Fractured (18 page)

Normally she'd take issue with the presumptive male tone but Ellie knew he was nervous about the upcoming evening, whether he showed it outwardly or not. “Fine with me, but we are taking my car instead of your pickup truck. Crawling in and out of that thing in heels sounds like a recipe for disaster. I don't mind getting shot at for the citizens of the state of Wisconsin, but I do draw the line at breaking my leg.”

“I don't want to be responsible for a shoe dysfunction.” Her partner held up his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. “Your car it is.”

“Glad you agree.”

“I save my arguments for things I really give a shit about.”

“Could you try and not say ‘shit' in front of the governor?”

“I can try.”

She took the file and picked up the handbag that was half the size of the one she usually carried but matched her dress, and stood up, giving him her keys. “We'll talk about this on our way to Madison.”

“I had no doubt of that.” The words were said dryly. He stepped back to let her precede him. “Does it bother Grantham when you get really focused and talk about dead people, crime scene photos, and possible motives over your spaghetti and meatballs? It used to drive Kate crazy. In her somewhat expert opinion, she thought I was … how did she put it? Morbidly obsessed with my job. Yeah, those were her exact words.”

It was a valid question—if a little personal—but Santiago never had trouble with being blunt.

She hadn't talked to Bryce in several days. It was easy to picture him sitting in his hotel room in front of his computer, no doubt forgetting to eat lunch. It brought on a pang of unwelcome emotion that she didn't want to analyze. “If he minds, he's never said so. Let me get my coat.”

*   *   *

Jason was sweating.

It had nothing to do with the temperature in the car and everything to do with the evening in general. It didn't help how Ellie looked in a red dress that distracted him, and the sucky weather had gotten worse and he was driving an unfamiliar vehicle.

When they pulled into the hotel parking lot it was a relief.

They checked in—separate rooms of course, that had been the truth unfortunately—and he dropped his bag on the floor of his generic room and absurdly enough wondered what his mother might think if she knew he was going to have dinner with the governor.

Why he'd care was a mystery even to him as he dismissed the thought. Maybe it was just not really remembering her, having that inner curiosity over what she might be like, and this was one hell of a time to examine his feelings about it all. Maybe Lukens could unravel it, but he was coming to terms with the reality that therapy didn't work that way. He said something, she shot it back at him, and he was forced to think about it and dissect it himself.

Not his favorite pastime.

Somehow he'd thought seeing a shrink involved them telling you what was wrong. Not the way it went unless Lukens was a hack, and he didn't think she was. In his opinion introspection was worthless but he was being forced into it anyway.

Why does the idea of commitment bother you
?

“Because life is not a damn television show,” he'd answered in their last session.
Commitment involves serious risk and there is no promise from God or anyone else that the person you've just decided is an important part of your life will stay in it
.
Whether it is their choice, or someone just takes them away
.

Impossible to get more honest than that. Lukens had nodded and he wasn't sure if it was because he'd just told her something profound that she'd already guessed or if she just agreed. For some reason he kind of thought it was the latter.

When he went just one door down in the hotel hallway and knocked, MacIntosh answered wearing a long graceful wool coat that extended to her ankles. She'd added some lipstick to the ensemble and he caught a subtle whiff of perfume.

Limousine.

Lights across Lake Mendota.

Cold night but not snowing at the moment. He'd drank a beer in his room in about five seconds flat because he needed it, and while in the past he'd wondered if he had a problem with alcohol, he was pretty sure he didn't, he just liked it. No crime there. He'd had plenty of time to ponder addiction and it wasn't one of his many sins.

“Please tell me we won't be drinking red wine all evening with our pinky fingers sticking out,” he said as he gazed out over the water. At least the shoes they'd picked out were comfortable. It was doubtful he'd ever wear them again, but they weren't bad.

MacIntosh laughed softly as the driver opened the door for her. “If we do, you'll get through it.”

As tense as
he
was, she was perfectly relaxed in the car as they pulled away, legs crossed, her profile remote. Why should
she
be nervous? On the other hand, social graces weren't his strong suit. It was more a lack of experience than anything innate, or so he liked to think anyway.

He just said it flat out. “I might embarrass the crap out of you.”

“How sweet you are to be worried about me.” Her tone was saccharine on purpose. “Nicely put too.”

Okay, now she was just trying to tick him off. “I've been called a lot of things, but not sweet. Fine, so that statement was an example of how I might embarrass you, got it now?”

“Not really. I am me, and you are you. If anyone confuses us, then they are an idiot, and I do not care what idiots think.”

The lights of cars in the other lanes went past and he glanced over, moved to
almost
say that she'd basically pinned down his outlook on life. “There are times I actually like you, though I am still confused over whether or not that was supportive, or an insult. I'm going for the latter.”

“Really? The next thing you'll do is kick me on the playground.”

All right, now she'd made
him
laugh. He stretched out his legs. “All this protocol and stuff … I don't know. If I could have figured out a way to get out of this shit, I would have.”

MacIntosh didn't disagree. “Yes, you would have, but Metzger would have pushed back and at the end of it all, it's just one night. Besides, come on, you helped the man's niece and his zealous cause—which I agree with—just give the governor the chance to thank you. Any man in his position would want to, so don't treat him differently. He deserves the same consideration you'd give anyone else.”

That was such backhanded logic he turned his head and stared at her. “You think I'd be rude to our governor?”

Her serene poise was unruffled. “Anything is possible. You said two seconds ago you might embarrass me.”

“Oh, for Christ's sake, MacIntosh. Not like that.”

The smooth swing of her hair brushed her shoulders as she shook her head. “I think you'll do your best and that is all anyone can ask.”

