putting a hand against his cheek. “Would it be wrong of me to ask you out? Now the case is closed?”
There was something incredible about the way she looked at him. The feel, the touch of her. It was always a self-esteem boost to have a gorgeous woman come on to him. It wasn’t something he let happen very often; he never got this close to a woman without giving her some clue to what she was getting into. The vibe he was getting from her was one of pure interest. One of pure attraction. Physical attraction. To him. Nothing complicated about it. Not on her end, anyway.
Madeline. Karen. So many issues with both women. Karen was a professional dominatrix—a sex-worker. He’d seen the photos on the wall, and there were some things he wasn’t sure he could handle.
“Not wrong, but I have to decline. You’re a beautiful and fascinating woman, Karen, but…” he turned her hand palm-up and kissed it gently, already feeling like a heel for his judgmental crap excuses. “I don’t think it would work out. You’re…business…I’m a cop. It’s complicated. I’m seeing someone.” He ended with the lamest excuse in the book, his voice trailing off.
She obviously didn’t buy it. Karen placed her hands on his shoulders and squeezed them, one delicious eyebrow lifting in obvious amusement. “Let me know when you change your mind.”
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank everyone in my life who has supported me through the process of getting Bound to Die into the world. Friends and family have heard me talk about this book for a long time, and their encouragement has buoyed my spirits through some hard times.
My beta readers and my writing group have read any number of versions of this book over the last few years. Thank you all for your fine attention to detail, your inspiration, and your unfailing honesty--Patrick Callahan, Jayson Caracciolo, Sandy Esene, Michael Gooding, Heidi Hostetter, Bridget Norquist, Ann Reckner, Emma Rockenbeck, Heather Stewart McCurdy, Elizabeth Visser, Charlotte Morganti, and Terri Thomas. Your insights, questions, and willingness to thwap me upside the head have helped make this a better book than I could possibly have done on my own.
My editors Jason Black at Plot to Punctuation, Jim Thomsen Creative and Margy Rockenbeck have helped me plug plot holes and repair structural damage. Without them, this book would have been a complete mess. Thank you for your fine attention to detail!
Many thanks to Scott Driscoll, Kathleen Alcala, and Pam Binder for their teaching and mentoring. My craft would be crap without your coaching and support.
The folks at TCOPS international answered tons and tons of questions—not only about what it might be like to be a transmale detective, but general police procedure. TCOPS International supports transgender police who suffer unique challenges as they transition—at home and in the workplace. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Lee Lofland and all the instructors at The Writer’s Police Academy—your willingness to open up the cop world to writers is awesome. A special shout-out to ex-ATF agent Rick McMahan for answering all my gun questions. Jeff Roberts, thank you for taking me to Wade’s and letting me shoot all your guns. It was a blast.
Finally, my family gets the biggest hugs. Margy and Dave, my in-laws have donated their time-share many times to provide me a space for mini writing retreats. They’ve been there for my kids while I was away—feeding them, driving them, and doing whatever I wasn’t doing because I was writing. Bill, Emma, and Eli—my husband and children--have supported me through this journey and put up with many night classes and my being away for days at a time. They’re probably sick of Court and Ivy and all of it, but continue to cheer me on. I love you all.
About the Author
Laurie Rockenbeck was raised a Navy brat and moved around a lot as a kid. She lives near Seattle with her family, two cats and four chickens. She graduated with a degree in journalism and quickly learned that writing fiction was a lot more fun. With a grandmother who started every story with This is a true lie..., there is no doubt that story-telling and exaggeration are part of her genetic make-up. She is creating a mystery series set in Seattle featuring a transmale detective and a professional dominatrix turned private investigator. Rockenbeck has her private investigation license but prefers writing about made up cases to investigating real ones.
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www.laurierockenbeck.com
Also By Laurie Rockenbeck
A serial killer is terrorizing Seattle
* * *
Private investigator Karen Hunter agrees to locate a teen who has gone missing.
His mother is frantic to find the son she kicked out for being gay before he becomes the killer’s next victim.
Karen encounters layers of lies from suspicious teens and the sleazy adults who prey upon them.
When she realizes she’s out of her depth, Karen enlists the aid of homicide detective Court Pearson, the only cop she can trust.
As the evidence pushes Karen closer to the killer, Court tells her to concentrate on finding the kid before she gets hurt and let the cops handle the big stuff.
Convinced the teen is in danger, Karen presses ahead, risking her career and life to save him.
Bound to Die Page 32