by V. K. Powell
Regret and pain laced Bennett’s tone. She scanned the room but couldn’t look at Kerstin. She’d hit a nerve. “I assumed—”
“Don’t assume anything about me based on the past. You’ll probably be wrong, and we’ve already established you don’t want me to clarify any misconceptions.”
Kerstin couldn’t let it go. Something urged her to dig deeper to understand Bennett. “You’re in charge of officers and assignments, but you went into that house yesterday not knowing if the man was armed. You could’ve ordered someone else in.”
“I don’t ask my officers to do something I wouldn’t do myself.” Bennett’s shoulders relaxed as if the comment released part of her burden. “It’s my job.”
“You’re required to distribute assignments and assure the work gets done, not necessarily do it yourself. It’s called delegation.” Her battling emotions had tricked Kerstin into a discussion they shouldn’t be having, and the pain on Bennett’s face made her regret it even more. “I’m sorry, Bennett. I guess the excitement yesterday affected me more than I thought. I have no right to question your life. I couldn’t be a police officer, facing the unknown, risking my life for strangers, never sure if I’d go home again. Policing takes courage, and I don’t even stand up to my arrogant boss.”
“Really?”
“Let’s not go there.” She couldn’t stop probing into Bennett’s life while cautiously guarding her own. “Is the man okay? I heard he’s a friend of yours.”
“George McIntyre. He has type-two diabetes and didn’t know. He’ll be fine if he listens to the doctors.” The corners of Bennett’s mouth curved into a smile, revealing those damn sexy dimples. “So, you were worried about me yesterday?”
“Let’s get back to the project.” Bennett’s crooked smile and the invitation in her eyes ignited something in Kerstin. Should she give in to Bennett’s charisma and enjoy a more congenial working relationship, maybe even a few nights of pleasure? Then what? No. She’d satisfy her sexual needs back in New York, where she’d be safe from entanglements. She pulled the architectural plans out of her tote and pointed to the small conference table in the corner. “Shall we?” She’d almost given in and touched Bennett when she exposed her vulnerability. Damn it, she couldn’t afford such emotional lapses. It was time to get this meeting back on solid ground and concentrate on facts instead of fickle feelings.
“Does that mean you’re actually willing to work together now?”
“I need this project to complete my portfolio.”
“And I need it for my position. So it’s all about our jobs.” Before Kerstin could respond, Bennett asked, “Does this mean we can clear the air about our past as well?”
“No.”
“You’ve asked some pretty personal questions. Turnabout is fair play.”
“Not at all.” But Bennett was right. Kerstin had pried into her life but quickly slammed the door the minute Bennett ventured across her boundaries. This wasn’t high school where open, trusting Bennett and curious, optimistic Kerstin matched each other tit for tat. Talking about the past opened doors she needed to remain closed. “Let’s get to work.” She’d been right about Bennett needing to prove something, and not only to the police department. Would she be wrong to admit her motivation? Revealing the truth would expose her to emotions, temptations, and eventually failures she couldn’t afford.
Bennett joined her at the table. “Okay, work it is. Hope I don’t let either of us down.”
“You’ll catch up quickly.” Kerstin rolled the plans flat and handed Bennett a folder. “Here’s the original brief, the department’s statement of needs.” Bennett paused before accepting the papers, possibly afraid of what she might find or maybe what she didn’t know. “And thanks for breakfast. Definitely an amazing sandwich.” Kerstin was anxious to be back in control, not swirling around in Bennett’s dangerous and emotionally charged world. She breathed a sigh of relief, ran her hands over the textured floor plans, and settled into her rhythm.
Bennett opened the file and stared at the first page, pretending to concentrate while taking a few seconds to calm her emotions. Kerstin’s questions threw her off kilter. Jazz was usually the only person who read her so easily. Kerstin had possessed the knack in high school, but Bennett practiced shielding her feelings after joining the police department. Working with Kerstin and remaining all business might be difficult because she’d glimpsed the warmth and concern beneath her cool, professional exterior. She even offered Bennett a napkin, just like in the old days when she’d ruined T-shirts by wiping her mouth down the sleeve. Something was still there between them, but how to get Kerstin to see it?
