nightgown.'
Sara laughed uncomfortably. 'No,' she said, as if he was leaving out some part of the joke.
'You could have worn something more professional,' he said, thinking about what she had worn last night. Her sweat pants and a ratty old T-shirt didn't exactly help the situation. And her legs had felt hairier than his.
He asked, 'Would it kill you to dress up a little bit?'
Sara lowered her voice, the way she did when she got angry. 'Is there some reason you're talking to me like you're my mother?'
He felt a flash of anger that was so intense he knew not to open his mouth and say what wanted to come out.
'Jeff,' Sara said, 'what is going on?'
He walked past her and slammed the door shut. 'Would it kill you to do me this one favor?'
'Favor?' She shook her head, as if he had started talking gibberish.
'Sit in on the interview,' he reminded her. 'With Weaver.'
Sara exhaled sharply. 'What could I possibly say to her?'
'Never mind,' he answered. To give himself something to do, he closed the blinds. 'Just forget about it.'
'Just tell me what you want me to do,' she said, her voice irritatingly reasonable. 'Do you want me to go home and change? Do you want me to leave you alone?'
He turned around, saying, 'I want you to stop breaking my balls, is what I want you to do.'
Sara tucked in her chin. It seemed to be her turn to hold back something she wanted to say.
He raised his eyebrows, prompting her to speak. 'What?' he demanded, knowing he was pushing her, wanting a fight to release some of the anger he felt.
Sara took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. 'I don't understand why you're so angry at me.'
Jeffrey did not answer.
She smoothed down his tie with the back of her fingers, then put her palm to his chest. 'Jeff, please. Just tell me what you want me to do.'
Words failed him. He turned away from her and then, because there was nothing else for him to do, he twisted the wand to open the blinds again. He felt Sara's hand on his shoulder.
She said, 'It's all right.'
'I know that,' he snapped, but he didn't. He felt like his brain was on fire, and every time he blinked all he could see was Jenny Weaver's head jerking back as the bullet cut through her neck.
Sara put her arms around him, then pressed her lips against the back of his neck. 'It's okay,' she whispered against his neck, and he felt the coolness of her breath calming him. She kissed his neck again, holding her lips there for what seemed like a long time. His body started to relax, and Jeffrey wondered why she hadn't done this last night. Then he remembered that she had.
She told him again, 'It's all right.'
He felt calm for the first time that morning, like he could breathe again. It felt so good that for just a second he thought he might do something really stupid, like cry or, worse, tell Sara that he loved her.
He asked, 'You gonna sit in on the interview or not?'
She let her hands drop, and he could tell this was not the reaction she had been hoping for. He looked at her, trying to think of something to say. Nothing came to mind.
Finally, she nodded once, telling him, 'I'll do whatever you want me to do.'
Jeffrey stood in the observation room, watching through the one-way mirror as Sara comforted Dottie Weaver. He had never been able to stay mad at Sara for long, mostly because Sara would not allow it.
Dottie Weaver was a largeish woman with dark brown hair and olive colored skin. Her hair looked long, but she kept it in a neat bun on top of her head. The style was a bit dated, but it seemed to suit her. She had what Jeffrey thought of as an older face, the kind where the person looks the same at ten as she does at forty. Her cheeks were more jowls, and she carried about twenty pounds more on her than she should have. There were deep creases in her forehead above her nose, which gave her a stern look, even when she was crying.
Jeffrey glanced at Lena, who was standing beside him with her arms crossed over her chest. She was watching Sara and Dottie with her usual focused intensity. Here they were, the two most emotionally raw people in the station, responsible for finding out what had happened the night before. Jeffrey knew then that he had asked Sara to do this for selfish reasons. She would act as his sanity.
Jeffrey turned to Lena, telling her, 'I'm using you.'
She did not react, but that was hardly uncommon. Six months ago, Lena Adams would have been rabid for this interview. She would have strutted through the station, flaunting the fact that she had been chosen by the chief. Now, she just nodded.
'Because you're a woman,' he clarified. 'And because of what happened to you.'
She looked at him, and there was an emptiness to her eyes that struck him to his core. Ten years ago, at the training academy in Macon, Jeffrey had watched Lena fly through the obstacle course like a bat out of hell. At five-four and around a hundred twenty pounds, she was the smallest recruit in her group, but she made up for it by sheer force of will. Her tenacity and drive had caught his attention that day. Looking at her now, he wondered if that Lena would ever show herself again.
Lena broke eye contact, staring back at Sara. 'Yeah, I guess she'll feel sorry for me,' she said, her tone flat. It unnerved him the way she did not seem to feel anything. He even preferred her intense anger to the automaton Lena seemed to be lately.
'Go slowly,' he advised, handing her the case file. 'We need as much information as we can get.'
'Anything else?' she asked. They could have been discussing the weather.
Jeffrey told her no and she left without another word. He turned back to the mirror, waiting for Lena to enter the interview room. When the young detective had returned to her job, Jeffrey had told her she would have to get some kind of therapy to deal with what had happened. As far as he knew, Lena had not. He should ask her about this. Jeffrey knew that. He just did not know how.
The door creaked as Lena opened it. She walked into the room, her hands tucked into the pockets of her dress slacks. She was wearing tan chinos with a dark blue button-down dress shirt. Her shoulder-length brown hair was tucked back neatly behind her ears. At thirty-three years old, she had finally grown into her face. Lena had always been attractive, but in the last couple of years she had developed a womanliness that was not lost on the senior squad.
Jeffrey looked away, uncomfortable with these thoughts. After what she had been through, it felt wrong for him to be considering Lena this way.
'Mrs. Weaver?' Lena asked. She extended her hand, and Jeffrey cringed along with Dottie Weaver as they both stared at Lena 's open palm. The scar in the center was horrible to see. Sara was the only one who did not seem to react.
Lena withdrew her hand, clenching it by her side as if she was
