hurt in the process.'
'Frank, she's twenty-nine years old. She was a street cop in Corpus Christi for five years, got her shield and worked Narc before she moved out here. She's done undercover. You don't get where she's at by being a baby,' he protested.
'Uh-uh.' Frank was still shaking her head, and Noah flapped his hands in exasperation.
'Why not?'
'She's too young.'
'That's the point, Frank! Who do you want out there, Grandma Moses?'
The higher Noah's voice rose, the lower Frank's got.
'I don't like it, No.'
Frank was entrenching herself and Noah took a deep breath, settling on the edge of her desk.
'Alright,' he spoke patiently. 'Tell me exactly what you don't like.'
Aware she was being mollified, Frank thought about pulling rank. But she trusted Noah and was aware of her tendency
'Like you did?'
'Like I did. But I was a damn good cop. If she is qualified for this kind of work she sure doesn't look like it or act like it.'
Noah grinned. 'You're right. She looks like she should be hanging off a surfboard and getting faced on mai- tais every night. But hey, what sort of cop were you at twenty-nine?'
'Let's say I had a little more respect for the position. Look at her.'
With a bluntness earned from years of friendship, Noah said, 'Frank, everybody knows you were born with a baton coming outta your ass, but she's a narc, for Christ's sake! She can't run around in a suit and badge, so she's a little casual. Big deal.'
'Is she on a stake now?'
When Noah shook his head, Frank shrugged, 'That's my point. I can't look at her and say, Yeah, I want to trust a whole undercover op to this girl. She just doesn't strike me as very professional. This is a big op, No, and I'm not sending someone out there who doesn't totally have her shit together.'
'Okay. I don't know her that well, granted, but her record speaks for itself, and just talking to her you can tell she's bright. I wouldn't say she doesn't have her shit together, and I don't see how you can just by saying hello to her.'
'I've been a cop for a while. I think I know a little something about people.'
'Well, I think you're wrong here. You're making a snap decision based on very little information. I don't think you're being fair and, frankly, I'm surprised. That's not like you.' Noah paused, his sincerity evident. Then he asked, 'Would you be so resistant if this was a man?'
Frank clamped her lips together. Her jaw muscles bounced. Noah was right—she wouldn't be nearly as resistant if Kennedy were a man. She knew that she resented it like hell when her colleagues had thought that way about her, and she had to admit the injustice of her attitude.
Nine times out of ten, a woman in a difficult law enforcement position was just as effective as a male. Both were trained to react in a specific manner, both knew what had to be done. Problems happened if a man started feeling responsible for his female partner, for fear of either his own safety or hers. This weakened his reactive instincts, interfered with hers, and put both partners in peril. Frank was irritated to find herself behaving exactly like that.
She propped her elbows under her chin and covered her face with her hands, lightly moving her forehead up and down against her fingertips. When she stopped, she looked at Noah and asked, 'What's with the gum? That just really tops her whole image.'
'She's a pistol,' Noah agreed, leaning forward eagerly. 'I like her, Frank. We talked on the way over. She seems really smart, steady, confident. I think she'd be great. We've got somebody out there banging away at these girls like they're bumper cars. If you're right, this guy has murdered four of these girls. I'd hate to see a fifth one go down because you were afraid to try an option.'
'A pass play,' she said.
'What?'
'Never mind.'
Noah studied Frank, gauging her stance.
'Just talk to her. Give her a chance. If you can't get over it, we won't do it. You're the boss.'
Frank lifted her eyebrows dubiously, and in the ensuing pause both cops tried to read each other. A good detective knew a lot of body language, and Frank figured she was probably speaking volumes. Her clasped hands were like a row of soldiers guarding her mouth, the thumbs and index fingers posed like sentries between chin and mouth. Frank finally pulled her face from behind its barricade, sighing, 'Bring her in.'
When Noah and the young detective returned, Frank asked her sharply, 'Why do you want this assignment?'
Kennedy smiled and casually flicked her shoulders, loosely holding Frank's piercing gaze.
'It sounds fun.'
Frank threw Noah a quick I-told-you-so glance.
'I assume Detective Jantzen told you what the job entails?'
'Yeah. He says you've got a real fuck-up on your hands.'
Around a thick hick accent, Kennedy snapped her gum for emphasis. Frank stared coldly. She detested Southern accents and allowed herself her prejudice. In men they reminded her of ignorance and inbreeding; in women they suggested incompetence and illiteracy. In Kennedy they sounded like all those things. But there was an edge to the drawl that suggested it was more affect than actual. The young detective stood comfortably, her hands held loosely in her deep pockets. Her hair was pushed back behind her ears, revealing three diamond posts sunk in the cartilage of her right ear and two in the left. A small gold cross swung brightly from a hole in the left lobe. Her shoulders were bronzed and well-muscled.
'Where'd the tan come from?'
Kennedy grinned hugely.
'Surfing. I moved out here for the waves.'
'Do you manage to squeeze in some time for work?'
'We've been workin' a lotta nights, which is kind of a drag, but it gives me time in the water, so that's awright.'
Jesus Christ, Frank thought, Annie Oakley meets Brian Wilson. She asked smoothly, 'Noah said you're in Narc. How many collars have you had?'
'Dang,' Kennedy said, looking absently at the ceiling. 'I'd have to check, but I reckon around one-twenty or so, mostly in Corpus Christi.'
Frank was impressed, although she gave no indication of this.
'Have you ever worn a wire?'
'Yeah, it's pretty cool.'
Frank just stared, but Kennedy remained unfazed by the cold scrutiny. Her playful insouciance was aggravating, and Frank said sarcastically, 'You realize this isn't Beach Blanket Bingo, don't you?'
When Kennedy looked puzzled, Frank continued. 'We've got a psycho on our hands. A big, dangerous man who likes killing girls after he's battered the shit out of them. Someone who wouldn't think twice about snapping you in half like a twig and then jamming a stick up your ass to watch you die. This isn't about fun and games. It's about little girls dying.'
Frank had spoken with more heat than she intended. Without a trace of accent, Kennedy calmly parried, 'I understand that, Lieutenant.'
Frank knew she'd given away her hand. Locking eyes, she discerned a steel resolution beneath the easy facade. Frank looked away first, casually picking up a pencil.
'Who's your supervisor?'
'Lieutenant Luchowski.'
'Have you talked to him about this?'
