“Only that I’m seriously beginning to think I need a career change,” Del Campo told her the second time she called him.
“That’s nothing new,” she told him. By her count, Del Campo had a career crisis at least once a month. “How many names are left on your list?”
“Five. Why?” he asked.
His voice sounded like he was really beat to her. A tired detective missed things.
“Look, why don’t you and Johansson call it a day and go home?” she told him. “You can get to the last five tomorrow.”
“What if that turns out to lead nowhere, too?” Del Campo asked wearily.
“Then we’ll get together tomorrow to figure out our next move,” she told him matter-of-factly.
It wouldn’t be the first time they’d have to regroup and go back to square one, she thought. Only crimes on TV were solved in the scope of sixty minutes minus commercials.
“Hey,” she heard Del Campo say, brightening already, “you don’t have to twist my arm. Tomorrow,” he told her just before ending the call.
“I take it he didn’t get anywhere, either,” Jackson surmised as Brianna put her cell phone away.
They were on their way back to the precinct. Brianna sighed, leaning back in the passenger seat. She was doing her best not to let frustration get the better of her, but it was a struggle.
“Someone had to have seen or heard something,” she said, exasperated.
“Trouble is,” Jackson speculated, “they probably don’t know that they saw it or heard it.” That happened far more often than either one of them was happy about. “Why don’t you give it a rest tonight, like you told Del Campo to do?” he suggested suddenly. When she turned toward him with a quizzical look, he said, “You look beat.”
That was not what she wanted to hear. She liked to think of herself as invincible.
“Is that the line you use to have women falling at your feet?” she asked sarcastically.
“No, that’s the line I use to get my partner to act sensibly and get some rest,” he said without emotion. “I don’t want to take a chance on you being so punchy that you don’t have my back.”
“That’ll never happen,” she assured him. She didn’t like what he was implying.
Jackson didn’t back off. “I wouldn’t be too sure if I were you.”
“You’re not me,” she informed him tartly just as they pulled into the rear parking lot. “And if you recall, I told Del Campo and Johansson to call it a night. That means that you can, too.”
“I wasn’t talking about me,” he said as they got out of the car.
“Okay,” she snapped. “I’ll go to bed.”
Several police detectives were walking to their cars, and they stopped to look in her direction.
“Alone,” she specified to negate what they appeared to be thinking.
“Hey, if you’d like some company,” Hardy, a tall blond detective who worked vice, called out, a broad grin on his face, “I’m right here.”
“She’s not looking for company,” Jackson informed the other detective sharply.
“Message received.” Hardy gave them a mock salute and disappeared into his vehicle.
Chapter 11
Still standing on the other side of his vehicle, Jackson waited for Brianna to snap at him for feeling as if he had to come to her defense.
Things were a lot easier when acts of chivalry were commonplace and just accepted without being dissected and examined six ways from sundown. These days when he followed his instincts, he was just as likely to wind up insulting someone as he was to do the right thing.
He was still working on squelching those instincts and keeping to himself, but they got away from him at times. Like now. He couldn’t explain exactly why, but something about Brianna raised his protective instincts to the surface.
So Jackson had to admit he was rather surprised when Brianna looked at him after Hardy drove off and, instead of telling him she was perfectly able to defend herself, she said, “Thanks.”
Recovering, Jackson shrugged in response. “He was being a jerk.”
“You’ll get no argument from me.” Feeling that it would be best to retreat now before it got any more involved, Brianna said, “Well, I’ll see you in the morning.” She began to walk toward her own car parked a row away.
She’d only taken a single step when she heard Jackson’s phone start buzzing. Pausing, she looked over her shoulder in his direction. He was frowning as he stared down at the screen.
“Is that your brother?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
That he answered at all surprised Brianna. It also made her feel as if maybe, just maybe, she was making a little headway when it came to burrowing beneath the man’s inner shell.
The next minute, he obviously pressed the decline tab, since the phone stopped vibrating.
He couldn’t keep doing this indefinitely, Brianna thought. There was a good person under all that. He was just having trouble digging himself out.
“Well, when you do finally decide to go see your brother, if you need any support, I can come with you,” she offered.
About to get back into his car, Jackson stopped. Working on the police force, he was still a loner. He wasn’t accustomed to anyone caring enough about him to attempt to help. “Why would you want to do that?”
There was no long, involved response. As far as Brianna was concerned, the answer was simple. “It’s all part of having your back—and you having mine,” she told Jackson.
“Okay,” he finally said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Brianna nodded, getting into her car.
Inch by inch, she thought. She was making progress inch by inch.
* * *
Inch by inch, Brianna thought again several days later, but this time she wasn’t thinking about her progress in getting Jackson to open up. Instead, she was thinking about the case. Between the four of them, she, Jackson, Del Campo and Johansson had spoken to almost all the guests they could