She redirected her attention to the file, which read like an administrative course on doublespeak. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Have you read this?”
“I concentrated on the architectural plans, assuming Gilbert and Warren had addressed the details. Is there a problem?”
“Listen to this. ‘It’s imperative to balance secure internal space and publicly accessible space for the mission of the department. The building must be designed to make visitors feel welcome, while ensuring officer and departmental safety.’ Have you ever heard such a load of total crap?”
“We advise our clients to use broad strokes in the initial statement of needs, which allows the architects more flexibility on the planning end.”
Bennett raked her hand through her hair, trying not to lash out. Kerstin wasn’t at fault because Arthur Warren had no idea what officers needed in a substation. “So where did the specifics you have on this plan come from? You do have specifics at this point.”
“Of course.” Kerstin didn’t look as certain as she sounded. Her azure eyes scanned the drawing as if searching for something concrete. “There.” She pointed to a street view of the plan.
Bennett leaned closer, inhaling Kerstin’s light citrus perfume. Their shoulders brushed and reminded Bennett of lazy afternoons sprawled across a single bed, barely touching, while they pored over their senior project. The memory stoked warmth and comfort in her chest and an unfamiliar burn lower. She settled into the natural-feeling closeness until Kerstin pulled away. “What are you pointing to at the front of the building?”
“The main entrance.”
“But that’s all glass.”
“Yes.”
“We’ve found our first change. A glass front invites trouble, and besides, the main public entrance is on the parking-lot side, not off this street. A single metal door with restricted access would work better and save a lot of money. This area,” she pointed to the space inside the current glassy front, “should be a small canteen with snack machines for the officers.”
“A canteen?” Kerstin flipped through the other pages of the floor plans and back to the front. “I don’t see a canteen, but here’s a cafeteria at the back for—”
“Seriously? A cafeteria? We haven’t discussed a cafeteria in any of our proposed substations. We don’t have money to up fit a full kitchen, for staff or food.”
“If these first two things are so wrong, what else might need changing?” Kerstin shook her head, and confusion, plus something deeper, crossed her face.
Bennett started toward her but stopped. This was work. Kerstin was work. For the first time since she’d returned, Kerstin looked rattled and uncertain, and Bennett desperately wanted to reassure her.
“This can’t be right. Maybe I picked up the wrong set of plans.” She checked the date in the corner of each page. “Current.” Her full lips pressed together in a tight line as she studied the file she’d shown Bennett. “We have to make corrections quickly. Every day the contractors aren’t on site, we’re losing money and falling behind on the timeline.”
“The chief really wants this station open for National Night Out in August.”
“Normally that would give us plenty of time, but…”
“B-but?” Bennett’s throat was suddenly so dry she ha
d to force the single word out. Delays translated not only into loss of money and time but to failure, her failure. “We have a meeting with the full project committee soon. Maybe we should let them weigh in before we move forward.”
“No!” Kerstin’s high-pitched objection was almost a shout. “I mean, let’s investigate on our own first. We shouldn’t sound a false alarm if we have only the two issues. Right?”
Bennett really wanted a second opinion but blamed her apprehension on inexperience with an assignment of this type and magnitude. She’d follow her gut and trust Kerstin’s expertise for the time being. They both deserved this chance. “What do you suggest?”
“I’ll check the initial paperwork on the project and make sure I haven’t missed anything. Then we’ll visit the site and see how far along the builders are on the renovations in the two areas we’ve identified. How about a walk-through the first of next week?”
“Next week? Why not right now?” Bennett didn’t want to explain to the chief why the builders weren’t working every day on his pet project.
Kerstin stood and gathered the plans together. “I understand you’re anxious to move this along, and so am I, but the original files are in New York, which is where I’ll be for a few days. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Here’s my cell number.” She handed Bennett a business card and started toward the door.
