A Fine Specimen

by Lisa Marie Rice

  “Yes he is.” Ben frowned. “You said so yourself. You said you saw him. Yesterday. That’s what you said, just now.”

  “Saw him. I didn’t say I caught him.”

  “Well,” Ben began, confused. “If you saw him, why didn’t you collar him? That runt can’t outrun you.”

  Alex mumbled something and stood up. Ben was like a terrier when he had something between his teeth. He never let go. It was a good trait for a cop to have, except for right now. “Don’t you have some recruits to see to, Ben?”

  “No,” Ben said. “Recruit day is tomorrow and you know it. Sit down, Alex. You need to tell me how come you let Ratso Colby slip through your fingers. An hour with the guy and it’s done—we can issue a warrant for Lopez. You’ve been gunning for Lopez for two years now. So what’s the deal? Why the fuck did you let Colby go?”

  Alex leaned back in his chair, trying not to grit his teeth. “I…wasn’t alone on Sunday.”

  “You were on patrol?” Ben asked, confused. “Why?”

  “I wasn’t on patrol. I was…with someone.” Alex scowled at Ben, willing him into giving it up. But Ben’s genetic makeup included pit bull DNA. He had never given up on anything in the fifteen years Alex had known him.

  “I still don’t get it,” Ben complained, drawing bushy, gray-red eyebrows together. “We’ve been after Ratso for, like, forever. You chewed my ass out for letting him slip through a window just a coupla days ago! Then you spot him and you let him go just because you were with…someone…”

  Ben’s voice dropped away. Alex could actually see him thinking. It was like watching ball bearings roll around in an empty space. Ben’s eyes widened and a broad, wicked grin spread slowly across his face. “Wait a minute. Could that someone you were with by any chance be,” he held his hand a little over five feet above the ground, “’bout yay high, big blue ones, blonde hair, very pretty?”

  “That’s none of your business,” Alex said, jaws clenched. “What I do on an off-duty Sunday is none of your concern.”

  “Nope. Sure isn’t.” Ben’s blue eyes danced with devilry. “But that don’t mean it’s not interesting just the same.” He slapped his knee in delight. “Hot damn! I was wondering when you’d take the fall. Had to happen sometime. Even to big, bad Alex Cruz! I want to be invited to the wedding. No, wait—I want to be best man! Fuck, after all the crap I’ve put up with over the years I deserve to be best man. And I want at least one home-cooked meal a month. I want that in writing. Been eating junk food since the last wife left.”

  Alex shuddered, panic rising in his throat. “Whoa, now, wait just a minute here. Not that it’s any business of yours, but it’s not like that. It’s nothing like that. It’s just…we’re just…seeing each other. Not that it’s any business of yours,” he repeated, feeling like a broken record.

  “Sure,” Ben said equably as he stood up. “I hear you. I’m outta here. Gotta go get measured for the tux.”

  * * * * *

  Meanwhile, Caitlin and Kathy were bonding over truly disgusting station house coffee.

  “God, this stuff is terrible,” Caitlin grimaced. It was like drinking essence of burnt rubber and gym socks. “Do they brew it like that on purpose?”

  “Well, that’s one theory.” Kathy blew on her cup and eyed Caitlin with amusement. “The female officers used to think it was a male conspiracy. To see whether we could stand the coffee or not. We drank gallons of it in the beginning just to show that we were man enough to stomach it and ended up with ulcers. But it wasn’t a test of our manhood, it was just that the pot is never washed out.” She shrugged. “And we’re not the maids so it still doesn’t get washed out, and that’s why it tastes like week-old crap.”

  Caitlin was pleased to note that the female officers hadn’t been pressed into dishwashing service. Or had refused to be. “Did you encounter any gender prejudice when you started as a police officer?” she asked curiously. “Did you have any problems because you were a woman?”

  Kathy thought about it. “Not really. All my problems were related to the nature of the job. Being a cop is a hard job for anyone and getting through the academy isn’t easy. The physical requirements are really tough. However, the instructors treated the women exactly the same as they treated the men—like shit.”

