“Oh … you want to play that way.”
“Look at me, God damn it. Am I playing?”
His tone, his face, finally got through. Temper lit her eyes in turn as she bent down, pulled the dress back up.
“Don’t you think for one minute you can speak to me that way.”
“I’ll do more than speak to you if you pull something like this again. I’m the fucking chief of police, Sylbie. I’m on duty.”
She fit the dress straps in place with two defiant snaps. “Like anything ever happens around here.”
“I’ll tell you something that’s going to happen. I’m going to find Grover, and I’m going to fine him for calling in a false report.”
“You will not.”
“Believe it.”
She took a quick step forward. “Don’t do that, Brooks. Don’t. He only did it because I asked him.”
“Then he’ll know better next time. And so will you.”
“Why do you act this way?” Tears sizzled through the temper. “You make it so I have to throw myself at you, and all you do is get mad. Back in high school, you couldn’t keep your hands off me.”
“This isn’t high school. I don’t want high school.”
“You don’t want me.”
He knew those tears. He’d swam through rivers of them before, and they were sincere enough. “Sylbie, you’re beautiful, probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. You’re talented, and when you make an effort, you’re an interesting companion. But I don’t want you the way I did back then. I don’t want what we had back then.”
“You didn’t say that a couple weeks back when you were on top of me in my bed.”
“No, I didn’t, and I’m sorry, Sylbie.” Plenty of sorry to go around, as far as he could see. “The sex was always good with you and me, but we never did have much else going on.”
“What do you care, as long as you get off?”
“Honey, you ought to think better of yourself. I do.”
“Something’s wrong with you.” Anger and embarrassment ran color hot in her face. “You ought to want me when I’m offering.”
“If that’s all you want, you know there are plenty who’ll be willing.”
“But not you.”
“No, not me.” They’d come to the end of that road, he realized, and felt little more than relief. “Not anymore. Maybe we’ll like each other better without the sex. One thing I can promise you, and you better hear me. If you ever pull a stunt like this again, you’re going to see the inside of our cells down at the station.”
Her color stayed high, but her face went stony and cold. “You’ve changed, Brooks.”
“God, I hope so. You’d best watch the shop until Grover gets back.” He started out, glanced back. “That’s a nice dress, Sylbie. Keep it on.”
When he stepped out, he spotted Grover—round-bodied, stoop-shouldered and balding—puffing on a Marlboro as he sat on the bench between his shop and the next.
“Oh, hey, there, Chief.”
“Hey, there, Grover. Come with me.”
“Ah …”
“There’s a fine for calling in a false report, and you’re paying it.”
“But I—”
“Next time a pretty woman asks you to do something stupid, think first.”
“But she said—”
“You take what she said up with Sylbie. I’m saying you don’t call for help unless you need help. You don’t waste my time, or the Bickford Police Department’s time. I could put you in jail for what you did.”
Grover’s face went splotchy, pink blooming over sick white as the man got shakily to his feet. “Jail? Holy God. I just …”
“Don’t just ever again. Fine’s two thousand dollars.”
He was prepared to catch Grover, should he faint, and considered it a near thing. “I-I-I—”
“I’m cutting it down to twenty-five dollars, giving you a stupidity discount. You come in by the end of the day and pay it, or it’s back up to the two thousand. Clear?”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry. I just thought—”
“No, you didn’t think. Next time you will.”
“I’ll pay it, Grover.” Sylbie stepped out. “It’s my fault. I’ll pay the fine.”
“I don’t care where it comes from, just pay it by five.”
“You didn’t have to scare him so bad.” Sylbie sat on the bench, drew Grover down beside her and put her arm around his stooped shoulders. “It was my fault.”
“No argument. Pay the fine, slate’s clean.”
Though he’d lost his appetite for cookies, he crossed to the bakery, picked up Alma’s order. He left it on her desk, went into his office and filled out the citation.
He puzzled over the charge, then opted for “crying wolf.” It seemed to fit, and wouldn’t embarrass anyone.
He took it out, set it beside Alma’s latte. “Either Grover or Sylbie’s coming down to pay this citation. Don’t ask.”
“Whenever somebody hears ‘Don’t ask,’ they’re duty-bound to.”
“Not when somebody else just bought them a latte and a chocolate macadamia cookie.”
Alma tapped her blue-tipped nails on the go-cup. “So this is a bribe.”
“It could be so construed. Don’t ask, Alma.” He glanced up as Ash walked in.
“I had to run some skateboarders off the parking lot down at the bank. Again. And I pulled Doyle Parsins over for speeding. Again. Some people never learn. You got cookies?”
“Cookie,” Alma said. “Singular. Mine.”
“I swung by the Little League park. Saw that little Draper kid hit a solid three-bagger. And I got me a steamer. A cookie sure would top that off.”
Alma smiled as she took a deliberate bite, rolled her eyes in pleasure. “Mmm-mmm!”
“That’s just mean.”
Leaving them to it, Brooks went back in his office, shut his door. He spent some time poking at Abigail Lowery—who, he discovered, had a master’s degree in computer science, and another in security engineering, both from MIT. Pretty impressive.
It took him a while, but he learned she worked on a freelance basis for a company called Global Network.
He switched his focus, poked at the company.
Privately owned, he discovered. Founded by one Cora Fiense, age thirty-three. No photo on file, not that he could find. But he scanned a couple of articles describing the small, exclusive company launched by a media-shy agoraphobic.
The website offered no real information on the owner or the employees, but simply stated that Global offered security system analysis and design.
He sat back, asked himself why he persisted. She hadn’t done anything, as far as he could tell. He liked her, but there was an itch, he couldn’t ignore it. One that told him if he kept scratching he’d uncover something … else.
He toggled off when he heard the knock at his door.
“Yeah.”
“I’m off,” Alma told him. “Calls routed to your cell. Ash is on the desk till eight, Boyd’s on the road.”
“That works.”
“Sylbie and Grover came in together, paid the fine.”
“Good.”
“I don’t know if the cookie was worth it. Anyway, you were off shift ten minutes ago. Go home.”
