Big Guns Out of Uniform (28 page)

I did, and presently he laid a plate in front of me with a full chicken breast, a slice of corn bread, and a small mountain of beans. It was nothing compared to his plate.

“Are you going to eat all that?” I asked incredulously.

“I had a lot of exercise today,” he said, and I rolled my eyes at him.

We munched companionably in silence, my smooth legs entwined with his hard hairy ones under the table.

“So, who was the guy you took pictures of today?” he asked between bites.

“It wasn't a guy. It was four women.”

“Is that right,” he said with what sounded like surprised relief.

“That's right,” I said, suddenly understanding that he'd thought I was shooting a male model, and he hadn't been happy with the idea.

I set my fork down on my beans, not terribly hungry anymore. “Is my work going to be a problem?” I asked carefully.

He tilted up my chin to meet my eyes and I blinked; I'd been watching his hands.

“Not the photography part of it, but the dick-collecting, that bothers me some, yes.”

I rolled my eyes. “That's just a game I played. I wouldn't sleep with anyone else, not if we're together.”

“I guess that's what I want clear, then. Do you want to be with me and will you stay faithful?”

“Will you?” I countered.

“Yes,” he said steadily, not looking away. “You're the sexiest, funniest, most interesting person I've ever known, but I'm not like those guys in
Penthouse
letters; I won't share you with anyone.”

I wanted to shout that of course I'd be faithful, but something stopped me. I wasn't sure he really understood what it meant that I couldn't recognize him. Would he get tired of having to identify himself in a crowd? Would he get annoyed if I got confused and put my arms around some strange guy? He'd never said he loved me, just that he wanted to be with me. Did that mean marriage? Kids?
My God, kids.
I'd never be able to pick mine up from school without making them wear some stupid hat or something.

I could feel myself kind of panicking. This was all way too fast for me. I mean, I hadn't known him that long. Well, I'd known him, but I hadn't
known
him. And just because he was funny and smart and sexy didn't mean that I should promise him everything I had. What if I couldn't deliver? What if I wasn't capable of loving him or anyone else?

He put his hand over mine, and I must have looked a little wild-eyed because he used his most soothing voice to calm me down.

“Debbie, honey, I'm just telling you what I want. You think about it. But be sure, because once I have you I'm not letting you go, understand?”

I nodded, wanting to ask if he loved me, but a little afraid of the answer. I thought he might. I was almost sure of it, and my heart felt tight in my chest.

He took both our plates then, and started doing the dishes. I sat there and watched him, aware that he wasn't completely happy with me and wanting to cry because if I fucked this up, where else would I find a guy who would do the dishes without being asked?

S
ara called late the next morning. It was strange. So often I would think of her, and she would call, or I'd get an e-mail. She was stationed over in Virginia Beach this time, and I hadn't seen her in the better part of a year.

“Hi, baby, it's Sara. What's up?”

“Sleeping with my detective. Think I love him. Help,” I said without preamble.

Understand that Sara has been engaged about five times. She is one of those women who truly love and appreciate men. She has an amazing capacity to give, though it's slightly tainted by the fact that she has trouble saying no to just about anything.

I, on the other hand, have never told any guy that I loved him, and I hated it when they fell in love with me. A one-sided relationship just isn't fun for anyone.

I switched to the cordless for this conversation and went into my studio to work on matting the photos of Marshall's hands. He still hadn't realized they were his, and that struck me as oddly significant, though I couldn't have said why.

“Ohmigod. When did this happen? Is he any good?”

That's the thing with best friends—there's no need to mess around with preliminaries.

“A few days ago. And amazing.”

“How did you do it?”

“The deciding factors seemed to be a short skirt and a smart mouth.”

“I'm so jealous.”

“You're surrounded by men.”

“Yeah, but I can't sleep with half of them.”

“Since when has that stopped you?” I said, laughing.

“So, what's the problem?” she wanted to know. “He loves you back, right?”

“I think so.”

“So go for it.”

“But—”

“You're not going to go on about that face thing again?”

I pouted. “Maybe.”

“Listen, pet. What happened to you is fucked up. God knows I think it's weird when you come to get me at the airport and you pick me out of the crowd by the ‘big boobs, tight jeans' elimination method, but it doesn't change the fact that you're my best friend and I love you.”

“I know,” I muttered.

