by Nenny May
“And… how’s that going, your investigation, you mentioned over the phone that you would have to file charges, is there like a deadline?” She scratched her nose. She hoped to the heavens that she wasn’t coming off too strong.
“Oddly-specific question,” Regan arched an eyebrow.
Lisa ran her tongue over her bottom lip. She internally winced.
“Over the phone you sounded overworked, and I guessed there was some deadline?” Her voice was calm. On the inside, Lisa was a hormonal mess. She was twenty-five again, and longing for a woman she couldn’t have.
It had taken months before she’d mustered up the courage to say ‘hi’ to Madeline. Nothing could have prepared her for what time had in store. She’d bagged the most longed after girl on campus.
She didn’t think she had the same odds now as a graduate and a self-diagnosed work addict.
“Yeah,” Regan echoed, now focused on her computer screen. She’d been dragging her mouse over the surface of her table, a thousand-yard look in her eyes. “I’m not going to bore you with too many details,” She looked at the door. “But I have people in high places looking to shut this case down before Christmas and I don’t see that happening.” She blinked; the look was gone. She drew in a long breath and sighed reluctantly.
Lisa Patterson had until Christmas to prove Paul Campbell’s involvement in his mother’s murder.
The window was slim.
Ten weeks to dig into a woman’s background and emerge with some sort of proof that her son had killed her.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to protect your interests.” Regan said reaching out a hand and placing above Lisa’s on the desk. Heaving Lisa Patterson from her rouse. Her heart jackhammered and she’d entertained brief whims of slamming the lean woman over her own desk, and doing unspeakable things with a view of the cozy city.
Snatching her hand from beneath Regan’s, Lisa pinched the bridge of her nose. She shifted in her seat in a bid to relieve the moisture gathering in her panties. “Exclusion clauses are a way for small businesses and people in general to protect themselves from liability.” Lisa couldn’t help herself; her lust had her head whirling. The woman was exactly her type. Sensible, successful and made her blood sizzle. She craved for the District Attorney to moan her name. It had been years since she’d been in anything intimate… she’d always been yet to meet someone that met her standards. “Any luck opening that contract?” Lisa blinked. Contract? Her employment contract! She nodded and slid her phone across the table.
Regan Sinclair picked up the sleek device and ran her eyes over the fine print.
Lisa Patterson stole a glance at the District Attorney. How would she even go about asking Regan out? She didn’t know if the D.A. played for the same team… It was nice to envision though.
“Okay, I’m going to make this quick. I’m going to ask you a series of questions building from a template I use for most of my clients.” Regan returned the phone to Lisa, their fingers brushing, her touch sending Regan’s body into a flame of desire.
Lisa resisted the urge to concede to the intoxication she felt in the presence of the porcelain skinned woman. She beckoned her mind from the gutter and couldn’t help but wonder whether she was being selfish? Keeping Paul Campbell from the board seemed like a good idea on the onset. But then again, Lisa Patterson was defending her insatiable need to get involved in criminal matters. Her nose didn’t belong down the Campbell’s family dirty laundry. And here she was, preparing herself to delve into a man’s past for a mens rea, and recorded confession.
She couldn’t shake the guilt that tugged at her. Its hold was strong, but her resolve was stronger.
She’d reminded herself why she was doing this, and that had gotten her all the way from her home to the office of the District Attorney. It wasn’t working anymore.
She’d caught a case of cold feet. Especially because of her desire for the District Attorney. It was foolish.
If Regan didn’t draw up the contract, she could kiss all future appointments with Paul Campbell goodbye. All future reasons to speak with Regan would be down the toilet. Her stomach dropped.
She wasn’t willing to risk that.
Lisa bobbed her head, antsy. A part of her hoped Paul wouldn’t go through the contract and would just sign it. She doubted she would be that lucky.
“Now this is just for record purposes, I think it’s imperative you know that practicing privately is frowned upon in your establishment and I would strongly advice if you want to go through with this, your sessions with your client should be held on a different premises… or at the very least out of workhours.”