  Caitlin studied Kathy carefully. Kathy looked like every other good cop Caitlin had ever met. She looked smart and tough and competent. As if nothing could ever disturb her or throw her, as if she were in complete control of herself and the world. Caitlin envied Kathy her air of control. She couldn’t even control her own hair.

  By the time the day ended, Caitlin would be a mess. Her hair would be curling wildly around her face, her brand-new outfit would look rumpled and ten years old, her new shoes would be scuffed and any makeup she might have put on that morning would have long since worn off. She would have ink stains only on her hands if she was lucky, on her new shirt if she was unlucky.

  By the end of the day, Caitlin knew, Kathy would still look spic-and-span, leather shoes and leather gun belt polished, shoulders straight, not a hair out of place.

  “Command presence” it was called in the Police Academy, and it was taught on day one. Officers were taught to control situations with their presence and behavior, and not with force.

  The human response to aggression wasn’t quite as ritualized as that of, say, highland gorillas. Caitlin doubted whether a show of teeth, loud grunts and slapping the ground would frighten off a delinquent, but many potentially dangerous situations were defused by a police officer’s calm voice and air of command.

  Though command presence was taught as a conscious technique, Caitlin was certain that most police officers were born with it and it was simply refined during training and on the job. Certainly Alex had been born with it. She was sure he had made an impressive criminal too.

  “Did you always want to become a police officer?” Caitlin asked. It was a question she’d asked many of the officers. Most of them said yes.

  “Not really.” Kathy drained the last of her coffee and made a face as she put her cup down. “God, if that doesn’t put hair on our chests, nothing will. No, I wanted to become a nurse. I had actually enrolled in nursing school when an old high school friend of mine invited me out on patrol with her. That night, there were two stabbings, a jewelry store robbery and a murder.” Kathy shook her head fondly. “Jesus, who could resist after a night like that? It was the most exciting thing I could think of to do with my life. The next day I applied for the academy. Hey!” Kathy angled her head to see what Caitlin was writing. “Is there going to be a quiz?”

  Caitlin laughed and shook her head. “No, and if there were, you’d ace it.”

  Kathy, like most police officers, was a dominant personality. Strong, confident, needing the rush of challenge and excitement.

  At times like this, Caitlin marveled at how the world was put together. She herself was happiest squirreled away in the library reading about dead people. Her favorite challenge was how to organize her footnotes. She’d make a lousy cop.

  They spent another hour on a special psychological test Caitlin had devised then Kathy left to go on patrol.

  Caitlin went into an empty room and spread her material out. She couldn’t wait to start collating her results. And once she was a fellow at the Frederiksson Foundation, she could send her questionnaire out under the auspices of the Foundation to other police stations throughout the country. There could be a paper and—who knows?—maybe even a book to be gotten out of it. The thought pleased her so much she barely noticed the time passing.

  “Your pen is leaking.” The deep, familiar voice startled her out of her reverie.

  Caitlin looked down and, sure enough, there was a blue splotch on the questionnaire folder. The middle finger of her right hand was ink-stained and there was a faint stain on the front of her brand-new and expensive blouse. She sighed and turned around.

  “See?” she said accusingly. “That’s my point exactly.”


  “Yeah?” Alex asked mildly. “What point?”

  “You wouldn’t get ink all over yourself, would you?”

  “Well…no.”

  “They probably taught you how to make inanimate objects obey you at the academy,” Caitlin grumbled.

  Alex’s mouth lifted in a half smile. “No, but they did teach us neatness, which is something your fancy education seems to have neglected. Come on, Caitlin. Put your things away and I’ll take you out to lunch.”

  “It’s lunchtime already?” Caitlin asked, startled. She looked at her watch. It was 12:38. Suddenly, she realized she was ravenous.

  Several of her textbooks were perched precariously close to the edge of the table and her papers were scattered all over the surface. She couldn’t leave this mess behind. Smiling up at Alex, she reached across the table for her books. “Okay. Where are we going?”