“So, why does it matter with him?”

“Sometimes, when he's making love to me, I look up at his face, and it's like a stranger's inside me.”

There was a pause after that which could've held a four-course dinner.

“Wow,” she said. “Sounds like a lot of women's fantasies.”

I laughed, and drew my knees up until I was curled up in a little ball on the stool. “I've done a lot of strangers. Being with someone forever means that you know his face as well as your own. It means that you can meet his eyes across a crowded room and know exactly what he's thinking.”

Sara sighed. “I'm sure you're right, but if you ask me, that's only one part of loving someone. Why get stuck on that? If he's worth it, then you'll find your own way of loving each other.”

“How?”

“Sex?”

“Got that covered.”

“Lucky bitch.” She laughed. “Why don't you ask him?”

“Just tell him what's bothering me and ask him how we can fix it?”

“Why not?”

Why not, indeed.
“Okay,” I said.

“Well, now that you've gotten me all horny, I'm gonna go see if I can find a stranger of my own.”

“Wait, when are you going to come to visit me again?”

“I'm not partying with you anymore. I have three words for you: tequila, twins, tattoos. Never again.”

“Are you talking about that night at the fair?”

“Of course. You think I do that all the time?”

“What tattoos?” I asked, dropping the mat board I was holding and coming to attention on my stool.

“The clown tattoos.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They had clowns on their dicks, or near their dicks. Those suckers were long.”

“Are you sure?” I said, dropping my legs and straightening on the stool.

“Yeah, you didn't notice?”

“No, it was dark. I was drunk.”

“That's right. You weren't with me when I checked them out in their booth thing.”

“What kind of booth was it, do you remember?”

“Why?”

“It's important, just tell me.”

“I think it was one of those dart-throwing things, or maybe a ring toss. I wasn't paying much attention. The clown face was painted on the outside of it, too.”

“Sara, I've gotta go. I'll call you later.”

“Don't forget that I get to be maid of honor. Your sister will understand. Love you, pet,” she finished, and hung up before I'd stopped sputtering.

 

I
CALLED
M
ARSHALL
at work, but he wasn't there, so I changed into jeans, a tank top, and my lime-green flip-flops, grabbed one of the photos of the body, and headed down to the station to see if I could find him. I brought my digital camera and a framed picture of me for his desk. And no, I wasn't naked. It was a shot from his partner's wedding. I hesitated to do it, but some little imp inside me wanted to aggravate him, just a little. A girl couldn't change her spots all at once.

I went into the garage, not too distracted to notice that he'd moved my car into it at some point last night. I wondered if he'd always take care of me, or whether he was sucking up until he'd convinced me to take him on.

I thought that maybe he was just the kind of guy who took care of things, his woman included. Besides, he was already getting lots of enthusiastic sex, and I was pretty sure that most men only sucked up to women when they wanted to get laid.

It was about noon, so the trip down the 5 wasn't too bad. I was starving and the fairgrounds weren't going anywhere, so I picked up
carne asada
burritos for me and whoever was on duty when I got there.

The guard at the gate waved me inside when I showed him my pass, and I parked next to two cruisers near the front of the building. I walked into the office, which was your basic institutional building. Formica desks, folding chairs, and dirty white walls.

A resounding cheer went up, as it always did when I walked in the door. Most of the women even liked me; I'd gone out for drinks with them a couple times. I starting pulling out the extra burritos I'd brought, handing them out on a first-come, first-serve basis. The taco shop had included chips and salsa as well, so I set that out and watched the vultures feed.

I wandered over to Marshall's desk, carrying my burrito. I set the package with the framed picture of me on his desk and then wandered back over to the crowd. “Anybody seen Scott or Stevens?” I asked around a mouthful of heavenly seasoned meat and onions. I wandered back over and perched on someone's desk. Someone I knew, I hoped.

“They left an hour ago,” a young blond cop said next to me, bending to take a bite of my burrito. I figured it must be Alex Barnes, a cute young thing who had asked me out a couple times. “What do you want with those old guys when you can have me?”

“You're just too easy, Boston, a girl likes a challenge.”

He put a hand to his heart in mock agony, and I laughed.

That's the picture that greeted Marshall and Stevens as they came into the room. Me sitting on the desk surrounded by cops munching burritos. I suppose it could've looked worse.

