Marrying Mike...Again

by Alicia Scott

  “Or pull out a gun and blow us away,” Koontz said stiffly.

  “It’s possible.”

  “Don’t worry,” Mike told his partner. “I’ll do the talking. You know no one can resist my Cajun charm.”

  “Yeah, like a thirteen-year-old straight shooter is a sucker for bedroom eyes.”

  “Works on you, doesn’t it?”

  “Rawlins, my partnering with you is nothing more than a pity date.”

  “Lasting eight years?”

  “I got a big heart.”

  “Gentlemen,” Sandra interjected. “Not to break up your pillow talk or anything, but I’d like to keep us focused. How close are you to finding Vee?”

  Mike shrugged. “We struck out at the school. They can’t think of anyone who writes like Vee or has a sister with a scarred face. Either she was hit with the bullet after graduating, or she dropped out of school.”

  “Do you have any fresh ideas?”

  “We’re going to try the hospitals next. Of all the information we’ve got, a bullet wound to the face still seems the most unique. Maybe an ER doc or trauma surgeon will remember something.”

  “What about plastic surgeons or orthodontists who are covered by Medicade? If it was a facial wound, some reconstruction was probably done and they see fewer patients than an ER doctor. Their memories might be fresher,” Sandra said.

  Mike looked surprised and impressed. “Nice,” he said thoughtfully. “We’ll do that.”

  “Just trying to help out,” Sandra said, feeling absurdly pleased by the praise. She was drifting closer to Mike when Dr. Mayes spoke up.

  “Might I suggest something?”

  “Please do.”

  “Why don’t you go to the source? You are trying to find a thirteen-year-old gang member. You should talk to the kids on the street.”

  Koontz looked horrified. “Hey Doc, we’re trying to find one of them. No way are they going to give a straight answer.”

  “You assume they are liars?”

  “I assume their interests and ours conflict, and they’ll resolve that conflict by lying, yeah.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. You won’t know until you ask, Detective.”

  Mike clapped his partner on the back. “I’ll do the asking. You just look mean.”

  “Freakin’ job,” Koontz said.

  “Nothing we haven’t done before.”

  “Yeah,” Koontz muttered after a moment. “Yeah.” But Sandra thought something else was still bothering him. She could tell by Mike’s covert glances that he thought the same.

  “Well,” Sandra said after a moment, “I believe we’re done. Dr. Mayes, please come to my office. Rusty and Mike, good luck with the doctors.”

  She ushered Dr. Mayes out of the room. Behind her, Mike whispered in her ear, “Nice suit.”

  Sandra walked faster.

  Chapter 6

  At seven that evening, Sandra was still hunched over her desk. A police radio was on in the corner of her office, volume turned down low. Not much activity tonight, but she could hear tension in her officers’ voices as they called in reports. Everyone was watching and waiting. Fearing what might happen next. It was a hell of a way to perform an already difficult job.

  “Late night.”

  Sandra started, jerking up anxiously, then immediately shook her head.

  “Dammit, Mike, you scared the living daylights out of me.”

  “Really? I wasn’t sure anything had the power to do that.”

  “Trust me, plenty of things do that. Abject poverty, nuclear holocaust, bubonic plague, a Democrat in the White House…”

  “Huh. Just out of curiosity, which part of that list includes me?”

  “Well, you’re not a Democrat in the White House….”

  She let the sentence trail off into a leading silence and he simply grinned. Damn, he looked good. Lounging in her doorway, shoulder snug against the doorjamb, ankles crossed, he sported a casual gray sports jacket over a collarless white shirt and well-worn khakis. The outfit should have looked sloppy and careless. On his powerful build, chest stretching the shirt tight, it simply looked impressive. One lock of black hair dangling over his forehead, five o’clock shadow staining his cheeks. The only way he’d look better would be naked in her bed.

  Sandra set down her pen sharply. Mike took that as an invitation and strode into her office.

