Bleeding Out

still wasn't happy to see her. Frank was used to it; no one was ever glad to see a homicide cop.

Benhjharad had only supervised Clancey for nine months. His employee seemed pretty dependable. If he clearly explained to Clancey what he wanted, it got done. He described Clancey as competent, but never taking the initiative to do anything outside his immediate instruction. Frank asked if he talked to Clancey about things other than work, and Benjharad frowned, scratching his chest. He couldn't think of anything, nor did he think Clancey talked with the other employees, preferring to take his lunch break alone in his car. The supervisor didn't offer anything new, but he at least supported Frank's profile. She thanked Benjharad and reminded him that their conversation was confidential.

At home, finally, she went over the day's notes. They told her nothing new but did nothing to unlodge the certitude in her gut that Clancey was the one. With a pleasure bordering on desire, she pictured Clancey.

You woke up a while ago, all sleepy-eyed and tousle-haired in your bed that smells like old skin and sweat and cum. I bet you slept through the alarm until Mom pounded on the door, ragging your ass like she does. I'll bet you didn't want to wake up, did you? Bet your dreams are better than mine. But you get up anyway. Have to. Mom won't let you be late. What next? Shower?

Frank remembered the damp pile of towels in the bathroom.

Probably. Because Mom's trained you to. You don't really care. Comb your hair for the same reason. Do you look in the mirror? Probably not. Put on whatever clean clothes your mom's washed. Go downstairs. She said she always has a meal ready for you. You'll eat with her but you won't talk much.

There'd been a TV on a plastic cart that faced a small table in the kitchen. Frank bet they watched it during meals.

It's just a matter of time, now, buddy. I am so close to you. I want you. And I'll get you.

Frank felt warm thinking of him, and she marveled that it had been a long time since she'd wanted anything as much as Delamore.

Thursday night, long after the rest of the homicide room was deserted, Kennedy found Frank still bent over her desk.

'I thought you said you'd call,' she said by way of a greeting.

Guiltily, Frank answered, 'I know. Been busy.'

Kennedy took a seat on the couch, hands dangling between her knees. She was in blue jeans and a cracked leather jacket. Frank tried to resist a quick and unbidden surge of affection.

'How's it going with Delamore?'

Gazing absently at the budget in front of her, Frank said, 'Still waiting on the lab. Talked to almost everyone on our priority list. One guy actually seemed pretty viable, but his time frame was all bad for Nichols or Agoura. There's one more I still have to talk to. He's in Indiana, be back Monday.'

'Dang, you have been busy. And here I thought you were just avoidin' me.'

'So what have you been up to?' Frank asked, changing the subject.

'Mostly begging to get reassigned to the street. I think Luchowski's gonna put me back on Monday. But anyway, I came by to ask you a favor.'

'Shoot.'

'Let me take you out to dinner on Saturday.'

'Take me out?'

'Yeah, you always cook, and seeing as I can't cook, it's only fair I buy you dinner. Where do you want to go? Your pick.'

Frank considered the offer. 'You know,' she responded slowly, 'I really like to cook and I usually only get around to it on weekends. So if you could choke down another one of my meals, why don't you come over to my place.'

Kennedy's tawny mane flew around her face. 'Uh-uh. See, the whole point is I'm trying to re-ci- pro-cate. Get it? So what's the point in you cooking for me?'

'Oh-h, I see. If it's just paying me back that you want, then forget it, but if you want my company and a good meal, let's do it at my place. Unless you don't like my food.'

Exasperated, Kennedy flopped back against the couch. 'I love your food, but you always treat. I'll only do it if you'll let me pay for the groceries.'

'Whatever.'

'Cool!' Kennedy bounced to her feet. 'How long are you gonna stay here?'

'Little longer.'

'Why don't you come surfing with me? It's gonna be a beautiful night.'

'Get outta here.'

'Come on,' Kennedy pleaded. 'You'll love it.'

'Doubtful.'

'Just try.'

'Nope. Out you go. I got work to do.'

'Come on, Frank, don't be such a wuss.'

'Nope.'

Their eyes met, sparkling and playful, and Frank was almost tempted to hop in her car and follow Kennedy to the beach. 'Go on. See you at five on Saturday.'

Kennedy made a disgusted noise and muttered, 'Coward.'

Frank highlighted an expenditure in red as Kennedy asked from the doorway, 'What can I bring?'

'Surprise me,' Frank muttered. She didn't see Kennedy's wicked smile.

By the next night, Frank was exhausted. She tried to relax and drank more than she should have, closing the Alibi with Johnnie and Ike. Nancy made a bid to get Frank to come home with her, and tempting as it sounded at the time, Frank was relieved to wake up alone in her own bed on Saturday morning.

Her hangover wasn't bad, just dulling, and it was siphoning her already low energy. A run on the treadmill helped as she thought about what she'd make for Kennedy. Maybe a pork tenderloin napped with a roasted garlic creme sauce and rotelle on the side to hold the sauce, or maybe she'd just barbecue some Porterhouses and bake potatoes. She realized she was looking forward to the evening and checked her anticipation. She spent the morning distracting herself with Agoura/Peterson details, getting so involved that when the phone rang she answered, 'Homicide. Franco.'

There was a pause before Kennedy said, 'I could've sworn I dialed your home number.'

'You did. Just forgot where I was.'

'Whatcha doin?'

'One guess.'

'You're goin' round that table like a wild dog circlin' a fawn.'

'Bingo. What's up?'

'I hate to do this, but I can't make it tonight. We've got this surveillance, and one of the guys on the detail called in sick. Luchowski wants me to take it.'

'That's great,' Frank said, artfully concealing her disappointment. 'You're back on the outside.'

'Yeah, finally. So you think I can get a raincheck?'

'You bet.'

'What were you gonna make? Tell me so I can drool over it while I'm stuck in my car with a bucket of KFC.'

'I don't know,' Frank lied. 'I hadn't really thought about it yet.'

'Well, that's good. I was hoping you hadn't gone out and got groceries already.'

Frank didn't respond, and Kennedy asked, 'You wanna try for next Saturday?'

'Sure.'

'Cool. I'll talk to you later, then.'

'Right.'

Frank pressed her ringer down on the receiver button. She replaced the phone slowly. Scanning the suspect list, Frank stonewalled her disappointment and called one of the numbers on the list. A few minutes later she was stalled in traffic. All around her there were families in vans hurrying home, couples in sedans dressed for parties and