He smiled a little. “You should sit down, Abigail, and have your tea.”
“I don’t know if I’m good at this,” she said, as she sat.
“Drinking tea?”
“Comforting. Or defusing. Since you’re angry and sad, it should be both.”
He laid a hand over hers briefly, then poured out the tea. “Let’s find out. Russ’s family’s owned the hotel for three generations now. It’s not just a business, not just a livelihood, to them.”
“It’s an essential part of their family history, and their place in the community.”
“Yeah. There’s pride and love there. Justin Blake, have you heard of the Blakes?”
“Yes. They’re a very wealthy and influential local family.”
“Justin’s a spoiled, troublemaking fuckwit with a string of DUIs, a bad attitude. He’d have a sheet as long as my leg if his father didn’t use that money or influence, or political pressure—whatever works—to get him off. The kid has no respect for the law or any other damn thing.”
“It would be difficult to develop one if he’s allowed to behave badly with impunity. I’m sorry,” she said quickly, “I’m supposed to listen.”
“There’s no supposed. Anyway, his latest. He and a couple of the assholes he hangs with booked the best suite at the hotel and trashed it. Destroyed it.”
“Why?”
“For kicks, out of boredom, because they could. Pick one.” Brooks shrugged, then scrubbed his hands over his face. “Russ went up this evening to deal with them when guests complained about the noise. Upshot is Justin punched him, took some swings at security, got himself arrested. And this time he won’t slide through. It’s looking like better than a hundred thousand in damages. Maybe more.”
“That’s a great deal.”
“Yeah, it is, and Russ and his parents won’t cave when Lincoln Blake pushes at them. I had a go-round with him and the kid tonight.”
“You won’t cave, either.”
“No, I won’t. Justin and his pals are spending the night in jail. They’ll make bail tomorrow, Blake will see to it. But Justin’s got two choices. He takes a plea and does time, or he stands trial and does time, but he goes down this time. And either way the Blakes pay every cent of the damages. Jesus, I’m pissed off.”
He shoved up, stalked to the window. “I should’ve gone home.”
“You wouldn’t be pissed off at home?”
“No, I’d be pissed off anywhere. That fat, self-satisfied, cigar-smoking fuckhead figures he can threaten me with my job, and I’ll scare off?”
“The father?”
“Yeah, the father.”
“Can he have you fired?”
“If he can, they can shove the job. I don’t want it if I can’t fucking do it. Not if some overprivileged asshole can do whatever the hell he wants and I’m supposed to look the other way.”
“Money is power,” Abigail said quietly, “but it’s not the only power.”
“I guess we’ll see. I went over to talk to Russ’s parents, and Russ and Seline—his wife—after I dealt with the lawyer. She cried. Mrs. Conroy. This sweet, funny woman who always had peanut butter cookies in the jar, just broke down and cried. I should’ve found a way to put that little bastard away before it went this far.”
“It’s useless to blame yourself for what this person did, or what his father has been able to do, especially when the pattern was set long before you took the position as chief of police. The rational thing to do is arrest him, which you have, and to compile evidence for the prosecutor to assist in getting a guilty verdict at trial. That wasn’t sympathetic,” she realized.
Brooks sat back down, picked up his tea. “Worked pretty well, though. I know the logic of it, Abigail.”
“But your friend and his family have been hurt. It’s emotional as well as financial and physical and criminal. People should pay for their actions. There should be consequences. There should be justice.”
Her hand balled into a fist on the table for a moment before she ordered herself to relax it. “It’s hard not to feel sad and angry and even hopeless when bad things happen, because fear and influence and money often outweigh justice.”
He leaned forward, laid a hand over hers. “Who hurt you?”
She shook her head, said nothing.
“Not yet, then.”
“What will you do tomorrow?”
“I’ve got a seven-thirty meeting with the prosecutor to go over everything again. We’ll have an arraignment, bail hearing. I expect they’ll cut Justin and the others loose until trial. I don’t figure he’ll go for a plea straight off. Maybe, once it gets closer, maybe if the lawyers don’t screw it up. The Conroys are just mad enough to go for a civil suit on top of it. I won’t be discouraging that. It’s time the pressure came from the other side.”
“Then you know what you have to do and how to do it. Are they violent?”
“The kid likes to bust things up.”
“I meant could or would they try to hurt you or your friend’s family? Using violence as intimidation.”
“Can’t say for sure, but I wouldn’t go there. Money’s Blake’s weapon of choice.”
Abigail considered. “I don’t believe they can have you fired.”
“Don’t you?”
“Objectively, your family is a fixture in the community. Liked and respected. You’re also liked and respected in your own right. I assume as a multigenerational business family, with a key property in the community, your friend and his family are also valued. Their property was damaged through reckless and selfish behavior, so sympathy and outrage will be on their side. Those things are also weapons. Extrapolating from what you’ve said tonight, I’d posit that the Blakes are somewhat feared but not well liked. There are likely many people in the community who’d be pleased if the son is punished for his actions.”
“Extrapolating. Now, how can you use words like that and still manage to make me feel a whole hell of a lot better?”
“Did I?”
This time he laid a hand over hers and left it there. “You were right about the sad. I was, and pissed off, and frustrated, and we’ll have to toss in a dash of feeling sorry for myself. Now I’m down to sorry and mad with a whole fat scoop of looking forward to kicking some ass—legally speaking.”
“That’s good?”
“It’s real good.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I should go.”
“I wish you’d stay.”
He turned her hand over so their fingers linked. “Thank God.”
“We should go to bed.”
“Two minds, one thought.”
“It’s late,” she said, as she rose to gather the tea things. “You’re tired. And, I think, still a little sad. Sex releases endorphins, so for the short term you’d feel …” She trailed off when she turned and found him grinning at her.
“I’m half in love with you,” he told her, “and heading fast toward three-quarters.”
Something inside her burst like sunlight before it flooded away on a rise of panic. “Don’t do that.”
“I don’t think it’s something you do or don’t. It’s something that happens or doesn’t.”
“It’s a mixture of sexual and physical attraction, along with novelty and the tension between mutual interests and conflicts of interest. People often mistake hormonal reaction and certain compatibilities for what they think of as love.”
He continued to smile as he got to his feet, but something about the glint in his eyes had her taking a cautious step back as he walked to her.
He put his hands on her shoulders, lowered his head to brush his lips over hers. He said, “Hush,” and kissed her again. “You don’t want to tell me what I feel or don’t, or I might click back up to pissed off. We don’t want that, do we?”
“No, but—”
“Hush,” he repeated, with his lips whispering against hers. “Pretty Abigail, so full of suspicion and intellect.