“Kerstin, it’s the first glitch in a long and involved process. We’ve got this.”
“You’re right, of course.” But the fire of excitement had dimmed in Kerstin’s eyes, replaced by a darker shade of doubt.
As the door closed behind her, Bennett hoped she’d sounded more enthusiastic than she felt. If the tension between them and the problems they’d found were any indication of things to come, she and Kerstin were in for a rough ride.
Chapter Six
Bennett hadn’t heard from Kerstin in four days, and the anxiety of waiting drained her worse than manual labor. In the meantime, the substation site stood vacant, all work at a standstill. She’d almost called Kerstin several times for an update but didn’t want to ratchet her stress level with unnecessary pressure. The silver lining today was family brunch, and George McIntyre joined them for the first time in months.
“Ryan, say grace so we can eat,” G-ma said.
“Grace?” Ryan shuffled like any eleven-year-old put on the spot, probably wondering like everybody else why certain Sunday brunches deserved a blessing and others didn’t.
“Yes, please.”
Ryan glanced up at his mother, got a nod, and bowed his head. “Rub-a-dub-dub, thanks for the grub. Yeah, God.” He giggled and reached for his milk.
“Good enough.” G-ma raised her mimosa in a toast. “I love having our table full of friends and family. Welcome back, George.” She’d lost too many people in her life, and George had almost been added to the list.
“Thank you, Norma. I wouldn’t be here if your girls hadn’t helped me out the other day.”
Mama gave Bennett one of her what-the-hell-is-he-talking-about expressions. She needed to head off more questions before the situation became uncomfortable for George. “Jazz and I helped with some insurance issues. No big deal. Let’s eat.” She winked at George and passed him the platter of bacon.
“So, how’s the substation coming along?” Jazz asked, smoothing the distinctive shock of white hair along her ear. Not the best topic at the moment, but she was helping divert attention from George’s situation.
“I haven’t seen much activity the past few days on our runs over that way,” Mama said. “Is something wrong?”
“Not really. Kerstin is checking the original plans to ensure we’re on the same page before we continue. Our predecessors may have been a little lax with details.”
“Kerstin?” Dylan turned sideways in her chair and stared at Bennett. “Kerstin Anthony, as in your old high school heartthrob?”
Simon almost sprayed his mimosa across the table. “Do people still use that word?”
“A better question is since when do we grill each other about personal matters in front of company?” Stephanie asked, wiping a dab of ketchup from Riley’s chin.
“As long as I’ve been joining this family for Sunday brunches.” Vanessa Brandon, Simon’s lesbro at the firehouse, offered her two cents.
Simon punched her on the arm. “That’s because you’re not a guest, Van. You’re family.”
Between chews George added, “I’d forgotten how entertaining your family meals are.”
“Et tu, Brute?” Bennett gave him a pointed stare, but he shrugged and smiled, a very welcome sight.
Dylan waved her napkin in the air. “Point of freaking order. Back to the original question, please. Are you talking about that Kerstin Anthony? For real?”
Everyone at the table kept eating, but their eyes were on Bennett. “Yes, and before any of you wander down some matchmaking trail, we’re working together. That’s all.”
Dylan shook her head. “You moped around for months over her, and all we get when she reappears after seventeen years is ‘we’re working together’?”
“All there is to say.” Bennett cast her mother a pleading glance. She didn’t want to revisit that time in her heart and mind, and definitely not in front of family and friends.
“I remember Kerstin,” Mama said. “Invite her over for a meal sometime to welcome her home.”
Not exactly the help Bennett hoped for. “She’s not home, Mama. She’s the architect on this job. When the contract ends, she’ll go back to wherever she lives now.”
Dylan scooted her chair closer. “So, she’s an architect. That’s pretty cool, right?”
“She was always the smartest one in the class,” Jazz added. “Makes sense.” She passed Bennett a basket of fresh bread. “Does anybody care about my first few days as a new district lieutenant?”
