Quintic (5 page)

She had been
working part
-time for Christopher’s team
for a while now. Not her first job with law enforcement. When she
was dating her late ex-boyfriend Joshua, she had found a job at the
City Archives Department as a filing clerk-slash-research
assistant. A while ago, Christopher had her transferred to his
squad, although, for some reason, the Big guy was under the
impression she had tricked him into it.

It had
started innocently enough, her wanting to read some newer older
case files than the ones she got to see at
Archives
, and Christopher, the damn
infuriating cop of a man she was dating, had not wanted her to. To
be honest, she had not worked her three days every two weeks in a
while, a long while, so maybe the damn man was getting his way.
Maybe she should just quit.

In her
private monastery room that Saturday night, exhausted, a little
from the Tai Chi, a lot from the Yoga, without any red wine,
without a private trainer, without Reid already asleep, she missed
Christopher. She couldn’t remember ever missing anyone, not even
Joshua, and she wasn’t sure she liked the feeling.
Infuriating.

Normally the
Yoga place was a cell-free retreat, and with her mobile phone
addiction, she shouldn’t have brought hers, but she was rarely into
normality. Sneaking the phone into the place had not been that
hard; she wasn’t about to let anyone search her, was she?
Especially when Christopher was not around to do the
job.

She called him at home on his
home phone.

“
Hi, Angel,
you OK?” Concern laced his voice.

“
Hi to you.
Why wouldn’t I be OK?”
Really, I’m doing Yoga, how could I not be OK?
The man was infuriating.

She heard
the smile in his voice. “Princess, you called my place knowing I’d
be here.” Yup, she had. Not good. She really wanted to hear his
voice.

“
It’s
Saturday night,
Christopher. You could
have been out.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Out. With the
guys. Some place.”

“
Y
ou mean to the
strippers?”

“Christopher!”

“
Princess of
mine,” he cooed. “Where do you think I go when you take
off?”

“I think you go on your terrace
and sulk.”

“You wish.”

She sighed.
He heard.
“You sure you’re OK,
Angel?”

“Just groovy.”

“
Not good,
Pussycat, you’re only groovy when you don’t want to talk. You sure
you’re OK? Want me to come over?”

She
laughed.
“By the time you get here, it’ll
be morning.”

“
I know. Too
bad. That’s what happens when you run off.” Damn, he was arrogant.
She wasn’t running away. She was merely, well, spending quality
time apart. “It’s a shame I’m not there to rub your back, isn’t it?
To make you feel truly groovy.” Damn him, he had his low voice
on.

“
That’s
fine, Big guy, plenty of
guys here who give back rubs.”

“Patricia.” Warning in his
voice.

“Oui, mon chéri
?”

Pause. “Please don’t.”

She started
laughing.
“Don’t what? Get my back rubbed
or tease you?”

He laughed
too. “Both, I guess. Laugh for me again.”

“Make me laugh again.”

“
How about I
have you moan instead?”

“
Christopher.
” What was he
thinking, it was a two-hour flight! It was too late to arouse
her.

“
What is it,
Princess? Don’t you want me?”

“Not right now.”

“
Really?”
Damn, his voice was low. Husky.

Damn, damn
him, he was doing it to her again. Fine. She too could turn on the
heat. “
Mon
chéri
, you know I’m much better at
falling asleep wired with lust than you are.”

“Who says I’m going to
sleep?”

“
Christopher.
”

“
Darling,
really, I like it so when you get all breathy like now.”

“
Christopher, please.”

“
I’d like to
listen while you mas−”

“Christopher!”

“
Darling of
mine, you have no idea how much I would.”

She took a
deep breath and reminded herself that she
indeed
was a much better
tease than he was. He was more a take-charge kind of guy. A take
hold kind of guy. “Really, you’re a middle-aged man, how can
you?”

“
Angel,
middle-age starts at fifty.
I’ve still
got a few good years left. And with you around, I’m keeping young.
Especially with all the running.”

Knowing he
only ran when he was preoccupied or angry, she asked playfully,
“Did you go running today?”

“Nope. No running. No smoking.
Just beer and strippers with the guys.”

“
You are not
funny.
”

“I know. The beer wasn’t cold
enough. But the strippers, wow!”

“Christopher!”

“
Yes,
Darling? You know, if I heard you moan, I wouldn’t need to
alleviate.”

“Alleviate?”

“Jerk myself.”

“
Christopher
James MacLaren.” The man was laughing again.
“Do you really need to be so … graphic?”

“With you, yes. You tend to be,
shall we say, imaginative with everything. I want to make sure we
understand each other.”

“And what am I supposed to be
understanding right now?”

“
I have a
major boner
.”

“You always have an
erection.”

“
I haven’t
had one since I last saw you or thought of you.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“
Yes, good.
I
haven’t been, ah, you know, hum, wet
since I last saw you.”

“
Fuck,
Patricia!”

Her turn to
laugh.
“How about I listen to you, Big
guy? You are big and hard, right?”

She heard
him groan
. “Damn right I am, Princess,
but I don’t moan like you do.”

“
You are
impossible.
”

“
You are
impossibly sexy, even hours away. What am I going to do about
it?”

“Nothing tonight.”

Big
theatrical sigh at the other end. “You sure you don’t want to
jack−”

“
Christopher, this is costing me a fortune in long
distance.” Big theatrical sigh from her end now, but then she
smiled. “Tell you what, after we hang up I’ll touch myself thinking
of you. Where do you suggest I start?”

“
You are
killing me. Y
ou know that,
right?”