  “Anything good on the radio?” he asked, jerking his head toward the scanner as he picked up her stapler and idly ran his thumb across the back.

  “Quiet night.” She forced her gaze away from his callused finger, then away from his hard-muscled chest, then away from his lean waist. The ink blotter. That seemed safe enough.

  “Get the letter done?” Mike asked.

  “Hardest thing I’ve ever written, even with Dr. Mayes’s help,” she said honestly. “It’ll appear in tomorrow’s paper.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be good.”

  “I don’t know anything about thirteen-year-old boys, Mike.”

  “Yeah, Sandy, but you always were a quick study.”

  He set down the stapler. The silence promptly grew tense. Sandra could smell his cologne—spicy, the way she liked it. She could feel the warmth radiating from his large body, and realized for the first time that she’d been cold. The office seemed too small with him in it, the space too quiet, the police department too deserted. It was easy to believe they were the only two people in the building and that, she discovered, was a dangerous thought.

  “How’d it go this afternoon?” she asked finally, valiantly trying to keep her tone professional.

  “Long.” Mike sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Turnover at a city hospital is too high. We only found one doctor who’d been around longer than a year, and she didn’t remember a gunshot wound to the face in that time frame. For some reason the hospital doesn’t want to hand over all its patients’ records, particularly without a date in mind. Tomorrow we’ll go with your advice and try the plastic surgeons and orthodontists. Hopefully we’ll get luckier there.”

  “It’s amazing how easy it is for one child to slip through the system,” Sandra murmured. “No wonder he feels he has no identity.”

  “I have to say, this case isn’t going as easy as planned. But don’t worry. Koontz and I always get our man.” Mike slid his hip onto the edge of her desk and, changing gears, gazed at her frankly.

  “You look tired,” he stated flatly.

  “Long day.” She couldn’t help herself; she started rubbing her neck. Her shoulder muscles were ungodly tight. She hadn’t realized just how long she’d been hunched over her desk until now. And, she realized an instant later, that was why she was reacting to her ex-husband so strongly. She was stressed, feeling as though the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. Mike had always been wonderfully inventive about coming up with ways of easing that tension. For one brief year, he had been her shelter from the storm.

  “What time did you arrive this morning, Sandra?” he was asking now, his deep voice knowing. “Six, seven o’clock? You should go home, get some rest.”

  “There’s too much to do,” she said. “For a bit, I’m going to have to push myself hard. I don’t mind, Mike. Besides, today was certainly better than yesterday.”

  “No new nameplates,” he granted.

  “Yep. And I think I might have even gotten a nod of approval from the lieutenants.”

  He appeared genuinely impressed. “Huh, maybe the boys are smarter than I gave them credit for. Well, you wanna know something else?”

  “I don’t know. Do I?”

  “New pool,” he told her. “We’re no longer betting on when you’re going to leave.”

  “Uh-oh. What are you betting on?”

  “The length of your legs.”

  “What?”

  “That’s some skirt you’re wearing, ma chère. And I mean that in the nicest way. Haven’t you noticed the increase in traffic going by your office? It’s been the talk of the
department. Guys are doubling down bets on what you’re going to wear tomorrow.”

  “I think I’m going to wear pants tomorrow!”

  “And rob me of more money?” He leaned back, appearing injured.

  “Rob you of money? How am I robbing you of money?”

  “Because I got an unfair advantage in the pool. I know your legs better than anyone else. And I remember exactly every inch of your skin, from the supple line of your thigh to the taut curve of your calf to the delicate little indent of your ankle. I remember your tiny toes, your high arch, your ticklish heels. Hell, I still remember the night—”

  “Hey…no…stop.” Her mouth had suddenly gone too dry. “That’s…that’s not a professional conversation.”

  Mike winked. “I know.”

  “Mike!”

  “Sandy!” he mocked back, then threw up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. You looked like you’d been having a long day. I figured you could use a little distraction. Surely Excel spreadsheets can’t be everything a girl wants on a Tuesday night. Besides, that is one helluva suit, babe.”

