“Didn’t think so. You going to tell me where you went?” The animal sneezed and shook its head. “Okay, I respect your privacy.”
That got him a paw on the leg.
Jim parked it on the grass and stroked Dog’s rough, scratchy fur. Refocusing on the dinner that he could see but not eat, on conversation he could witness but not hear, on warmth he could sense but not feel, he knew he was nonetheless not alone.
And as rain started to fall, he was surprised at how much that mattered.
CHAPTER 20
Gary Peters had always thought he was a lot like his name: nothing special. There were millions of Garys in the nation—same for the Peters thing—and his physical appearance was no more dynamic. He’d somehow managed to avoid a beer gut, but his hair was thinning, and now that he was creeping up on the big four-oh, he was at the crossroads of buzzing the stuff all off. Face was mashed potato white, eyes were dirt brown, and it was debatable whether he had any jawline—or whether he was just neck from cheek to collarbone.
Bottom line? He was the flyover guy, the one women didn’t see between the spanked-out metrosexuals and the athletes and the Richie Riches.
Which was why the sight of Britnae hipping into his desk and looking at him like . . . well, like
“I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “What were you saying?”
She leaned in . . . and good God, those breasts . . .
When she eased back again, he had a feeling that she’d spoken, but he had no idea what—“ ’Scuse me, phone.” He reached over and picked up the receiver. “Caldwell Police Department—intake. Yup. Uh-huh. Yeah, he’s booked and processed. Yeah, sure—I’ll get a message to him that you’ll be in in the morning.”
He made some notations in the log and turned his attention back to Britnae. Who’d decided to sit up on the corner she’d perched against.
Her skirt had been small to begin with. Now he believed it was a micromini.“Ah . . . what?” he said.
“I asked you when your break is.”
“Oh, sorry.” For chrissakes, that was like getting “what’s your name?” wrong. “Not for a while. Hey, don’t you usually go home at five?”
“I got stuck undoing a payroll screwup.” As she pouted, her already puffy lower lip went right into pillow territory. “It’s so unfair—and I have another hour ahead of me, at least, and it’s so late.”
He glanced at his clock. Eight p.m. He’d just started his new ten-hour shift of checking in prisoners and evidence, so this was early for him. Then again, he got to go home at six in the morning, and her department had to be here at eight thirty a.m.
She leaned in again. “Is it true that all of the Kroner stuff is here?”
“You mean upstairs in Evidence? Yeah, it is.”
“Have you seen it?”
“Some of it.”
“Really?”
There was something totally cool about the way her eyes widened a little and her hand went to the base of her throat.
“It’s pretty nasty,” he added, feeling his chest get bigger.
“Like . . . what is it?”
Her hesitation told him that she wanted to know, but didn’t at the same time. “Bits and pieces . . . if you get my drift.”
Her voice dropped to a mere whisper. “Will you take me in there?”
“To the Evidence room? Oh, yeah, no, I can’t. It’s only for authorized personnel.”
“But you’re authorized, aren’t you.”
“And I’d like to keep my job.”
“Who would know?” She tilted forward even farther. To the point where he imagined that if he sat up a little straighter, they’d be kissing.
Afraid of making a fool out of himself, he moved away, pushing his chair back.
“I wouldn’t tell,” she whispered.
“It’s not so simple. You have to sign in and out, and there are security cameras. It’s not like a break room.”
He could hear the petulance in his own voice, and abruptly despised his balding, half-assed self. Maybe this was the reason he never got laid.
“But you could get me in . . . if you wanted to.” Her lips were absolutely mesmerizing, moving slowly as she enunciated the words. “Right? I know you could, if you wanted to. And I wouldn’t touch anything.”
God, how strange was this? He’d expected to come into work and just do his thing like he did every night. But here it was, this . . . crossroads.
Did he Gary Peters it? Or did he grow a set and actually
“You know what? Let’s go.”
He stood up and double-checked that his keys were on his belt—which, of course, they were. And what do you know, he had a reason to go up to the third floor. During the night shift, there was only a skeleton crew on at HQ, so he was the one responsible for walking any stuff upstairs—and Hicks and Rodriguez had just brought in two grams of pot that had been sealed and signed for.
“Oh, my God,” she said, leaping off the desk. “For real?”
His chest went back to feeling thick rather than hollow. “Yeah. Come on.”
He put up his break sign, the one that told people to hit him up on his remote if they needed to book anyone or log in evidence, and then he opened the door for her.
As she passed by and he smelled her perfume, he felt taller than he had been when he’d come into work, and it was great. And he knew there was a really good chance of getting away with this. The Evidence staff had been working around the clock for days on the Kroner stuff, but they’d finally decided they needed to sleep, so there would be no one up there. And damn right Britnae wasn’t going to touch anything—he was going to make sure of that—so there was going to be no need for anyone to check the security tapes.
Risky? Little bit. But at worst, they’d reprimand him—he had the cleanest record for attendance and performance of anyone in intake. Because he had no life. And Britnae was never going to approach him again.
Sometimes you just had to be something other than a Gary Peters behind the desk—
Britnae jumped up and hugged him. “You are so cool!”
“Ah . . . you’re welcome.”
Shit, what a dumb ass he was. And thank God she didn’t hold onto him for long because he nearly fainted.
Except you know what, he did feel cool as he led the way, taking her up in the elevator to the second floor and then insisting, like he was 007, that they hit the stairs for the rest of the way. At the top landing, he opened the fire exit, and listened. Nothing. Not even cleaning people. And down at the end of the hall, the lights in the forensics lab were off.
“I’ve never been up here before,” Britnae whispered into his sleeve as she gripped his arm.
“I’ll take care of you. Come on.”
They tiptoed down the hall to a heavy steel door marked EVIDENCE—AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. Using his keys, he unlocked the thing and pushed the way into an anteroom where the check-in was. His nerves perked up as he went over to the desk where the receptionist sat during normal business hours, but as he logged in and registered, he knew he wasn’t going to turn back now.
“Oh, my God, I’m so excited!” As Britnae put her hands on his upper arm and leaned into him, like he was her protector, he didn’t bother hiding his smile, because she couldn’t see his face.
