Conviction of the Heart

by Alana Lorens

  “But—” Her brow furrowed with confusion.

  “I’m sure glad my desk doesn’t look like that.” He grinned at her, then stepped out into the reception area, giving the assistant a little salute before he left the office. An outright laugh fretted behind closed lips until he cleared the building, releasing it into the fresh air.

  How long would it take her?

  He walked slowly down the crowded sidewalk to his truck, waiting for his cell to ring.

  And waited.

  He climbed into the truck and opened the window to catch some of the season’s fading sunlight. And waited.

  Maybe he hadn’t turned it on. He pulled the cell from his pocket and eyed the display. Nothing. Not even a text.

  Maybe she’d just tossed the flowers after all.

  He stared at the phone, crestfallen.

  Startled by a knock on his passenger-side window, his fingers contracted on the phone till it chirped. He buzzed down the window, as Suzanne smirked at his discomfort.

  “I figured you’d be here. Lying in wait. Like a pirate.”

  Heat rose in his cheeks. “Right. I’m here.”

  She waved the envelope in the window, a twinkle in her eyes. “These are for me? Tickets to the Benedum Center tomorrow night? Moody Blues?”

  “Well, there are two tickets.”

  “So I can take a date. Very thoughtful of you.”

  The amusement in her eyes tickled him. She was having fun. At his expense, of course, but he’d brought her happiness. Good. “Thanks. We exist to serve.” He grinned at her.

  “The sad thing is, the Moody Blues are very old school at this point. Hardly anyone listens to them anymore. Who would I find to go with me?”

  Oh, yes, she was enjoying the hell out of this. “I happen to have a clear schedule tomorrow night,” he said.

  “Really? What a coincidence!” She bit her lip to hide the smile.

  “So…?”

  “So?” she asked.

  He eyed her for several moments, keeping his face carefully straight.

  She broke the pretense first. “I’d be delighted to go with you, Lieutenant. Thank you very much. Shall I meet you there?”

  “I’ll pick you up, counselor.” That was the man’s role, after all. He’d fully expected to drive up to get her.

  “Tell you what, why don’t you meet me here? Less mileage. Also, less guilt about leaving work early.”

  “If you’ll leave work early, I’ll buy you dinner, too.”

  “A special occasion indeed. As long as we’re not eating at the Donut Connection.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Very funny, very funny indeed. You be ready at six-thirty. I’ll be here.”

  Wagging a warning finger in her direction, he started the car. She stepped back and waved as he pulled away from the curb. Someone skinnied into the parking place as quickly as he’d taken it on arrival, and he nearly missed her blowing him a kiss in his rearview mirror.

  Distracted, he almost ran into the Honda in front of him, squealing his brakes to a stop as horns blared. He didn’t dare look to see if she was still watching. She’d find it much too amusing for his ego.

  Sweet Mother of Mary, what that woman will make me do…

  ****

  Nick stopped by the precinct after he left Suzanne’s office, meaning to check his messages. The sight of Greg Morgan coming out of the chief’s office stopped him in his tracks.

  The bulky councilman didn’t bother to notice him as he headed for the back exit. But Nick came under the laser-sharp eyes of Butch Reickert.

  “Chief?”

  Reickert leaned against his door frame in his shirt sleeves, his stance anything but casual. He looked ready to chew up his desk and spit it out. “Something you need to talk about, Nick?”

  Nick glanced in the direction of the departed Morgan, then back at Reickert, guessing Morgan had filed a complaint about the incident at his Shadyside home. “Can’t say I do, chief. It was a good call.”

  “I know you’re too good a cop to let personal involvements leak over into your work. Especially anything that would reflect on the department.” The chief held his gaze for several long seconds, then nodded. “Your word’s good enough for me.” He straightened, rotating his shoulders. He turned to retreat into his office, then stopped. “Be careful, Nick. Be careful.”

  He went into his office and closed the door.