  His tone was so approving Sandra lost her train of thought again. “It’s a power suit,” she murmured defensively.

  He said, “Damn right.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Mike Rawlins, get your mind out of the gutter!”

  “But then I wouldn’t be any fun.”

  “I don’t need you to be fun.”

  “Sure you do.” He held up his hands in surrender again as she started sputtering. “Come on, Sandy,” he said reasonably. “It’s late, you’re tired, you obviously haven’t eaten yet. What’d you say? You and me and a dinner platter.”

  “What? When?”

  “Well, I was kind of thinking now.”

  “I don’t know.” Her gaze went straight to her desk and the budget she was still fine-tuning. She had a lot of work to do. She really did need to buckle down for a bit and she probably shouldn’t be fraternizing too much with her ex-husband. But…he’d liked her suit. He’d complimented her on her job. She did still remember that night…

  “Take-out Chinese,” she muttered after a moment.

  “Split the tab fifty-fifty. No lingering over dessert.”

  “What if I get a really promising fortune?”

  “Hope the waitress is cute.”

  “Ah, ma chère, I know you don’t mean that.”

  “Those are the terms.”

  “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “I’ll accept one collegial Mai Tai.”

  “Sold.” He slapped his hands on his thighs and stood.

  “I’ll drive.”

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  “You’re not a very good date, ma chère.”

  “That’s because I’m not your date,” she reminded him levelly. “I’m your boss.”

  “Methinks, the lady doth protest too much.”

  “Well, methinks the Cajun doth never think at all.”

  Mike grinned again, a slow, heated expression that did funny things to her chest. He slid off her desk. He strode toward the door. “Damn, I’ve missed you,” he said.

  And then he was gone.

  Alexandria’s one and only Chinese restaurant was a family-run operation sitting on the edge of downtown. The food was hot, cheap and good. The decor was an ode to red vinyl. After another brief discussion, Sandra decided they would take a table after all. Formica countertops and bustling business suddenly seemed a much safer environment than his place or hers.

  Mike placed their order. General Tsao’s chicken for him—the hotter, the better—chicken and broccoli for Sandra. He told her vegetables had no place in fast food. She pointed to his graying temples and told him he wasn’t getting any younger—soon enough he’d have to realize that green food was his friend. He said only women ever thought that way. She said that’s why so many wives outlived their husbands. He said husbands only died first be cause they were given the choice—more years of marriage or death.

  By the time they sat down at a corner booth, they’d both worked up a sweat.

  “So has your family stopped laughing yet?” she asked as two heaping platters of steaming food arrived.

  “They’re still having a good time with things. Last night my father called to ask if I was still six foot two. I said, of course. He said damn, he’d just lost a bet with my mother that you’d have already cut me down to size.”

  “It hasn’t been for lack of trying,” she assured him soberly.

  “I’d say your tongue is as razor sharp as ever,” he agreed.

  “And coming from you, I take that as a compliment.”

  She helped herself to a piece of his chicken, sucked in her cheeks as a hot pepper exploded against her tongue, and grabbed her water. “God, how can you eat that stuff!”

  “Ah honey, this is nothing. You should try my mom’s blackened swordfish. Now that’s hot. So how are your parents doing?”

  Sandra shrugged. “Mom called last night to ask me if I’d come to my senses yet. Dad mentioned about eight times that he hadn’t filled my job at the security company. I’m taking that as a sign they’re not completely comfortable with my decision.”

  “An Aikens has never been a chief of police before,” Mike observed. “You rebel.”

  “Pure black sheep, that’s me.”

  His expression shifted, looking surprisingly serious.

  “Hey, Sandra,” he said, dishing up more rice. “I think you’re going to be fine. You’re green, you’re anal, you’re working too hard, but those are all habits I’m sure we can break you of.”

  “Gee, Mike, thanks.”