Lisa shrugged. “Sure, that’s fine with me.” She could work with that. Her last session with Paul had been during her lunch break. She could host whoever she wanted during that hour.
“For the sake of this contract, I’m going to need your clients full name, and yours as well.” Fingers tapped against a keyboard.
“I would rather he remain anonymous until you agree to my terms.” Lisa’s lips had been pressed into a thin line. She swallowed hard as she deliberated over what Regan Sinclair’s lips would feel like against hers. Adrenaline surged through her veins and she could hear her pulse pounding in her ear. “After all, if you agree to do this, we would be in a contract of our own.” Was Regan a good kisser? She looked it.
Lisa marveled over what a make out session with Regan would be like? Would they end up scarcely clothed with little regret? The thought was enticing. It would easily top her affair with Madeline. That had just been the prettiest girl in the University of Portland. This was the District Attorney of Tillamook…
Regan Sinclair bubbled with a giggle. “You are just a ball of trouble, aren’t you, Lisa. We should get coffee some time. Maybe, if this works out, I can tell you a little bit more about the Campbell Murder Investigation.” Her eyes broadened, she bit back the grin that fought relentlessly.
The woman had a smile Lisa wasn’t going to easily forget.
She wiped down her clammy hands on her grey Balenciaga dress. She didn’t want to lunge at the offer. But she was tempted. Lord knew she was tempted.
Steeling herself, she drew her mind from Regan Sinclair’s offer and did what she felt was for the greater good. Paul Campbell was a killer and if she had to be a little selfish here and there to prove it, it was worth it.
“My client is Paul Campbell, and my name is Lisa Patterson, Counselling psychologist.”
Regan Sinclair’s reaction had been subtle. Lisa Patterson hadn’t missed it. She hadn’t looked up at Lisa, wide-eyed and startled, that was farfetched. But the pace of her fingers clicking against her keyboard slowed almost as if the words had registered a millisecond later.
“I’m sorry to have to ask this, I’m sure that’s why you’ve rather wanted his identity to remain undisclosed, but did he come to you for counseling, or did you solicit?” This time she turned to Lisa and in her cat-eyes, accusation pranced.
“And what’s that supposed to mean.” Lisa snapped. “With all due respect, that information is between me and my client.” She forced a smile. She knew why her tone had been sharp. “Can we proceed with the questions?”
She needed D.A. Sinclair on her side if she was going to take down the last remaining Campbell. Even if she didn’t get an opportunity with the powerful woman, she would catch a killer and that had to be enough.
Her first step, this contract.
◆◆◆
“When I invited you for beers, I thought you were going to be a big girl about it and order something with a cap.” Detective Dawson eyed Rachel Olson’s drink of choice. While he’d requested a Bud Light, she’d requested a tall glass of Death by Chocolate; a vodka-induced cocktail served as a milkshake with a whipped cream topping and a cherry to boot.
Her bottom lip drew out in a slight pout. “I’m not really a beer kind of girl.” She shrugged, wrapping her fingers around the cold glass. “You never told me why you close so man
y cases.” She sipped her cocktail. Too much of a sweet tooth, she’d opted for the one drink that would give her a sugar-rush before the high of alcohol kicked in. They’d been perched by the window of the American Angels bar on 4th Street, the afternoon sun’s woven rays like strands, spilled through the thick tinted glass. Seated at the other end of the table, Detective Dawson had completely done away with his blazer. Despite it being autumn, nearing the middle of October, he didn’t seem to acknowledge the chilly weather. She pegged it to working in a stuffy office with one window for one too many years.
He drew a breath. “Because I can.” His shoulders rose and fell. She wasn’t satisfied with that response. He was evading. She knew a thing or two about evading.
“Come on,” She egged. She hadn’t in simple terms told him about her mother… but she’d implied it. She’d mentioned the case… she’d welcomed the pang of guilt that punctually jabbed her in the chest each time she tugged open that door. Didn’t that count for something? Didn’t that mean he could trust her?