  Careful? Nick scoffed. Morgan deserved the warning, not him. If he continued with the attitude he’d shown Nick and Suzanne, he’d trip himself up, political connections or not. Suzanne was doing the right thing, helping that woman out of a situation she was clearly not equipped to deal with. Perhaps he had let his personal attraction for Suzanne persuade him to cross jurisdictional lines, but it had been justified. He’d do it again if she asked.

  A small voice in his head nagged him. If the chief felt disturbed enough to warn him, then there must be something worth warning him about.

  Greg Morgan had his hands in a lot of different enterprises around the county. If rumors were true, he wielded more power than just from his council seat, and some of that on the nether side of the law. He could sure cause trouble for Nick, and for Suzanne, too, if he chose to.

  Let’s hope he’s smarter than that.

  The squad room was empty. Nick continued through to his office, shrugging off his jacket to hang on the back of his door. He eyed his desk, not as empty as he’d implied to Suzanne, particularly the in-basket. A glance over the case names on the top several files convinced him he didn’t want to begin combing through the whole stack now. He’d be there all night.

  Instead, he looked over the stack of pink message slips the office clerk had left on his desk. After the third or fourth one, the blue ink blurred before his eyes. Instead he saw the wicked gleam in Suzanne’s eye as she teased him about the tickets. He couldn’t shake the appealing image.

  Come on, Sansone. Concentrate. A cop can’t afford to be distracted.

  He cleared his throat and sorted through the messages. Nothing that needed to be returned immediately. Leave them for tomorrow.

  Tomorrow. When he and Suzanne would sit back and listen to the orchestra backing up one of the bands that shadowed his youth.

  He flipped off the light and sat there in the dark a few minutes, imagining what might happen, enjoying a quiet that was suddenly splintered by the slam of a door in the squad room outside his office. The squad lights came on, and Nick pulled back a little, grateful the blinds had finally been installed. Talk about distracted—when had that happened? Must have been that afternoon while he was out.

  “What a load of crap! Transferred to vice for two weeks? You kiddin’ me?”

  Nick heard Jojo Washington and decided to leave his office light off. Maybe Jojo had forgotten something, and he was going to head out again soon. The last thing he wanted was a confrontation with Jojo. Nick could wait.

  A softer, female voice answered Jojo, but Nick couldn’t make out the words.

  “Tell you what, all this bullshit I put up with, if I don’t make sergeant this round, gonna be some hell to pay, that’s for sure.” Jojo slammed something heavy down on his desk. “No one gonna put me down when I worked this hard!”

  “Come, on, Jojo.” The woman continued in a foreign tongue, something with a smooth French sound. Clara Malron. Great.

  Nick got slowly to his feet, staying low so he’d remain hidden, and moved closer to the door. Might as well find out what the Three Amigos were up to.

  “Emilio’s right. We got to take things into our hands, Clar. Nothing gonna happen otherwise. Just gotta keep our eyes open. Something will come along.”

  “Sure it will, sure it will, doux doux. Come on, let’s bus’off, hmm?”

  Nick positioned himself where he could see Clara’s face. Her eyes animated and cheeks flushed, she watched Jojo intently. Nick considered again the possibility that the two had a relationship other than professional. He’d seen Jojo with other women
, never the same one twice. If Clara had her heart set there, she was doomed for him to break it. Poor kid.

  “I’ll find a way to kick his ass good, that’s what I’m tellin’ you.”

  “Jojo, hush now.” She gave an anxious look back toward the chief’s office. “You’ll get what you deserve.”

  Another slam. “You bet I will.”

  Clara got to her feet and walked out of Nick’s line of sight, and a few seconds later, their voices dwindled, and the entry door slammed. He stood up, more irritated than worried.

  So Jojo thought he’d kick Nick’s ass, did he?

  Nick wrestled with several reactions and finally laughed. Wasn’t the first time some junior officer had given him crap, probably wouldn’t be the last. At least for the next two weeks, Jojo and Emilio Vasquez would put in their time with the vice prostitute sweep.

  Fourteen days to give him time to figure out what to do next. He grabbed his coat and headed home before anything else could go wrong.