  They chewed in companionable silence for a bit. Then Sandra set down her fork and, though she hated to break the mood, she had to ask. “Mike, what’s going on with Koontz?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Want another red pepper?”

  “Come on. This morning in the meeting with Dr. Mayes, the thought of approaching Vee seemed to make Rusty extremely nervous. The minute Dr. Mayes suggested you guys actually interview teenagers, I thought Koontz might faint. Koontz is too experienced a cop to suddenly seem weak in the knees at the idea of approaching a few juvenile delinquents. What should I know?”

  “Nothing. He’s fine. Small talk just isn’t Rusty’s thing.”

  “He small-talks with you fine. And he makes wise-cracks in front of a whole department a hobby. You know what I think it is? I think it’s the idea of approaching African-Americans on their own turf. He’s prejudiced. He’s scared.”

  “Sandy, it’s not my place to say—”

  “You’ve picked up African-American suspects before, haven’t you?”

  “Of course—”

  “Taken them to the station, interrogated them in small, stuffy rooms?”

  “Sure—”

  “So it can’t be just questioning them. It’s staying in the east side, isn’t it? It’s approaching these teens on their time on their turf. It’s feeling like he’s on enemy terrain. He’s prejudiced and that makes him scared.”

  “Koontz isn’t afraid of anything!”

  “Sure he is, Mike. He just isn’t going to say anything.” Sandra leaned forward. “I’m taking your advice to heart, Mike. Anything you say here will stay between you and me. But I need to know what’s going on. This is important.”

  “And I don’t know what’s going on,” Mike growled back. “He’s doing his job, Sandy. We’ve been going all over this town trying to find this kid. Rusty’s hardly daydreaming in the back of a squad car or drinking the day away. He’s just…preoccupied, sometimes. I don’t know.”

  “Not a hundred and ten percent?”

  “A cop doesn’t always have to be one hundred and ten percent.”

  “But Koontz generally is, isn’t he, Mike? That’s what it says on all his evaluations. He’s obsessive about solving cases. That’s what you like about him.”

  “Hey, so he’s having an off week. It happens.”

&n
bsp; “He isn’t going to do any interviewing with you, Mike. I’ll put money on it right now. He’ll have someplace else to go, or paperwork to catch up on, or something. You already know it in your heart—you’ll go to interview the kids and he won’t be around.”

  “And there’s nothing wrong with that,” Mike said firmly. “We’ve built a major case file at this point. The interview logs are running into twenty pages. If he wants to catch up on those while I do more legwork, then more power to him.”

  “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

  “What?” Mike set down his fork. He wasn’t amused.

  “It’s inappropriate for only one person to conduct an interview, Mike, you know that. Two pairs of eyes are always better than one. I’ll go.”

  “No.”

  “With all due respect, it’s not your decision—”

  “Oh, don’t you pull rank on this, Sandy. This is not about rank. This is my case, you assigned me to it, now don’t tell me how to run it.”

  “You think that’s what I’m doing? Stepping on your toes?”

  “Damn right. You always want things your way, Sandy. Not just done, but done the way you want it, when you want it, how you want it. Obviously you feel you didn’t get a chance to run my job when we were married, so you’re going to take it over now.”

  Her face froze up. She said tightly, “You egotistical bastard. How dare you think I took this job just to spite you. What the hell makes you think any part of my life or my decisions still revolve around you?”

  “Because you said it yourself last night, Sandy! That I didn’t talk about my job enough, that I didn’t let you into my precious little police world. So now you’ve gone and inserted yourself into it. Well, congratulations to you. We can talk thirteen-year-old kids committing murder and babies found in trash cans all you want. You can come with me and roll in the filth to your heart’s desire. Why should I try to protect you anymore? Why should I try to keep the garbage of my job from my wife or my home or my few after-work hours? You obviously never trusted me to be a good cop. You obviously don’t think I’m capable of keeping the world safe. Hell, you had to go and become my boss. Dammit!”