Marrying Mike...Again (12 page)

“What time did you arrive this morning, Sandra?” he was asking now, his deep voice knowing. “Six, seven o’clock? You should go home, get some rest.”

“There’s too much to do,” she said. “For a bit, I’m going to have to push myself hard. I don’t mind, Mike. Besides, today was certainly better than yesterday.”

“No new nameplates,” he granted.

“Yep. And I think I might have even gotten a nod of approval from the lieutenants.”

He appeared genuinely impressed. “Huh, maybe the boys are smarter than I gave them credit for. Well, you wanna know something else?”

“I don’t know. Do I?”

“New pool,” he told her. “We’re no longer betting on when you’re going to leave.”

“Uh-oh. What are you betting on?”

“The length of your legs.”

“What?”

“That’s some skirt you’re wearing,
ma chère.
And I mean that in the nicest way. Haven’t you noticed the increase in traffic going by your office? It’s been the talk of the department. Guys are doubling down bets on what you’re going to wear tomorrow.”

“I think I’m going to wear pants tomorrow!”

“And rob me of more money?” He leaned back, appearing injured.

“Rob you of money? How am I robbing you of money?”

“Because I got an unfair advantage in the pool. I know your legs better than anyone else. And I remember exactly every inch of your skin, from the supple line of your thigh to the taut curve of your calf to the delicate little indent of your ankle. I remember your tiny toes, your high arch, your ticklish heels. Hell, I still remember the night—”

“Hey…no…stop.” Her mouth had suddenly gone too dry. “That’s…that’s not a professional conversation.”

Mike winked. “I know.”

“Mike!”

“Sandy!” he mocked back, then threw up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. You looked like you’d been having a long day. I figured you could use a little distraction. Surely Excel spreadsheets can’t be everything a girl wants on a Tuesday night. Besides, that is one
helluva
suit, babe.”

His tone was so approving Sandra lost her train of thought again. “It’s a power suit,” she murmured defensively.

He said, “Damn right.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Mike Rawlins, get your mind out of the gutter!”

“But then I wouldn’t be any fun.”

“I don’t need you to be fun.”

“Sure you do.” He held up his hands in surrender again as she started sputtering. “Come on, Sandy,” he said reasonably. “It’s late, you’re tired, you obviously haven’t eaten yet. What’d you say? You and me and a dinner platter.”

“What? When?”

“Well, I was kind of thinking now.”

“I don’t know.” Her gaze went straight to her desk and the budget she was still fine-tuning. She had a lot of work to do. She really did need to buckle down for a bit and she probably shouldn’t be fraternizing too much with her ex-husband. But…he’d liked her suit. He’d complimented her on her job. She did still remember that night…

“Take-out Chinese,” she muttered after a moment.

“Split the tab fifty-fifty. No lingering over dessert.”

“What if I get a really promising fortune?”

“Hope the waitress is cute.”

“Ah,
ma chère,
I know you don’t mean that.”

“Those are the terms.”

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“I’ll accept one collegial Mai Tai.”

“Sold.” He slapped his hands on his thighs and stood.

“I’ll drive.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“You’re not a very good date,
ma chère.
”

“That’s because I’m not your date,” she reminded him levelly. “I’m your boss.”

“Methinks, the lady doth protest too much.”

“Well, methinks the Cajun doth never think at all.”

Mike grinned again, a slow, heated expression that did funny things to her chest. He slid off her desk. He strode toward the door. “Damn, I’ve missed you,” he said.

And then he was gone.

Alexandria’s one and only Chinese restaurant was a family-run operation sitting on the edge of downtown. The food was hot, cheap and good. The decor was an ode to red vinyl. After another brief discussion, Sandra decided they would take a table after all. Formica countertops and bustling business suddenly seemed a much safer environment than his place or hers.

Mike placed their order. General Tsao’s chicken for him—the hotter, the better—chicken and broccoli for Sandra. He told her vegetables had no place in fast food. She pointed to his graying temples and told him he wasn’t getting any younger—soon enough he’d have to realize that green food was his friend. He said only women ever thought that way. She said that’s why so many wives outlived their husbands. He said husbands only died first be cause they were given the choice—more years of marriage or death.