  “There’s a good deli with table service around the corner,” Alex said. “Gather your things up and,” he neatly sidestepped, avoiding by inches the pile of heavy hardbacks that fell to the floor, “watch those books.”

  “Oh Alex.” Caitlin’s eyes widened as she stooped to pick the books up. “I’m so very—”

  “Sorry,” Alex finished for her. “Uh-huh. I know you’re sorry, honey. It’s okay. I’ve learned to be careful and watch my step around you. You’re a real dangerous lady.”

  She sucked in an outraged breath. They were in a building full of armed alpha males and females, trained for violence, and she was dangerous? “I am not dangerous. You take that back!”

  Laughing, he evaded her punch and took her elbow in that special grip of his. The grip that seemed to convey he wanted to prevent her from floating away or running off.

  It would be nice if he didn’t use that grip in the station house, but complaining was pointless. Alex did what he wanted, when he wanted, how he wanted.

  Chapter Nine

  Caitlin described her new questionnaire to Alex as they walked to the deli. He half-listened, enjoying her ideas, enjoying the sound of her voice even more. It would be a good questionnaire, he knew that much about Caitlin. No doubt it would be the best questionnaire in California, in the country, the best questionnaire in the history of the world.

  It’s just that it was hard to concentrate on double-blind samplings and the DSM-IV on a day like this. The air was warm and clear, bright with buttery sunlight, and it reminded Alex that he’d been holed up in a windowless room all morning.

  Jesus, since when did he mind spending the day in his office? Since when did he go out to lunch as opposed to ordering in and eating at his desk? Since when did he notice the frigging weather?

  He found himself smiling as he walked into Sam’s Deli. The food was so great here. Why didn’t he eat here more often? Why did he chow down stale sandwiches at his desk?

  The only bad thing about Sam’s was that it was a hangout for the dreary drones working at the three banks, two insurance corporations, four internet service providers and three financial services companies in the area—and they were all freaking out about the economy, ruining the vibe of the place. Alex hated business people, but he supposed they were necessary. For something, anyway. Otherwise, why would there be so goddamn many of them?

  He steered Caitlin to the line where customers waited for the small bistro tables to be freed. He loved taking her by the elbow. She had the softest skin he’d ever felt. Though she definitely had good muscle tone, her biceps weren’t hard and stringy like some slender women. It took an effort to remove his hand.

  “I need to ask you a favor, Alex,” Caitlin said.

  “Sure,” he said, craning his neck to see over the heads of two insurance agents in front of them. They were talking about the tanking derivatives market, premiums and the prime rate. Market share and the Nasdaq. Recession and 401(k)s. The subprime market and CDOs. Washington bailouts and the FDIC.

  Alex shuddered, glad for the hundred thousandth time that he was a cop, and that his only worry was putting the bad guys away. Market upswings, market downswings, recessions and bubbles, he didn’t give a fuck. His salary got deposited into his bank on the first of every month and that was the one and only time he ever thought about money. He owned his own home, he earned more than enough to cover all his needs and one day he’d be getting a good pension. What more could he want?

  Money was boring, the hugest yawn he could imagine. Bagging bad guys—now that got his rocks off. The thrill of the chase, the intellectual challenge of putting a case together that would hold up in court, the camaraderie of the officers in the cop shop—even when they drove him crazy—it was all he had ever wanted.

  And now he was getting laid on a regular basis by a fabulous woman. Life just didn’t get any better.

  Two couples were getting up from their tables as Alex checked out the blackboard on the wall. The miso soba sounded good. He smiled down at Caitlin, thinking about soup and sex. “What was this favor you wanted?”

  “I want to go on patrol,” Caitlin said. “It would really help me with my study. Ron Torrance said it was okay with him, but to check with you first.”

  “Absolutely not.” All thoughts of food and sex fled right out of Alex’s head. “Out of the question. You’re not going on a ride-along.”

  Caitlin was taken aback at Alex’s vehemence then a hurt look came into her eyes. Alex glanced away. He didn’t want to see it, though she could send hurt looks his way from now until kingdom come and it wouldn’t change his mind. No way was Caitlin going out on a ride-along, and that was that.