His silence was enough of an answer. She fiddled with her straw. He hadn’t been looking at her but out the window. It didn’t matter. They weren’t friends, he wasn’t going to confide in her… Why then did that have her heart thrashing in her chest, her pulse zipping like a freight train. She didn’t have anyone else to blame. She’d opened her own mouth, convinced herself that if she made an effort, he would too. What was this, high school? She was nearly thirty-three. She had to get a grip on her own assumptions.
“I’m sorry I asked.” She reached for her purse.
“I don’t have a reason.” He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “I want to sit here and tell you that I close cases because I have some sort of record… that I do it because of an overbearing need to be the best… but that just isn’t true.” He reached for his bottle of Bud Light. He chugged nearly half the bottle in a single go. He returned the bottle to the table. “I don’t know why I do it. The easiest way I can explain it is because… I can.” That couldn’t be it. There had to be more. She hadn’t taken her eyes off him. He didn’t seem to flinch beneath her gaze.
“That doesn’t make any sense.” She said gently, irked by the brittle crack in her voice, her hands rested on the table, fingers fiddling with her nails.
He leaned forward, squinting slightly as the sun’s strands ran over his skin. “Let me tell you a story,” He reached for her hands. He held them firmly in his. Her stomach fluttered. His were large, strong, they weren’t calloused like Dan Harriet’s. “When I first got to Tillamook with my sister Anna…we didn’t know what we were going to do here. Sure, party and eat all the ice-cream and cheesy delicacies this town had to offer was top of the list. But it wasn’t long before our pockets ran dry and we needed to find something to keep the nights alive… She went into journalism and I… Well, I joined the force.”
“You never had a purpose.” He nodded. His deep brown eyes had searched hers. Even in the light, they were almost black. His lips, shimmering a rose pink twitched upwards.
“I guess you could say I’m just the best at what I do, even when I don’t give a damn about it.” She pulled away and instantly regretted it. She missed the warmth his hands provided. She missed the proximity.
“What did I say about you being cocky?” She reached for her drink. He wasn’t the best, he had cold cases wedged between his closed cases. However, she didn’t think it was her place to correct him.
He pretended to think, running a hand over his stubbled cheek. “You find it irresistible?” She rolled her eyes at him and took a sip from her glass letting the chocolate and alcoholic blend dance on her tongue. “Now, it’s your turn, Olson. I spilled my guts to you, the first woman in this town that isn’t my sister… So, what’s your story. Why can’t you find it in you to get along with the CSI team?”
She choked on her cocktail and burst into a violent coughing fit. “Woah,” She heard Detective Dawson wail. Her throat burned, her eyes watered and she felt a dribble run down her nose… Shit. She reached for a napkin with trembling hands.
Chase Dawson was on his feet in seconds, a napkin pressed to her nose and a hand rubbing on her back. He’d gestured for Susanne to wipe down their table and get rid of the tipped-over cocktail glass.
Her coughing had subsided, but he continued to rub on her back as Susanne approached their table with a rag. She’d looked more disheveled than normal. Her clothes hadn’t even been thrown on properly. He made a mental note to ask about that when he got the chance. She picked up the glass and returned to her station behind the counter. “You know, I’ve had girls choke when they saw me, but when they hear me speak? Now, that’s a first, Olson.” She shook her head clearing her throat. She couldn’t help the small smile on her face. “Don’t think you’re getting out of my question that easy, unless you want to choke on air this time,” She smacked his stomach and he chuckled returning to his seat.
She couldn’t tell him. It was one thing to hash up old wounds about her mother, it was another to dig up what she’d buried from her first marriage. Mathew didn’t just break her heart when he filed those divorce papers. He tore their family apart. At the peak of her career, married to a man she’d convinced herself she loved—a man who clearly didn’t reciprocate her feelings—and adopting a son, his son from his first marriage… she wouldn’t go as far as saying she was happy… there were too many fights, countless truths left unsaid, and a world of bitter words that can never be taken back… Deliberating over it, she’d been complete. Undeniably, they were two sharp-edged shards, but together, with enough counseling, they’d made a cracked glass.
