“Now you’re thinking.”
Casey glanced at the clock. “If I leave now, maybe I’ll miss some of the commuter traffic.” He stopped when he saw the look on Al’s face. “No?”
“Think, College Boy.”
When nothing came to him, he said, “What is it I want, then?”
“To see what she saw when she saw it.”
A second or two passed, then it struck him. “Leave when she left.”
Al nodded. “See you here bright and early.”
“You’re going to run with me?”
“My job is to mentor your investigative abilities, not break my neck while doing it. I’ll arrange to have someone from patrol meet you at the scene.”
THIRTEEN
“What the hell, Barstow?”
Jenn kept her gaze fixed on her editor’s desk, worried her impulsive action at the Hall of Justice would get her canned. Especially after it was plastered all over the afternoon news. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? You’re supposed to be writing about local politics, not crashing police press conferences to compare current Strangler victims with dead prostitutes.”
“I merely asked if the police were looking into those old murders to see if there were any similarities to the current Strangler cases.”
“What the hell is with your obsession with the dead prostitute cases?”
Last thing she needed was for him to find out why she wanted to look into the older cases. “I won’t let it happen again.”
“Damned right you won’t,” he said, swiveling around in his chair to grab a draft of an article from the printer. “Unless you want to end your career at this paper, quit playing girl detective. Your job is reporting local politics. Do I make myself clear?”
“Very.” The word barely cleared her throat, but it didn’t matter. His focus was now on the story he’d just pulled from the printer, his red pencil slashing at words that didn’t fit.
Marty’s article, she realized. The things practically bled red from all the corrections, not that writing skill seemed to matter when it came down to the choice of the crime desk.
Back at her cubicle, she stared at her computer screen, trying not to dwell on the thought that Marty was probably sitting on the biggest story of his career and was too stupid to know it.
The very idea caught her up short. When had she turned into such a mean-spirited person, allowing her own goals to consume her to the point that other lives didn’t matter?
“Anyone home?”
Taryn’s voice seeped into her brain, and Jenn swiveled her chair around to face her friend. “Sorry. Did you say something?”
“Only wondering if you still worked here or I had to break in a new cubicle buddy.”
“Still here. For now.”
“And…?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Taryn rolled her chair back into she was parallel to Jenn. “You are not going to give up now, are you?”
“My job’s on the line, so yeah. I’m giving up.”
“You’re job’s only on the line if you get caught. And the only reason you got caught was because you had to open your mouth in front of the cameras.”
“I saw a chance and took it.”
“How is it you can go your entire career nearly invisible, then take that moment to make yourself known? Did you at least talk to the investigator?”
“I did. And before you ask, no. I didn’t say a thing. I chickened out.”
“Why?”
“It just seemed so…wrong.”
“Wrong? Look to your right. What do you see?”
She glanced down the row of cubicles and saw Marty’s plaid suit coat hanging over the back of his empty chair. “Nothing.”
“Now glance to your left.”
And there was Marty, standing in the doorway of the editor’s office, kissing up to their boss as he usually did. The reason he got the job she’d vied for.
“That,” Taryn said, “is wrong.”
“If anything, what I’m about to do tonight is even more underhanded.”
“It’s no worse than cultivating that friendship with Parnell’s campaign office receptionist, or the supervisor’s secretary. You cover politics. It’s called networking.”
“Networking?”
“All you’re doing is laying the groundwork. Besides, something good is going to come out of it. The end justifies the means.” She glanced up at the clock. “Time to go. Your appointment’s in half an hour.”
FOURTEEN
It was close to six that evening when Casey pulled up into the driveway of his parents’ house, wondering if he was early. Or maybe got the day wrong. There were no other cars there. Relief swept through him as he opened the front door, not seeing anyone waiting in the living room or even the kitchen, where his mother was busy tossing a salad.
She looked up, saw him, and smiled. “You’re here.”
“Where is everyone?”
“It’s just a small party. Us four.” She took the pepper grinder, ground a bit too much over the top of the salad. “Your father will be down in a minute.”
“Mom. I told you, I’m not interested in seeing anyone else right now.”
“What do you mean anyone else? You didn’t tell me you were seeing anyone at all.”
“An officer at my department.”
“Then why haven’t you brought her home? I’d like to meet her.”
Way too soon in the dating process for that—not that he was about to inform his mother on the finer details. “We only just started going out.”
“She’s a police officer. Those things never last.“
“How would you know?”
“Everyone in my uncle’s family was in law enforcement. Hand me that cheese, dear.” He passed a bowl of fresh grated parmesan to her, and she sprinkled it into the salad. “How many women have you gone out with since you became a police officer? Even less now that you’re in Homicide. Which is why I think—if you insist on staying in that profession—you should seriously look at accepting this promotion.”