“Don't y'all have work to do?” the deep voice that I loved commented from the doorway. I looked up, eager to tell him what I'd found out.

I hopped down, handing the last half of my burrito to Barnes, and hurried over to him. “Hey,” I said cheerfully, and started to move in for a hug. Something in the stiffness of his body stopped me, so I turned to Stevens and hugged him instead.

“Did you need something?” my lover asked, interrupting, and I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Actually, I found out where I've seen that tattoo.”

They snapped to attention like hound dogs. “Where?” Marshall asked, taking my elbow and leading me toward his desk.

I shook him off. He didn't get to touch me right now.

“At the fair two years ago.”

“Two years?” they said in unison. “That's gonna be—”

“It was on a carnie. Actually two carnies. But I think the design was painted on the outside of their booth as well.”

“And carnies, while not always predictable, generally follow established travel patterns….” Stevens began.

“And since they usually go out of their way to avoid government agencies…” I continued.

“What do you mean you saw this tattoo on two carnies?” Marshall asked, and while I suspected part of him wanted to know for the sake of the case, another part of him was remembering the location of the tattoo.

“Sara hooked up with them. They were twins,” I said defiantly, and noticed that Stevens shifted his weight uneasily beside me.

“Twins.”

“Yep.”

“So they might have other family there,” he ventured.

“I think so,” I said thoughtfully. My memories of that night were vague at best, but I thought I remembered them saying to Sara that their sisters would be out for the evening.

“But why dump the body near the lagoon?” Stevens asked. “They would've done better to chop it into little pieces and bury it or feed it to one of the animals. They have animals, don't they?”

Did I ever call him sweet?
“I don't think they have lions or anything,” I said. “It's not the circus.”

“We won't know unless we find out more. We'd better check it out,” Marshall said to Stevens, ignoring me completely.

“What about me?” I asked archly. The man was so in for it.

“What about you? The twin is our most likely suspect at the moment. What we really need is a sketch of the man's face, and you can't give us that.”

I don't know if he said it deliberately to hurt me, but it worked like a charm anyway. I think my mouth might have fallen open, but it didn't take me long to recover. “Well, you can forget about what I can give you,” I said coldly, and stalked off.

As an exit line, it lacked something, but he followed me anyway, catching me just before I reached the sliding-glass door to the parking lot.

“I want to talk to you,” he growled at me through clenched teeth.

“Too bad.”

“Damn it, Deborah, I didn't mean that.”

“I don't care.”

“Yes, you do,” he said, shaking me. “Come on,” he ordered, pulling me roughly back down the hall and into some kind of utility closet.

He shut the door and we were enclosed in the musty, ammonia-scented darkness. The only light came from the crack under the door. I held myself stiffly away from him, trembling, but there wasn't so much room in the little closet that I wasn't completely aware of his every breath.

“You'd better watch out, someone might get the wrong idea and think you're screwing me or something.” Sarcasm has always been my defense against tears.

“Stop it. I'm sorry, okay?” His hands cupped my face. I turned it away from him. “Honey, I didn't mean to make you cry.” I felt him lean forward and his lips touched my forehead, my hot cheeks.

“I always cry when I'm mad. It doesn't mean anything.” I felt him smile against my skin.

“I was jealous. I saw you laughing and flirting like you always do. Looking gorgeous, and for a second I was back where I was weeks ago, wanting you and hating you at the same time.”

“Are you ashamed of being with me?”

“No.” He sounded appalled. “Is that what you thought?”

“It's kind of hard not to.”

“No,” he said, kissing me. “Not ever.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You want me to prove it?” he demanded. “I'll go right now. I'll walk in there and tell all of them that I love you. I love Deborah Valley.”

I put a hand over his mouth. “Shut up.” I was crying again, on the verge of hiccupping sobs, and once that happens I'm completely out of control. So I took my hand away and kissed him instead, and that felt so nice and he tasted so good that I put my arms around his neck and sank into him.

He kissed me back at first, but when my lower belly rubbed against his erection, he tried to pull away. “Honey,” he said, catching my arms, “we can't here.” I ignored him. “Baby, I have to work. Stevens—”

“Stevens will understand,” I said wickedly, and nipped him on the chin.

“But…” he started to say, and I slid my hand down the front of his slacks and gripped him.