He wedged the phone between his shoulder and his ear still trying to cram the offending thesis into the bag. The phone stopped ringing. Someone had picked up the line, but no one spoke.
“Hello?” he said, irritated.
“Agent Marshall?”
He knew that voice. He passed out drunk the night before still hearing it. “Oh, hey. Hi, Ms. Meara. How…how are you?” Luke juggled the briefcase and the stack of paper he still hadn’t managed to stash while trying to bring the phone closer to his ear.
“Are you busy?”
“Nope,” he replied without hesitating.
“You look busy.”
Luke’s head snapped up. Tully stood a few feet away looking at him. She looked amused. She looked perfect.
“Hi…hello,” he breathed.
She gave him a cautious smile. The night before was still fresh, and they both stood in awkward silence for a few moments. Then Tully nodded toward his arched shoulder trying to keep his cell phone from hitting the concrete.
“You need some help?”
“Nope. Got it.” Luke muscled the paper into the bag feeling it crinkle and rip. There would be some straightening out to do come next week.
TWENTY-ONE
“What are you…I mean. Why did you call?” Luke couldn’t stop the question. He hoped it wouldn’t scare her away. He didn’t ask why she looked so good. That was stupid. He rolled his shoulders back and acted cool, painfully aware of the frayed sweatpants he’s thrown on after his shower.
She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. It was clear why she had come. It was an attempt to convince him of her partner’s innocence. Or maybe she was campaigning on his behalf. Luke didn’t care.
“I was wondering if we could talk. Again. Maybe sober this time.”
She seemed to struggle with what to say next. Luke felt like he needed to fill the silence. “Oh, okay. What did you want to….”
“I’m sorry about last night,” she blurted out. “I’m a miserable little shit when I drink.”
Luke threw his head back and laughed. True to character, she ripped it off.
She must have known blue was her color because she was wearing it again. Her blue tank top exposed toned arms and made her eyes bluer. Tight, ripped up jeans showed more leg than jeans are supposed to, and her high, messy bun frizzed a little in the humid air.
Luke looked down. Her shoes caught his attention. Next to her casual garb, the strappy heels stood out. They were patent leather, and so high he had trouble looking away. Then he remembered his shame the night before and cleared his throat. “Can I change first?”
“Sure.” A small smile made the scar pucker ever so slightly. The second his eyes flicked to it, her smile vanished. He cleared his throat and turned toward his hotel. Tully fell in a step behind.
They walked in silence. In the lobby, he fished in his pocket for his room key.
“I’ll wait here,” she said, not looking at him.
Luke nodded and bounded up the stairs hoping she wouldn’t change her mind. Deciding what to wear was an aggravating chore since he had no idea where they were going. A collared shirt seemed wrong next to her casual look, so he settled on his favorite pair of tattered jeans and his favorite t-shirt. It didn’t matter what he looked like anyway.
He checked the mirror as he passed it. There was no time to shave so he’d have to rock the scruffy look. He spiked his hair, splashed a little cologne on and decided it would do. Luke sprinted to the elevator. When it didn’t come fast enough, he took the stairs.
At the bottom, he peeked through the narrow door window to see if she was still there. Tully stood gazing out the windows without really seeing anything. She picked at the corner of her large clutch, the tension in her body telegraphing across the room.
Luke pushed the door open and pretended to stop himself from a run down the stairs. At the noise, Tully swung around. As he closed the distance between them, she made no effort to hide the uncertainty. She was having second thoughts about coming here.
He grinned and felt like an idiot but went with it. Anything to put her at ease. “I hope you know a good place to eat, otherwise it’s gonna be a hamburger.”
“What do you like?” She didn’t relax, but no longer looked like she might bolt.
“Food,” he grinned at her again. “I haven’t eaten much today.”
“There’s a place further down Bay Street. Southern Fusion.”
“Perfect.” Luke pushed open the lobby door and held it as she passed. “Do we need the car?”
“It’s three blocks,” she gestured down the street. “And parking’s terrible.”
He motioned for her to lead the way, and she headed for the crosswalk like she was on a mission. She strode across Bull Street without looking. Luke looked for both of them and hurried to catch up with her.
“Hey, slow down.” He hooked his fingers into the crook of her elbow and immediately regretted it.
She flinched and pulled away from his touch. They stopped outside a brewery with loud country music pumping from the dark interior.
“I’m sorry,” he said, yanking his hand away. “I’m sorry. You seem a little….”
“It’s fine,” she stated, her voice flat.
Luke shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t touch her again, but he had to keep talking. It was not going well. He needed to keep her from realizing this was a mistake. Which it was. “And don’t worry about last night. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
Luke meant to keep talking, but the words stuck in his throat when he realized any conversation led to his suspicions about her partner. It was the only reason he even knew her. It figured, the one time he met a woman he wanted to talk to, this is what he had to discuss.
He meant what he said last night. They shouldn’t be talking outside official channels, but the thought of not following her to that restaurant was unacceptable. Simple as that.