By the time they sat down at a corner booth, they’d both worked up a sweat.

“So has your family stopped laughing yet?” she asked as two heaping platters of steaming food arrived.

“They’re still having a good time with things. Last night my father called to ask if I was still six foot two. I said, of course. He said damn, he’d just lost a bet with my mother that you’d have already cut me down to size.”

“It hasn’t been for lack of trying,” she assured him soberly.

“I’d say your tongue is as razor sharp as ever,” he agreed.

“And coming from you, I take that as a compliment.”

She helped herself to a piece of his chicken, sucked in her cheeks as a hot pepper exploded against her tongue, and grabbed her water. “God, how can you eat that stuff!”

“Ah honey, this is nothing. You should try my mom’s blackened swordfish. Now that’s hot. So how are your parents doing?”

Sandra shrugged. “Mom called last night to ask me if I’d come to my senses yet. Dad mentioned about eight times that he hadn’t filled my job at the security company. I’m taking that as a sign they’re not completely comfortable with my decision.”

“An Aikens has never been a chief of police before,” Mike observed. “You rebel.”

“Pure black sheep, that’s me.”

His expression shifted, looking surprisingly serious.

“Hey, Sandra,” he said, dishing up more rice. “I think you’re going to be fine. You’re green, you’re anal, you’re working too hard, but those are all habits I’m sure we can break you of.”

“Gee, Mike, thanks.”

They chewed in companionable silence for a bit. Then Sandra set down her fork and, though she hated to break the mood, she had to ask. “Mike, what’s going on with Koontz?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Want another red pepper?”

“Come on. This morning in the meeting with Dr. Mayes, the thought of approaching Vee seemed to make Rusty extremely nervous. The minute Dr. Mayes suggested you guys actually interview teenagers, I thought Koontz might faint. Koontz is too experienced a cop to suddenly seem weak in the knees at the idea of approaching a few juvenile delinquents. What should I know?”

“Nothing. He’s fine. Small talk just isn’t Rusty’s thing.”

“He small-talks with you fine. And he makes wise-cracks in front of a whole department a hobby. You know what I think it is? I think it’s the idea of approaching African-Americans on their own turf. He’s prejudiced. He’s scared.”

“Sandy, it’s not my place to say—”

“You’ve picked up African-American suspects before, haven’t you?”

“Of course—”

“Taken them to the station, interrogated them in small, stuffy rooms?”

“Sure—”

“So it can’t be just questioning them. It’s staying in the east side, isn’t it? It’s approaching these teens on their time on their turf. It’s feeling like he’s on enemy terrain. He’s prejudiced and that makes him scared.”

“Koontz isn’t afraid of anything!”

“Sure he is, Mike. He just isn’t going to say anything.” Sandra leaned forward. “I’m taking your advice to heart, Mike. Anything you say here will stay between you and me. But I need to know what’s going on. This is important.”

“And I
don’t know
what’s going on,” Mike growled back. “He’s doing his job, Sandy. We’ve been going all over this town trying to find this kid. Rusty’s hardly daydreaming in the back of a squad car or drinking the day away. He’s just…preoccupied, sometimes. I don’t know.”

“Not a hundred and ten percent?”

“A cop doesn’t always have to be one hundred and ten percent.”

“But Koontz generally is, isn’t he, Mike? That’s what it says on all his evaluations. He’s obsessive about solving cases. That’s what you like about him.”

“Hey, so he’s having an off week. It happens.”

“He isn’t going to do any interviewing with you, Mike. I’ll put money on it right now. He’ll have someplace else to go, or paperwork to catch up on, or something. You already know it in your heart—you’ll go to interview the kids and he won’t be around.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that,” Mike said firmly. “We’ve built a major case file at this point. The interview logs are running into twenty pages. If he wants to catch up on those while I do more legwork, then more power to him.”

“Fine. I’ll go with you.”

“What?” Mike set down his fork. He wasn’t amused.

“It’s inappropriate for only one person to conduct an interview, Mike, you know that. Two pairs of eyes are always better than one. I’ll go.”

“No.”

“With all due respect, it’s not your decision—”

“Oh, don’t you pull rank on this, Sandy. This is not about rank. This is my case, you assigned me to it, now don’t tell me how to run it.”