  “Alex…listen. Ron said—”

  “Sorry,” Alex interrupted, though he was anything but apologetic. “It’s against station-house policy. Ah, I think our turn is coming up. Come on, let’s get ourselves something to eat.” The two tables had been cleared. Alex was glad to see that they were far apart from the guys in front. He didn’t want to sit next to any suits and have to listen to them gab about how much money they were losing in the lousy economic environment.

  He placed a hand to the small of Caitlin’s back and felt her jerk away from his touch. She was offended. Well, there was nothing he could do about it. She wasn’t going on a ride-along. He knew only too well how a placid, routine patrol could turn violent in seconds.

  Caitlin hurried ahead of him, back stiff. She was angry at him and he didn’t know how to make amends, other than to give in. Which was out of the question. There wasn’t any doubt in his mind at all about that. Better Caitlin in a snit than Caitlin caught in a crossfire.

  She sat down before he could pull her chair out and waited patiently while he took his seat across from her.

  “It is not against station-house rules.” Caitlin leaned forward, her expression impersonal and serious. Alex understood that she was trying hard to be objective and not to presume upon their personal relationship. “I distinctly remember Peter Cannell doing a series on the Baylorville PD for the Chronicle and he went on patrol with the officers. Often. He wrote some very effective stories about it.”

  It was true, dammit. Peter Cannell had become a familiar and welcome figure around the station house and his sympathetic articles had even won him a few minor awards. He still stopped by occasionally to renew the friendships he’d made at the station. Alex always welcomed a chance to buy him a beer and swap war stories.

  But Peter Cannell was a tough, wily Irishman, totally unfazed by the violence and degradation he’d observed throughout his investigation. He wasn’t Caitlin.

  “Policy’s changed,” Alex said curtly. “Someone got hurt and sued the PD.”

  Caitlin pulled in a deep, calming breath. “You can be protective of me, Alex,” she began quietly, “but you can’t treat me like a fool. I know perfectly well that I would have to sign a waiver before riding along. Everyone does. So no one has sued your department. And of course I would never sue your department if something bad happened.”

  If something bad happened. Alex’s heart jumped in his chest at the idea.
At the idea of Caitlin hurt, injured or—God!—dead.

  “All right,” Alex said angrily. “I made that up about the lawsuit but someone did get injured a few months back. A friend of Kathy Martello’s, as a matter of fact. Ask Kathy about it if you don’t believe me. Her friend wanted to ride with her and the patrol car responded to an armed robbery call. There was a shootout. Kathy’s friend took a bullet.”

  It had been a ricochet, the bullet having spent most of its force before creasing the woman’s arm. Basically it had been a flesh wound, requiring just a few stitches, but Alex wasn’t about to tell Caitlin that. He wanted her to think of the risks, he wanted her scared and, above all, he wanted her away from any possible danger.

  There was another kind of danger now, in Caitlin’s face. She wasn’t pouting. He’d somehow known she wouldn’t pout. For all her girlish looks, he knew Caitlin well enough to know that she was at heart a mature woman who was serious about her profession. No, it wasn’t a pout—it was something more serious than that. She looked…disappointed.

  In him.

  “Alex.” Her voice and expression were cool. “I won’t insult you by threatening to pull rank on you and calling Ray Avery. I will, however, remind you that this is pure discrimination. Either your department has a ride-along policy or it doesn’t. As far as I know, it does. And that means that everyone—everyone except me, it seems—has a chance to ride in a patrol car. I find that unfair and discriminatory.”

  “Can I take your orders? My name’s Sergio and I’m your server today.” A tall man with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail slid two menus written on a sheet of butcher paper in front of them. “Today’s specials are up on the blackboard.”

  Alex turned gratefully at the distraction. What happened to his lighthearted lunch with a woman he was massively attracted to? He felt aggrieved. I don’t get enough shit back in the office? he thought. This whole situation was going south, fast.