Bennett shot Jazz a grateful smile for taking the heat off her. She grabbed a slab of bread, smeared it with warm butter, and took a bite. She glanced sideways, and Dylan was giving her one of her psych-rotation-doctor stares, but she ignored it.
After brunch, G-ma announced, “Everybody to the front porch if you want coffee or tea. Gayle, Bennett, and I will bring it out.”
Jazz gave Bennett an apologetic shrug as she passed. “See you on the flip side, if you make it.”
Being sandwiched between G-ma and Mama in the kitchen meant a chat about things she didn’t want to discuss but couldn’t escape. Bennett took drink orders and followed the matriarchs into the kitchen. “Two chamomile teas, the rest coffee.”
G-ma pushed the coffeepot button, and Mama started the electric kettle. Then they both turned to Bennett, and G-ma said, “So, has Kerstin changed?”
Bennett couldn’t weasel out of answering their questions. It was either now or later. Might as well get it over with. “She’s still gorgeous, smart, and as driven as ever.”
“But?” Mama asked, her hand resting lightly on Bennett’s forearm.
“She seems more cautious, maybe even suspicious, and definitely less optimistic than I remember. And she’s standoffish, almost cold, at least with me.”
Mama placed cups on a serving tray, Bennett filled them with coffee and hot water, and G-ma dropped in the tea bags. “You two were close in school, despite the money differences between our families. I thought you’d end up together. You didn’t talk about what happened.” The unasked question lingered, a dense cloud hanging between them. “You were brokenhearted for a very long time.”
“I don’t know what happened, Mama. I brought up the past a couple of times, but she shut me down. I’d really like to have the conversation someday.” How much she wanted to surprised her.
G-ma brushed her hand down Bennett’s back. “Sounds like she’s been hurt too. Give her time to get to know you again.”
“I’m not sure she wants to. Nothing can happen anyway. It’s complicated.”
“Isn’t it always where the heart is concerned?” G-ma said. “We
’ll see.”
“Hey, where’s my coffee?” Simon called from the front of the house.
“Hold your horses, Paul Simon Carlyle,” Mama answered. She offered Bennett the loaded tray but held on when she tried to take it. “You have your family, and we love you.”
* * *
“Valerie? Valerie, where are you?” Elizabeth called from her bedroom, her voice rising with each syllable.
Kerstin jumped out of bed and ran down the hall. “Mother, I’m here. Are you okay?”
Elizabeth flailed in the covers, her hair wild, and her gaze scanning the room.
“I’m here.” Kerstin placed her hand lightly on her mother’s arm to reassure her.
“Oh…I’m…Kerstin?”
“Val is away for the weekend.” Her mother’s dazed expression reminded Kerstin her recovery was ongoing. “We’re holding down the fort. Ready to get up?”
“Maybe I am.” She looked around as if trying to get her bearings in her bedroom of seventeen years.
“Would you like to shower first or have breakfast?” Her mother’s preferences changed from day to day now, unlike her steadfast routines of the past.
“I’ll shower, dear, then make breakfast.” Elizabeth edged the covers back with her left arm, trying to appear as normal as possible, her limited range of motion slightly improved. “Start the coffee, dear. I’ll be in shortly.”
“Don’t you need help?”
“I’ve showered myself for more years than you’ve been alive. I’ll manage.”
Kerstin kissed her mother’s cheek and returned to her old bedroom, feeling almost as helpless as she had in her younger years. But the past three days with Elizabeth had been much better than she’d hoped. They’d gotten along with minimal problems, and her mother seemed more grateful for her help. Maybe giving Val an occasional break was good for everyone.
She dressed quickly, grabbed the architectural drawings she’d brought home from the office, and headed to the kitchen. After pouring herself a cup of coffee, she studied the documents again, hoping for a different result. She’d been surprised by the lack of details on the original statement of needs and on the plan itself. How had Gilbert gotten by with such incomplete work? Had Leonard even reviewed the design? Maybe she should call Bennett and have her start from scratch with a comprehensive brief. If she had that, an assessment during the walk-through would be easier.