She sighed
again, longingly, and she wasn’t faking her desire. “Have a good
night, Big guy.”

“
You too,
Darling of mine. You’re going to pay for this you know.”

“Is that so?”

He
laughed.
“First chance I get, you can
count on it.”

Oh
mon
amour
, I sure hope so.
“Christopher? Thank you,
mon chéri
. I don’t
feel groovy anymore.”

“But I do.”

Keeping Busy

S
o even though Chris did not work
that weekend, they did not see each other. He missed her, the smell
of her, the way she sauntered as she spoke and laughed. The way she
would sometimes suspend her movements just to look at him. The
briefest of moments. He missed having her walk up behind him and
kiss his nape, rest her lips against his skin and rub the hair on
the back of his head. That simple display of affection got to him
every fucking time. He missed seeing her smile in her sleep. He
missed her breathing. Moaning. Coming.

At the
office, when she showed up, he got to see her in action, but they
never touched. He got to walk up to her, look over her shoulder as
she was reading a file at her desk, even whisper instructions in
her ear, and yet they never touched. Hard as hell.

At first, he
feared her presence at the precinct would be distracting, but she
actually helped. She had helped Reid found her place in the team,
not the only female anymore. Still the only female officer, but
that fucking significant detail seemed to be lost on
Patricia.

The guys
were more polite, or cruder but always respectful. Sort of. Even if
often he had left her sleeping in bed barely hours before, he liked
seeing her
breeze in on those mornings
when she decided to show up. She always wore a different outfit
that reflected her mood. Sleek jeans and a loose top with heels
when she felt like the sexy writer that she was. A tailored suit
when she was playing the filing clerk, or so her
three-days-every-two-week paycheck specified. Boots, fitted jeans,
a silky blouse, a jacket, her what she called ‘plain-clothes
policeman’ outfit when all was well. Sexy as hell. She even showed
up in a pair of Yoga pants and a tight t-shirt once, hair in a
ponytail, what he nicknamed her college ingenue look. Attractive
too. All outfits were fucking eye-catching, but she did help him
think. No stress when she was around, none from the job at
least.
When
she showed up.

Not that he
was stressed; he was stoic, always had been. Not much made him
flinch or surprised him, but she did, big time, and in a fucking
good way. Somehow being around her had given him back part of his
empathy, his humanity even. They were a lot alike when it came to
relationships; they had no need to see the other all the time or to
talk to the other every day. As long as he knew she was safe and
happy, he could let her have fucking quality time apart, her words,
her fucking idea!

At
the beginning of their relationship, they had
both been very careful not to let on how much they liked one
another, her more than him. Her because of the Joshua jerk, him
because of the way he was. Not that he had had feelings to let on
in the past, those had just been passing women, fucks only.
Patricia was something else. A woman, all woman, not a part of her
he didn’t want to love. Touch. Fuck. Kiss. Lick. Bite. Possess.
Protect. Taste. Love. Again and again.

But the
woman was a runner. She
acted as if their
fake yet legal marriage, theatrics for his aborted trial during the
quartet mess, hadn’t occurred. She had even asked for a divorce. He
had not complied.
No way in
hell, Angel
. She had not uttered a word
on either marriage or divorce once since their return from the
beach. If she asked for a divorce again, he had a cop-out ready:
without a signed prenuptial agreement, half of his assets belonged
to her. Never in her life would she take any money from him hence
he was sure things would remain as they were. They were married or
so it said on a paper somewhere in the City’s registry.
Good.

First things
first,
though. He still hadn’t convinced
her to move in with him. His plan these days was to avoid the
subject. Let her think he was over it then bring it back to the
table at the first opportune time. Moving in and relationships
thoughts led to thoughts of Joshua.
Those
fucking thoughts had him
pat his pockets for a pack of cigarettes. Like every fucking time
he thought of the jerk, Chris got angry. Fuck, he would love to
beat the crap out of the guy if he could. But he couldn’t, could
he? He took a sip of lousy coffee from the damn shitty coffee
machine and cursed out loud.

He should
have
gone for a coffee with her as she
had suggested, instead of waiting around for those tech guys from
the special unit. Vitto’s was just down the street; they could have
taken a half-hour break and sat on Vitto’s bench, a latte in her
hand and a double espresso in his, and talked about the cases the
team was investigating. The working of her mind fascinated him. How
she made up stories about the murders, turned pieces of evidence
into characters and scenes and fiction.

S
he might have asked one of those
silly, seemingly out-of-context questions of hers. And out of her
imagination, a piece of information they had overlooked, or a
suspect they had underestimated sometimes took a different spin and
led to surprisingly tangible results. She did not solve cases per
se, and her questions and imagination combined had led them to dead
ends but, if he had to give her a score on her investigation
skills, she would surely be in the high eighties if not
above.

Chris had
handpicked the detectives on his team, the best of them getting an
eighty percent score on solved cases. Higher than three out of four
was great considering the cases they handled. A team effort. They
were trained; she was not. They were the best which meant she was
excellent in her own, absolutely unique way.

But she was
reckless. Delusional. Impatient. In addition to her lack of
self-preservation, her stubbornness, her overwhelming sense of
obligation toward the people she cared about, and her tendency to
follow that crazy imagination of hers, she needed to be protected.
Hiring her as a clerk was both his best and his worst
decision.
Filing clerk my
ass
. Snooping, that was what she was
doing in reality, although he had noticed she was putting less
enthusiasm into her cold case research lately. She was not
officially back yet.