Simple. Really? How was jeopardizing the case that could salvage or destroy his career, to see a woman, simple? In the past twenty-four hours, Luke ceased to recognize his own behavior. He was risking his investigation for a pretty face.
If he lost concentration now, he could kiss his job goodbye. The Assistant Director slot was never going to happen after the bridges he’d torched but never mind that. He wouldn’t be employed if he dropped another case. The reason wouldn’t matter.
“Are you okay?”
Luke’s head snapped up and he saw Tully studying him. She looked suspicious. “Is something wrong?”
“Yep. Probably why we get along so well.” He grinned at her.
She turned her scarred check away, but he saw her smile. “Yeah, right.”
“Until you try to punch me, I’m declaring victory.”
She started walking again. Luke followed, keeping his distance. Thad would have a solid month of material if he ever got wind of how flustered Luke was right now.
Soon they approached a centuries old storefront. Chunky white molding updated the aged brick and distinguished the restaurant from the Civil War era warehouse it was attached to. Black gooseneck lights curved over the heavy oak door splashing light on the word TIDEWATER in sleek black font.
Intimate candlelight glowed through the seeded glass, illuminating diners in leather booths. Laughter and the clink of silverware drifted out when Luke opened the door. The smell of a grill in full swing made their mouths water.
“You sure they can get us in? It looks busy.” Luke craned his neck to see the dining room.
“They’ll find a spot,” Tully said. She approached the young man at the podium who smiled and chatted with her. When he saw Luke scowling at him, the man became engrossed with his smeared dry erase map.
Ten minutes later, they slid into a corner booth and the conversation lagged until their waiter came to fill their water glasses and take the drink order. After he left, Luke cleared his throat. “Listen, I really am sorry about yesterday. That whole thing was screw
ed up.”
“Stop apologizing. I shouldn’t have….” She paused as the server set two whiskeys in front of them. “Your partner is an ignorant pup, but I probably shouldn’t have tried to punch him.” She grabbed one and took a sip. It seemed to calm her.
“He inspires that in people.” Luke grinned at her and took the other whiskey. “You’re not the first.”
She gave an emphatic nod making Luke chuckle. “So,” he said, “I guess now I have to ask you about yourself. And you reply with how many siblings you have and where you fall in the age order of said siblings, and how you feel about long walks on the beach. All the shit nobody cares about, but you have to ask to be polite.”
“Don’t do that. That sounds like a date.” Tully fished the small ice cube out of her whiskey and crunched on it.
“Yeah, it does.”
“This is not a date.” She pointed at him.
“Then why did you wear those shoes?” It was a joke, but Luke saw her shoulders hunch forward like she was suddenly self-conscious. Luke began to doubt his initial assessment of her trying to manipulate him. She was a contradiction of determination and indecisiveness. He changed his opinion of her as often as she looked away from him. “So how many siblings do you have?”
She choked on her ice and chuckled in spite of her embarrassment.
Luke smiled at her. “How many years have you been a police officer? Do you like it? Is it hard being a female cop? Blah, blah, blah.” His easy tone seemed to work.
“What? You’re not gonna ask how old I am?”
“Hell, no. You have to keep it non personal.”
“Non personal? I thought this was a date.”
“You can’t suck me in,” Luke said. “If I ask how old you are, you’ll say, ‘how old do you think I am?’. Then I’m the shmuck because if I guess too low, that will imply that I think you’re immature. If I guess too high, then you’re old and weathered. Either way, I lose that round.”
Tully’s shoulders released as she drained her glass then held it up to the waiter. He nodded from across the room. It seemed they couldn’t talk to each other without copious amounts of liquid courage. “That’s a cute little speech, but we both know it’s horse shit.”
Luke almost spat out his whiskey. “Pardon?”
“You don’t have to ask do you?” She leaned in. “You already know.”
Luke’s stunned silence answered her. He wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t start fighting him again.
Instead, she smiled. “Hit me with it.”
“You’re pretty blunt.”
“I don’t like games.”
Her expression was halfway between annoyed and fascinated. It was exhausting trying to figure out her motivation for showing up tonight. He finished his whiskey and sat back.
“Okay then. I did look you up. You’re a decorated 16-year veteran with as many reprimands as you have commendations. A loose cannon with a tendency to blow off whatever you don’t like in favor of something you think is better. I didn’t research that, by the way, that’s strictly observation. No doubt you’ve thumped your share of garden variety bad guys within an inch of their lives.”
Luke grinned at her. “You are thirty-six years old, and in ’09 you took a bullet in the line of duty. I see a catch in your step every now and then, so I’d say it still bothers you. And you drink too much.”
“Very good, G-man.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“What should I call you? Asshole?”
“Luke,” said Luke.
“That’s right. This is a date.”
“As for your scar.” Luke could tell that was a topic he wasn’t allowed to bring up. “I don’t know what happened. And frankly, it’s not my business.”
Surprised and visibly pleased at his easy candor, she opened her mouth to speak but the waiter stepped next to the table and delivered two more whiskeys. They spent the next few minutes looking between him and the menu.