“One, I haven’t been offered it. There’s still the oral board to get through. Two, I’m not planning on changing professions anytime soon.”
“Then all the more reason to let me and my church friends help—” Someone knocked at the front door, and she picked up the salad bowl and placed it in his hands. “She’s here. Put this on the table, then answer the door.” “Mom. Do you realize how awkward this is?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. A mother is allowed to introduce her son to a proper young lady from her church. Honey!” she called out to his father in the den. “Jennifer’s here.” And then she pushed Casey toward the dining room. “Go. Don’t leave the poor girl standing on the porch!”
Casey silently cursed his mother and her meddlesome ways as he walked into the dining room, set the salad on the table, then trudged to the living room, somewhat secure in the knowledge that Al would be texting him as a failsafe, should this church girl turn out to be anything he needed rescuing from.
Suddenly the image of Becca sitting astride him popped into his head. So un-churchlike, it almost hurt. He might not be Catholic, but he was fairly certain that image warranted a trip to confession.
And now his mother was setting him up with a girl from the church he probably hadn’t set foot in for—well, far too long. Even then, he didn’t recall seeing any woman who struck him as someone he wanted to ask out.
Not that he’d been looking to date anyone at the time, he thought as he opened the door.
To say that he was surprised by his mother’s dinner guest was an understatement. Jennifer, it seemed, was none other than Jenn Barstow, the reporter from the Union-Examiner. She wore a pink dress, the top few pearl buttons undone, drawing the eye to a hint of cleavage, then down to th
e white belt that cinched her narrow waist and from there down to the hemline, which hit just at her knees. There was definitely a sense of demureness about her in her pink and pearls, until one glanced down at her long bare legs to her red stiletto heels.
Not the sort of shoe one would see at church. And definitely a dichotomy when compared to the implied innocence of her dress.
It was this last thought that shook him, and it took quite the effort to draw his gaze back up to her face. “You are not what I expected. Who. Not who I expected.”
“Who were you expecting?”
“Jennifer from my mom’s church. You look…different.”
“Highlights and a new dress.” This time her smile was timid, reminding him more of the girl reporter trying to work up the courage to talk to him in the Hall of Justice lobby.
He stood there, hand on the door, trying to reconcile this Jennifer with that Jenn.
“Casey?” his mom said, walking up behind him. “Are you going to just keep her standing on the doorstep?”
He waved Jenn into the house. “I believe you and my mother are already acquainted?”
“From church,” Jenn said, then held her hand out toward his mom.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” his mother said, taking the girl into a hug. “And you look lovely. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your glasses.”
“Highlights,” she said, lifting a lock of her hair.
“Well, that, too. But you should think about wearing contacts more often. You have beautiful eyes. Doesn’t she, Casey?”
Casey smiled and gave a slight nod of agreement, trying not to glance down at her shoes, all while wondering how he was going to get through dinner and keep police work out of it.
He needn’t have worried. She never once brought up his cases. More important, it turned out she was well versed in Giants lore, which brought his father into the conversation. From that moment on, all awkwardness was gone, everyone talking at once, arguing points on the season, who they were playing. She held her own, and it wasn’t until the topic changed to mutual interests that Casey realized his mother and father were no longer at the table. But then Jenn laughed at something, and his attention was drawn to her once more, and he made the pleasant discovery that they both liked jazz, rainy days—as long as one didn’t have to work in it—and skiing.
He leaned back in his chair, studying her while she spoke, marveling at the change in her. Which made him wonder why she’d been hiding all this time in ill-fitting clothes and glasses that were all wrong for her face.
“So,” she said, when the conversation finally lulled. “Why a cop?”
The question caught him off guard. “A cop?”
“Did you always know? Playing cops and robbers as a kid?”
“It wasn’t my dream, trust me. Or my parents’ either.”
“What was your dream?”
“Surfing.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope. I actually had an affinity for it, and living this close to the beach made it easy to surf every day. But realizing my chances of making a living from a hobby that depended on money, waves, and luck? I did the math and realized I needed to settle on a more realistic career.”
“Policing is quite the jump from surfing.”
“It was supposed to be law. But much to my parents’ regret, some of my prelaw classes were in criminal justice. Hooked from day one.”
“Score one for the good guys.”
“How about you?” he asked. “Why journalism?”
“Writing,” she said as his telephone buzzed.
He’d forgotten about Al’s prearranged text coming at eight, and when he read it, he quickly blacked out the screen then shoved it back in his pocket. “Work.”
And before he could tell her it could wait, she looked at her own watch. “I have an article to finish before deadline.”
After she thanked his parents for dinner, Casey walked her out. They stood on the porch, the chill air surrounding them. His parents lived in the outer Sunset district, not too far from the beach and almost always in the fog. Tonight was no exception. “I had a nice time,” he said.