  Chapter Eleven

  Her hair wasn’t right.

  She stood in front of the mirror in the frou-frou restroom that served the office and the rest of the tenants on the floor. She hadn’t decorated it. The ruffled pink curtains and wallpaper practically bleeding fuchsia butterflies were not to her taste at all.

  She took her hair down again. Pinned it back up.

  How is it her clients always managed to begin the dating life without difficulty or reservation whatsoever? For Suzanne, it was a major trauma.

  She held her hair left, right, her eye critical. The Moody Blues were a sixties band. The Age of Aquarius. Hippies. Free love.

  Hair down.

  She took her hair out of its band, brushed it, then fluffed it with her fingers.

  She’d chosen a feminine silk blouse, black with turquoise medallions, and black dress slacks instead of jeans, since they were going to the Benedum. If the concert had been at Star Lake, they’d have lawn seats and a blanket, and more casual would have been appropriate.

  Suzanne thought about Nick, and a blanket, listening to music under the stars…going from zero to sixty pretty fast along that imaginative track. A long time since she’d made love with a man.

  She shook her head to clear her mind. Focus. Shoes.

  The overnight bag she’d brought to the office held a pair of black pumps with a mid-height, chunky heel. She slipped them on, then looked in the mirror again.

  Satisfied with her clothing, she dabbed on a hint of makeup, nothing garish, and added small dangle earrings, blue gemstones wrapped in silver, and a spritz of Opium, her favorite perfume. A deep breath gave her a moment to examine her appearance. A little less than professional, a little more than Sunday church. It would do.

  She picked up the overnight bag and returned to her office with fifteen minutes left to wait.

  Should she be ready when he showed up? Should she be immersed reading papers, so he could see how hard she worked? She paced, trying to decide.

  She really liked him. He had a way that connected with her. So many professional men she’d met exhibited personas rigid and ambitious, anxious to get ahead in the world. Pretentious, single-minded individuals immediately triggered Suzanne’s defenses.

  Nick was different. It was refreshing to meet someone willing to show her a gentler side, someone not trying to control her, but just taking life as it came. It was fun.

  Realistically, she knew this wasn’t a trait that elevated someone through the police department ranks to lieutenant. Inside the man, then, a more aggressive drive must exist. But he was smart enough to know that wouldn’t work with her.

  That, she liked, too.

  Before she could make the decision, it was made for her. Nick appeared five minutes early, announcing his presence by a smooth whistle from the door. “You clean up real pretty, counselor.”

  “You don’t look much like a cop today, either.”

  The whole package enticed her, the polished shoes, the sharp-creased khakis, the gold-and ruby class ring on his right hand. The top two buttons of his navy print shirt were undone, revealing curly dark hair, thick and especially appealing.

  He saw her looking and added a smile. “I wanted to be classy enough to be seen with a member of the bar.”

  “You may have succeeded,” she said. “We’ll wait for the reviews to come in before making a final ruling.”

  “Cautious, always cautious,” he chided, but there was a good nature to his words. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready as I’m going to be. Let’s go.”

  ****

  As the concert concluded, Suzanne sat back, the final notes of “Nights in White Satin” still swirling in her head. She looked up at the huge crystal chandelier, one of a number of hanging lights in the Baroque-style setting in shades of brick and terra cotta, all trimmed in gilt highlights and shiny brass rails. The ceiling full of muted octagonal lights gave the interior of the Benedum a gentle warm glow that echoed with the feeling inside Suzanne herself.

  The evening had been perfect, so far, tapas and wine at Ibiza, then the music she’d always loved in the darkened theatre. Edge, Hayward, and crew played a fabulous gig, including a medley from Days of Future Passed.

  Nick and Suzanne waited for the majority of the crowd to leave, Suzanne comfortable in the first-tier level seats, which she knew had set the detective back a few dollars. She’d had several glasses of wine, contributing to the greatest sense of relaxation she could remember in months. Nick had seen to her every need, almost before she’d realized what she needed.

  She turned to him with a smile. “Thank you, Nick.”