“You think that’s what I’m doing? Stepping on your toes?”

“Damn right. You always want things your way, Sandy. Not just done, but done the way you want it, when you want it, how you want it. Obviously you feel you didn’t get a chance to run my job when we were married, so you’re going to take it over now.”

Her face froze up. She said tightly, “You egotistical bastard. How dare you think I took this job just to spite you. What the hell makes you think any part of my life or my decisions still revolve around you?”

“Because you said it yourself last night, Sandy! That I didn’t talk about my job enough, that I didn’t let you into my precious little police world. So now you’ve gone and inserted yourself into it. Well, congratulations to you. We can talk thirteen-year-old kids committing murder and babies found in trash cans all you want. You can come with me and roll in the filth to your heart’s desire. Why should I try to protect you anymore? Why should I try to keep the garbage of my job from my wife or my home or my few after-work hours? You obviously never trusted me to be a good cop. You obviously don’t think I’m capable of keeping the world safe. Hell, you had to go and become my boss.
Dammit!
”

He suddenly slammed his fist into the table. The motion startled them both and did little to alleviate his rage. The anger had sneaked up on him and dug its claws in deep. He didn’t know where it had come from. He hadn’t expected it to hit him so hard. But now his hands were trembling and his chest was too tight and he could feel the veins bulging along his neck.

Sandra was staring at him white-faced. As if she’d never seen him before. And that made him feel worse than angry. That made him ashamed.

She said hoarsely, “I trust you, Mike.”

He shook his head tiredly, rubbing the back of his neck now and wishing he could make this whole scene go away. “You’re just saying words, Sandy. Take it from a Cajun, words don’t mean a thing. Every night when I came home, you drilled me like a Marine Corps sergeant. How was my day? Any arrests? How’d they go down? How was the case shaping up for court? Did I feel prepared? What about Koontz? What about my lieutenant? What about my arrest record for the week? Hell, half the time I simply wanted to sit down with a cold beer and my wife. I didn’t want to think about my day. No suspects or crime scenes or kids killing kids. I wanted to just be. In
my
home. With
my
wife. A little reward for a job on the front lines. You couldn’t allow me that much, though, could you, Sandy?” He looked at her with genuine hurt. “Why was it so hard to trust me when I said things were fine?”

“Because ‘fine’ was all you ever said, Mike! Then Rusty would call, or your father or your brother and you’d talk for
hours.
I never doubted you as a cop. My God, I
loved
you for being a cop. I was proud of you. I just wanted… I just wanted to be the person you talked with for hours. I wanted to be your best friend, Mike, not simply the woman you took to bed.”

“You were my
wife.
How could you doubt your importance in my life?”

“Because I did. Because that’s what wives do. We worry, Mike. We doubt. We get married and the first time we discover we’re still lonely, we get scared. Then I’d try to reach out to you. I’d seek reassurance. And you would simply say, ‘Fine.”’

“But I—ah, hell.” Mike pounded the table again, then twirled his glass of cola. He didn’t know what to say anymore. Half the time he looked at this woman, all he could think was good things. Then he’d look at their marriage and, God, what a mess. He didn’t understand. He didn’t know how to fix it.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like an outsider, Sandy,” he attempted at last, his troubled gaze locked on his glass. “You’ll discover it for yourself soon enough. After the really long days on this job, you come home empty. And you can’t talk about it. You can’t angst about it—hell, you can’t even dream about it. You gotta just sit and recharge, let the good wash away the bad. That was all it was ever about.”

“But Mike, if that was the case, why could you talk for so long to Koontz?”

“Because he’s not part of my home, Sandy. He’s not sanctuary. He’s the freaking job. Don’t you get it yet? All Koontz and I
do
talk about is police work.”

“Oh.” Sandra nodded shortly but still appeared subdued. Their collegial dinner had deteriorated, and he could tell she was as self-conscious as he was about the turn things had taken.

“Well, in the spirit of sharing,” she offered haltingly, “I wasn’t asking about your day because I didn’t trust you. I’ve always thought you were a good cop. And I didn’t become police chief to tell you what to do. Well, okay, so that was one appeal…” She shrugged, smiling wryly.