“I did, too.”
When no other conversation was forthcoming, she fumbled inside her purse for her keys, which caught on something then went flying to the ground.
She reached for them the same time Casey did, but he was quicker. He scooped them up, his gaze catching on her red stilettos and her slender legs disappearing into the folds of her pink dress. When he rose, he wished his parents weren’t hovering about just on the other side of the door. In fact, he wished a lot of things at that moment, but he knew none of them were going to happen. “Your keys,” he said, holding them out.
She took them, her fingers lingering a moment too long. And then, surprising him, she stood on tiptoe and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Good night.”
When she didn’t move away, he stepped in closer, leaned down, then kissed her on her mouth.
A mistake. He realized it at once. It wasn’t that she resisted. Quite the opposite. She was soft and warm, and he felt her heart beating beneath the fabric of that pink dress. He wanted to run his fingers down the neckline, undo the pearl buttons, one by one…
His breath caught, and he moved away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s okay.” She tried to smile. Perhaps it was just the porch light, but her cheeks were almost as red as her shoes. “I should go.”
He nodded. She turned and descended the stairs with what he thought was extraordinary care, her pink dress swaying with every step. It took a moment for him to realize why, when she nearly tripped, not once, but twice as she navigated the narrow walkway.
The shoes.
“You don’t wear heels much, do you?” he asked.
“Never,” she called out.
“If it makes a difference, I like them. A lot.”
“Ha! Try wearing them.” When she almost fell a third time, she stopped, pulled off the shoes, then walked barefoot to the car.
He laughed. Even more when she waved those red heels at him as she got into her car, then drove off.
“Well?” his mother said, when he returned inside and found her in the kitchen, rinsing plates then putting them in the dishwasher. “What did you think of her?”
“She’s nice, Mom. Only she works for the press.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“Little bit of a conflict of interest when it comes to talking about the job. Specifically, mine.”
“Says who?”
“Says everyone who ranks above me.”
“One more reason—”
“Wouldn’t matter if I made captain.” He took the plate from her hand and loaded it into the dishwasher while she rinsed the next. “Rules are rules.”
“Oh…” Her shoulders fell. “And she was so nice.”
“She was.” They finished the dishes in silence, and try as he might, on the way to his apartment and long after, all he could think about was her red stiletto heels.
FIFTEEN
“So how was your dinner?” Al asked Casey when he walked into the office just after six the next morning. Al stopped at the coffee stand to pour himself a cup. “Or should I ask did you get my text in the nick of time?”
“Dinner was fine,” Casey said, capping the highlighter he’d just used to mark the map route Marcie Valentine had run the morning of the homicide. “And yes. Got the text. Thanks.”
“So how bad was she? The church mouse?”
The truth was that Casey spent a good portion of the night thinking about the very chaste kiss he’d shared with her, and it was driving him insane. She was not his type. Too girl-next-door. “Trust me. She was no church mouse. More like the forbidden fruit. Jenn Barstow, the reporter from Union-Examiner.
”
Al looked up as he poured coffee into his mug. “The same Jenn Barstow I saw in the lobby yesterday?”
“Yep.”
“Someone spiked your coffee this morning? Or was it your drink last night?”
“You should have seen her. She was—”
He stopped when one of the robbery investigators walked in then made a beeline for the coffee pot.
Al strolled over to Casey’s desk. “She was what?”
“Just…different. If she wasn’t a reporter, I’d—Well, doesn’t quite matter, does it?”
“Probably not.” Al eyed the map. “If nothing else, a good run this morning should take your mind off things. You ready, Hotshot?”
“Sure you don’t want to come? Getting a bit of a paunch there.”
“We’ll talk when you’ve been sitting behind that desk for twenty more years.” He glanced up at the clock. Six thirty. “Better lace up those running shoes. Your backup should be waiting for you at seven, sharp.”
And just as Al promised, a patrol car was waiting just up the street from Marcie Valentine’s house. He parked and walked over as Becca Windsor slid out of the driver’s seat. Like him, she was dressed in running gear.
“Becca?”
“You seem surprised.”
“Sorry. Al said he was going to arrange with someone from patrol, but—I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I could call for someone else.”
“No. I’m glad you’re here. Just…You sure you don’t mind?”
“It’s a nice break from patrol.” She lowered her mirrored sunglasses, eying his electric-blue running shoes. “You do realize those things clash with your black jogging suit?”
He looked down at his shoes. “A bit loud?”
“I think it’s a good thing we’re wearing sunglasses.”
“Yeah. My mom used to accuse me of being color-blind. Definitely color challenged.”
“Until today, I would’ve pegged you as a pretty sharp dresser.”
“Only because the store salesclerks take pity on me. Trust me. If I’m wearing any color combinations that work, they get the credit.”
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