  “You’re welcome.” Something of the excited puppy was in his eyes, delighted he’d pleased her. “What next?”

  “Next?” She sat up straight. “It’s probably eleven o’clock. Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

  “Saturday tomorrow. No work for me.” A calculating curl of his lips.

  “Right.”

  What to do? Her house was empty. Hope and Riviera were staying with their grandparents, since it wasn’t a school night. They hadn’t left just because of the date. She hadn’t told them. No sense getting their hopes up. Truth be told, she’d been glad they had plans. She’d wanted options, and no reason to have to hurry home.

  “What did you have in mind, Lieutenant?” There. Toss the ball into his court.

  He stood up, offered her a hand. She took it, and he raised her to her feet.

  “First, this.” He slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close to kiss her. She closed her eyes, released the objections that automatically came to her mind and let herself go. He’d worn that aftershave she’d noticed in the courthouse elevator, and as he pressed her against his chest, the scent filled her nose and made her knees weak. Her hands, at first on his shoulders, perhaps ready to push away, soon surrendered with her will, slipping around his neck instead. Their lips met, parted, met again, softly tasting each other, teasing, too. He kissed her a little more intently, seeking something, some answer only her lips could provide, or perhaps only her soul. Heat rose between them consuming all sound and motion, until she lost track of her surroundings.

  He let her go slowly. She opened her eyes, finding his so close, so liquid, so overcome with emotion. Hers, she knew, must have looked the same.

  “Good beginning,” she whispered.

  He didn’t move. “I know where we can finish that thought.”

  Her breath caught. Did she dare?

  “Will you come home with me, Suzanne?”

  Words stuck in her throat, and she couldn’t force them out. She wanted to say no. She wanted to say yes. A stray thought crossed her mind that the rush of desire in her body was willing to let him take her right there, and she squelched that as soon as she caught it. But that one made up her mind. She nodded and let him take her hand.

  They walked, hand in hand, along Seventh Avenue to the parking garage at Theater Square. Night sounds of traffic and happy concert-goers floate
d around them. Suzanne couldn’t speak, afraid she’d jinx what seemed to be the best chance for the right one she’d had for many years. While she would have been concerned to walk in this area by herself on a weeknight, the presence of a city police lieutenant considerably allayed her fears.

  Nick exchanged greetings with the security guard on the first floor of the garage, then they continued up to the second parking deck. As they approached Nick’s pick-up truck’s passenger-side door, a man in a black hooded sweatshirt and jeans walked up to Suzanne and jabbed a large manila envelope in her direction. She took it without thinking.

  “What’s that?” Nick asked, his brow clouding up.

  “For the lady,” the man mumbled. His shoulders hunched, he kept his face turned away from the parking lot lights overhead. Not as tall as Nick, he slouched away, disappearing around the corner toward the exit as Nick reached for the envelope.

  “Do you know that guy?” Nick asked.

  “Hard to tell.” Feeling a little sick, Suzanne pulled the envelope away from Nick’s outstretched hand. Her independent streak wasn’t ready to give in just yet. So far, this was her problem. “All thugs in black look alike in the dark, hmm?”

  “I’ll go after him.”

  “Nick, don’t. We don’t even know what it is.” She started to open the envelope, but he just growled at her.

  “Come on, get in the truck.” Nick stood straight now, like a guard dog at alert, his eyes surveying the garage. “You can examine it inside.”

  She didn’t argue when he opened the door, but climbed in obediently. Her mind returned to Riviera’s email, and the threat therein. What was in the envelope? Another threat? A letter? Something worse?

  Nick closed the door behind her, moving swiftly around the truck to climb in the driver’s side. He gunned the engine, taking off in the direction the man had gone. The man in black was not to be found. Nick exchanged a few brusque sentences with the parking attendant, but got no answers. His foot slammed on the gas pedal and peeled out of the lot.

  Her shoulder slammed into the passenger window as he took a hard left onto Sixth. Her stifled gasp brought a quick look of contrition and an apology, but he didn’t slow down.