The mansion was built with palatial columns and well-lit. Security people came out as the car pulled up and they were hustled out of the limousine. He'd already been told he couldn't carry a weapon and that had not helped how he felt about the entire evening. Relinquishing his sidearm to someone he didn't know chafed. He handed it over with a tight jaw to a dark-haired guy dressed in what was probably a more expensive suit. “Loaded and the name is Santiago. I want it back.”

Ellie showed more grace, but she would. She let them open her door, got out, and took her .45 from her purse. Handle first, she handed it over. “Detective MacIntosh, MPD.”

The security detail was polite, nice, admiring Ellie, and she was worth looking at when she pulled out the stops. Jason had the irrational—and he knew it was—urge to go all possessive even if he knew he had no right to it, and take her arm, but he consciously did his best not to touch her.

So he motioned at the door. “Shall we?”

Just then his phone began to vibrate. Luckily, he'd been smart enough to silence it, though he certainly was not expecting a call of any kind. He pulled it from his pocket and saw the display, but didn't recognize the number.

That was weird. He allowed himself to be screened and casually pocketed his phone, but waited until they were inside to check the actual message. It was a text, not a call.

“Jason, where are you?”

“Problem?” Ellie looked at him inquiringly.

“I have no idea,” he said truthfully, but before he could explain someone laid a hand on his arm.

The governor's niece was as pretty as he'd imagined she'd be when she wasn't shaken and pale and her smile was warm. A shimmery blue dress set off her dark chestnut hair. “Detective Santiago, I'm glad to see you under better circumstances.” She held out her hand to Ellie. “I'm Lauren.”

“Detective Santiago's partner, Ellie MacIntosh.”

“Oh.” The young woman's eyes widened slightly. “I saw your name on the list but when you walked in together I assumed you were his wife or girlfriend.”

“No sane woman would put up with him if not ordered to do so by the chief of police.” Ellie ignored Santiago's sardonic look. “This is a beautiful place. And I'm looking forward to meeting your uncle.”

“I'd love to give you a private tour. Let me introduce you first.”

*   *   *

So this was
hell.

He'd kind of always wondered since he anticipated he'd end up there eventually. Jason viewed the array of forks with resignation, guessing most people did the same thing, because no one would ever intentionally dirty this much silverware for one meal.

Luckily, he was decently observant—he should hope so considering his job—and he just did what everyone else did with their cutlery, so that part wasn't difficult.

Other aspects of the meal were not as comfortable. Lauren sat next to him and she wasn't what he'd call animated, but she did flirt a little, and he had to wonder what Ellie was thinking.

Right
. She was thinking nothing about him, he decided after the salad course was cleared away. In that red dress, she sat next to one of the governor's aides engrossed in what appeared to be a deep conversation. Jason was honestly experiencing a frustrating jealousy that he couldn't even justify since she lived with Grantham. End of story.

Hell, he should call Grantham so they could commiserate. The entire thing sucked.

At least he'd have something to talk about with Dr. Lukens on his next visit.

It only got worse.

“My uncle told me you've been shot twice in the line of duty.” Lauren looked at him with what appeared to be admiration. All around them the elegant dining room hummed with conversation and the subdued clink of silverware on fine porcelain.

Actually, he'd been shot on two occasions, but taken three bullets and had the scars to prove it. “Yeah, you'd think I'd be a little more careful,” he said wryly. “Makes me sound like an idiot.”

“Not at all.” Lauren sat back so a waiter could put a plate of what looked to be sautéed chicken in a sauce that had mushrooms and tiny translucent onions in front of her. “It just means you are willing to risk your life for the public. Not all people can say that.”

His plate was served next and whatever else could be said of the evening, it did smell fantastic. He should at least make an effort to be cordial because normally he'd be pretty interested, but just like he'd felt with the interest of the woman in the grocery store, he was finding it hard to overcome his personal stupidity at lusting after another man's girlfriend.

A serious impairment to his already lackluster personal life.

So he said with what he hoped was convincing interest, “Tell me about you. What do you do? Have you always lived in Milwaukee?”

“I'm from a small town, actually. Word of warning, by the way, since I don't get the sense you're having the time of your life tonight, my uncle is going to ask you a favor.”

Well, apparently he wasn't good at hiding his feelings, but then again, he'd rarely practiced. Jason carefully cut off a piece of chicken but didn't put it in his mouth. He had a tendency to eat too fast, both from a childhood desire to wolf down his food and keep his time with his father to a minimum and his stint in the military that demanded efficiency of time. “Like what?”

“I'll let him tell you.” Her gaze was earnest but held a hint of laughter. “I think I got you dragged into it.”

“You're enjoying this,” he said with a rueful laugh. “But then again, you're right, you got me into this situation.”

Lauren laughed but then sobered and said in a very quiet voice, “You have the bluest eyes. Has anyone ever told you that?”

 

Chapter 18

Ellie knew all evening her partner wasn't happy, but it was hardly part of her job description to keep him that way. Still, she did feel amused sympathy when the governor, in front of everyone at the dinner she knew Jason didn't want to attend, made him stand to a round of applause, and asked him in front of the guests if he would be willing to go on camera for a public service announcement about cell phone misuse. A classic deer-in-the-headlights moment if one ever existed. Metzger would kill him if he said no. To Santiago's credit he recovered fairly well and mumbled something that was probably agreement but she wouldn't swear to it, and he came back to sit down as quickly as possible. Then he looked at her and his expression said:
Just get me out of here
.

The least she could do. More than once during the course of the evening she'd met his eyes and tried to convey a silent message of support. Hopefully she'd succeeded since as far as she could tell, he'd done just fine. He looked outwardly relaxed and pulled off the pretense anyway of enjoying himself. So she was the one who excused them, shaking the governor's hand, citing the current case. Not a lie. The clock was ticking and someone was out there, maybe thinking about the next victim.