It was only a matter of time before the cracks spread and the counseling dulled. They’d shattered ten years after. He’d vanished with his son and a greater share of the alimony almost immediately.
“I said it before,” She raised her chin. “Those people see me as their boss, and I think… I’m fine with that.” She nodded to herself.
She still checked Mathew’s Facebook, stalked Sterling’s Instagram to make sure they were getting on fine… She was shooting herself in the leg, but she couldn’t stop. He’d moved on, touring Rome with his latest blonde bimbo and gushing about her as if she was his world… He’d had two other worlds before her… she didn’t want to succumb to the envy that nagged. She couldn’t help it. They weren’t going to last. And the person she pitied most was Sterling who’d gotten caught in the middle of his father’s countless marriages.
What on earth did the lean blonde woman have that she didn’t? Of course, her skin wasn’t as pale, she was almond. She didn’t have bright blue eyes or freckles, and she clearly wasn’t a size three. She was a size sixteen with an uncomfortably wide waist that she gave little thought to.
Mathew had. He always had an opinion on her size, the way she wore her hair… At the time, she’d persuaded herself to trust his love for her, his requests were to fix her, to help her better appropriate the cultures of the people of Tillamook… An odd demand since was as much a local as he was.
She was fine with the divorce; with the dismissal, she’d faced from the CSI team. Her world didn’t stop spinning because Detective Dawson’s friends didn’t find her appealing. Certainly, the rejection stung worse than a hot iron, but it wasn’t something she couldn’t handle. Admittedly, she would have liked to have a friend of legal drinking age, but there was nothing against having a fourteen-year-old neighbor as her only confidante.
“So, I take it you’re coming back?” He shook his head. She frowned.
“You’re going to have to spice up the offer. I need to be baited back, Olson. What do I get in return?” His eyes narrowed, but he gave a lopsided grin.
“We need you back, Dawson. I need you back, so I don’t lose my job.” He guzzled the rest of his Bud Light.
“Pierce threatened to demote you?” She nodded. “You know he’s bluffing right.” She didn’t want to take the risk. She didn’t know what kind of relationship he had with the Sherriff, bu
t she didn’t have it. And she couldn’t call his bluff if it meant there was a chance, she would be cheated out of her tight yet tolerable salary.
She leaned back in her seat. “Fine, what do you want?” His dark brown eyes blazed with mischief.
“Annabelle invited me to a work gala to celebrate getting her studio’s ratings up. She needs me to bring a plus one and…” Her jaw went slack, her stomach somersaulted. Was he asking her out on a date? Thirty-two-years-and-three-months-old and she couldn’t tell when a man was asking her out? This had to be a trick, a prank. This was her partner, her work partner. He didn’t see her in a romantic light. But did she? He was cocky, unserious, and unmotivated. He wasn’t her type… Then again, who was? Mathew had fit her standards to a T. Though soon after they’d tied the knot, he’d begun to unravel.
“If I agree to accompany you for this gala, you’ll come back to work for the Sherriff’s Department?” He nodded like a child on the candy aisle. “Fine.”
“It’s a date.”
◆◆◆
Rachel Olson had wanted anything but to return to the scene of the crime. Her last visit had been brief. She doubted she could pull the same strings to get her off and back to her desk. She hadn’t gone alone. This time, much to his chagrin, she’d brought Detective Dawson along. It hadn’t been an easy sell. She’d agreed to do one activity of his choosing afterward. And that was excluding his sister’s event. She didn’t know what she dreaded most. The scene or what he was cooking up subsequently.
She didn't loath her day job as lead Detective with the Tillamook County Sherriff's Department; a chest-puffed member of the Tillamook County Major Crimes Team. How could she despise it though? It paid the bills she couldn't hate it. What she did detest however were the scenes. It told a story, one plagued by death. The Campbell home was the worst she’d faced. She could see herself living a more wholesome life without visits to the crime scene.