When he left, Tully set in on her second glass. She settled back into her seat with a sigh of pleasure. “A loose cannon, huh? That’s a little harsh.”
“It wasn’t an insult.”
Her smile was beautiful but awkward. Like she wasn’t used to using it.
“The decoration was me and Pete being stupid.”
“And the reprimands?”
She ran a finger around the rim of her glass but didn’t answer.
Luke shrugged. “Sometimes stupid is the right thing to do.”
“Stupid or not, I at least have the grace to accept civic recognition when it’s given to me.”
Her smug look spread as his surprised registered. “You’re not the only one who did their homework.” She leaned in. “Why does someone turn down the Congressional Medal of Honor?”
It was Luke’s turn to drain his glass. “Didn’t deserve it.”
“Well, that clears things right up.”
“I didn’t think that going into the desert with eight men and coming out with three merited any positive recognition.”
She raised an eyebrow but let him talk.
“It’s scrap.” Luke looked at the wavy glass. “Medals are society’s way of making themselves feel better about sending others to dodge the bullets. For sending young men to be cannon fodder while they sleep on thousand thread count sheets. Nothing more than a giant middle finger to those the powerful view as unimportant enough to do a job they never would. You should know that better than anyone.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.
“That’s not true.” She scowled, but her prickly demeanor softened.
Luke looked back to see her studying him. “Trust me, it is.”
“The Congressional Medal of Honor is not just any medal. And it definitely isn’t scrap. What happened?” Not a trace of sarcasm or anger. Just curiosity.
“We walked into an ambush. Five of my men, including my best friend were mowed down. It was my team, and they were my responsibility. I failed them. That doesn’t deserve a slap on the back. It’s really not complicated.”
“You can’t ensure anyone’s safety in war.”
“Doesn’t take away our responsibility.”
“Yes, it does,” said Tully. “That’s a lie we tell ourselves. So we can postpone thinking about a dead friend. People die in war, but we say it won’t happen to us if we fight hard enough. It’s an illusion as old as war itself.”
“Like heroism,” said Luke.
“No. Heroism is real. But it masquerades as guilt.” She laughed bitterly.
“Can you go one hour without starting a fight?”
“I’m not starting a fight,” Tully said. “It never ceases to amaze me how good men take on the responsibilities of evil men. It’s not your fault they died, but you volunteer for the blame.”
“It’s not that simple,” said Luke softly.
“I know. I’m just sayin.” She fell silent.
“Failing to protect the innocent isn’t something you should be rewarded for.” Luke tipped his glass forgetting it was empty. He frowned at it.
“Oh?” She sat back thoughtful. “Huh.”
“What?”
“That’s an antiquated notion.”
“What is?”
“That anyone is innocent.”
Luke’s brow furrowed. “Not everyone is guilty.”
“There’s no difference,” Tully said pursing her lips.
“What are you talking about? Of course there’s a difference.”
“No. There are three types of people. Those that need to go to jail. Those that don’t need to go to jail. And the people I actually care about. But no one is innocent.”
“Oversimplification seems to be your wheelhouse.”
“It’s true,” she insisted.
“No, it isn’t. What about everyone else?”
“There is no one else. You wanna talk about an illusion. It’s innocence. It doesn’t exist, it never has. All of us are rotten at our core. At any point, no one is
more than a couple of bad decisions away from being society’s worst. The only thing distinguishing good from bad is that some fight their nature, and some are consumed by it. We view it as guilt or innocence, but it’s choices we make. No one is innocent.”
He studied her for a moment. Restrained ferocity stretched her eyes wide. Her chest rose and fell like she was out of breath. She sat forward, her hands clenching the edge of the leather seat. Clearly, he’d brought up a touchy topic. He didn’t mean to. Conversing with this woman was a minefield.
“That’s not how I see it,” he said.
“How do you see it, G-man?”
Luke leaned back and met her gaze for a moment before continuing. “I’m not talking about perfection. By that definition, you’re right, no one is innocent. Everyone agrees that children are innocent, but a schoolyard bully doesn’t really fit your definition.”
“I’m almost certain you’re trying to make a point,” her voice dripped sarcasm.
“Some people get what’s coming to them and we call it justice. And some get crushed by circumstances they didn’t create. That isn’t justice. All I’m saying is, not everyone earns the fate they draw.”
The sarcastic expression died on her face. She avoided his eyes and studied the brick wall behind him. “Like bleeding out in a desert,” she said in a low voice.
“Or a police station parking lot,” said Luke. “The Captain told me about the ambush. I know what Pete meant to you, Tully. I do.”
She started when he said her partner’s name. It took her a second to speak, and when she did her voice was thick. “The first round shattered my hip. I was pinned down next to a three-foot cinderblock wall. I couldn’t move. Pete low crawled to me and carried me out with bullets flying all around us.” Tully’s hands were clasped in a tight ball in her lap. “And when he needed me, I wasn’t there.”
“See, you blame yourself too.”
Something snapped, and her eyes flew to his. They were dark. “I know you think he killed that senator, but he didn’t. I know that’s why you’re here and you’re wrong.”
The Last Innocent Page 18