Power Page 7
Wow. He had dinner with his most recent ex-wife and had his cell on silent? He didn’t even do that when they had sex. Far more suspicious was the idea that it was almost midnight and he was just leaving Annette.
Jess stiffened her spine. She absolutely refused to show the nasty green jealousy currently coursing through her veins. “What does Brandon have to say about all this?” Brandon was Andrea’s father and Annette’s current husband who used to be her ex. Jess did a mental shake of her head. These people were the ones who needed a psych eval.
“Brandon’s out of town on business.”
Do tell. “With her husband out of town,” Jess offered, “she had nowhere else to turn, I’m sure. It’s a good thing you could be there for her.” Gag.
Avoiding eye contact now, Burnett crossed the dinky room and placed the cups of coffee on the counter next to her Glock. Turning back to her he did a double take and studied the open bathroom door an extra second or two. Oops. He’d spotted the bottle of wine on the bathroom floor. Damn. She should have closed that door.
He gave her one of those looks that came from the chief of police, not the man. “Wine and a hot bath? That’s a dangerous combination for a woman alone in a motel room. Don’t you watch the news?”
Way to change the subject from his ex-wife and her out-of-town husband. “That tub is hardly deep enough for me to slip under the water on purpose much less by accident.” She would never in a million years admit that he had a valid point.
Another survey of the room and then his attention settled firmly on her. “Nine tomorrow morning. Dr. Pricilla Oden. You have her address on Nineteenth Street. Don’t forget.”
He’d already given her that instruction. He’d even had Harper checking up on her. Now he comes to her after dinner with his ex at one of Birmingham’s finest Italian restaurants wagging coffee to remind her that she needed to see the department shrink. “Thanks for the reminder, Chief. Now”—she gestured to the door—“I’d like to get back to my bath. And, FYI, Sergeant Harper was shot but it was only a flesh wound and he’ll be fine.”
For a long moment Burnett didn’t move. Just stared at her as if there were many things he wanted to say but somehow he couldn’t find the words. And, standing this close, she was nearly certain she could smell Annette’s perfume clinging to his jacket. Of course that could be explained by a mere hug. Everyone hugged in the South. It was some sort of unspoken rule or irresistible compulsion.
Jess had never been a hugger. Maybe it had something to do with multiple foster homes and nearly two decades in the bureau. Annette, on the other hand, was a hugger. She and her daughter often gave and accepted hugs twice in a row.
“I spoke to Harper a few minutes ago. He called to let me know what happened. No one else felt inclined to do so.”
He was blaming that on her? “And if I had called, how would you have known since your cell was on silent and you were otherwise occupied? After ten o’clock the work side of my brain retires for the evening.”
“You’re disappointed about the Chandler case. I get that,” he said finally, apparently opting to blame her attitude on work rather than his nightlife. “But I have to play by the rules, Jess. If you recall, we talked about rules on Saturday.”
Her face flushed and he noticed. The rules he referred to had been about their personal relationship, or more precisely their physical relationship. That she couldn’t control an outward reaction to the memory or to his pointing out the fact flustered her.
“That’s right,” she granted. “We’ve had that conversation already.” She wasn’t having it again unless he changed his mind about bending the work rules from time to time. Like allowing her to be involved in the Chandler investigation. That wasn’t going to happen unless Black begged for assistance. And that definitely wasn’t going to happen.
The position she had accepted at the BPD had looked a whole lot better when she was unemployed and her future, personal and professional, was up in the air. Now, in the harsh light of reality and the fact that all the best cases might get hogged up by Black, she was, frankly, having second thoughts. If that made her selfish or arrogant, then so be it. Wine did that to her sometimes.
Besides, these days she felt more comfortable about working murder cases. It was hard to do additional damage to a victim who was already dead… but finding one who might still be alive before it was too late was a whole different game.
For seventeen years she had profiled evil and investigated cases with the bureau and never once doubted her ability. Eric Spears had taken that away from her.
The department shrink would have a field day with that revelation. Except Jess wasn’t telling.
“I don’t know all the details on what went down this evening,” Burnett said instead of leaving, “but you could have been killed. Harper could have been killed. I assigned the Simmons case to you and that makes me responsible. I’m the chief of police; ultimately I’m always responsible.”
Now he wanted to play protector again. And guess what? That ticked her off, too. Maybe there was no neutral place in their relationship unless it was between the sheets. “We had that conversation, too. I don’t need you trying to protect me from my work. If Chief Black had been in my position would you be dropping by to see him with coffee at this hour? I don’t think so.”
That his attention remained on her lips a beat or two too long made it difficult for her to capture a decent breath.
“It’s late,” she announced in hopes of breaking the tension. “We both have big days tomorrow.” Hers wasn’t so much big as it was dreaded.
He blinked as if her words had just penetrated his brain. “I guess I’ll see you after your appointment.” He started backing toward the door.
“I guess you will.”
At the door he didn’t immediately reach to open it or even turn away from her for that matter. He just stared at her as if he wanted her to invite him to stay. Or maybe he wanted to explain that what happened in this room on Saturday and then again on Sunday couldn’t ever happen again. Whatever he wanted to say, he looked way too tempting for her to continue to ignore the hum of desire now vibrating stronger and stronger through her.
“The truth is,” he admitted, sounding as breathless as she felt, “I assigned the Simmons case to you because they need you, Jess. As tragic as Darcy Chandler’s death is, she’s gone. There might be hope for the Simmons kid. His family needs you. They deserve the same advantage Andrea and the others got. They deserve to have you on the case.”
“You didn’t tell me the grandmother asked for me. You didn’t tell me any of this.” His heartfelt admission would have made accepting the decision about the Chandler case a whole lot more palatable.
“I should have but I didn’t because I needed you to accept my decision because it was my decision.”
“Oh. I see.” Guess she’d crossed the line again. Failed to respect the chain of command, and all the other deputy chiefs were watching to see if she got away with it. Okay, she got it. It was late and she didn’t want to think anymore. The fight drained out of her in one sudden whoosh. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have questioned your decision.”
For a long time they just stood there watching each other. She imagined he was wondering the same thing she was. What now?
Might as well put them both out of their misery. “Night, Burnett.”
He reached behind him for the door and muttered, “Night, Jess.”
Then he was gone.
Jess locked the door behind him and collapsed against it.
Somehow they had to find their balance in this relationship. He couldn’t be her boss and play the part of personal protector at the same time. He damned sure couldn’t be her lover and show up armed with coffee in the middle of the night with the scent of another woman on his clothes.
She certainly couldn’t take note of his absence like she had after the shooting this evening and then be pissed that he showed up to check on her—with coffee no less.
Any lingering frustration she felt fizzled.
He’d left without even giving her a good-night hug.
So much for Southern traditions or her professionalism. From the moment she had arrived back in Birmingham, Alabama, nearly two decades of expertise and experience had flown out the window.
7
Nineteenth Street, Tuesday, July 27, 9:45 a.m.
“Have you been sleeping well, Chief Harris?”
“Like a rock.” Jess smoothed a hand over the hem of her skirt, mostly to avoid eye contact—a maneuver the shrink would likely recognize. How well was she supposed to sleep when her job was to find and stop evil?
But she wasn’t about to delve into that can of worms with the doctor who possessed the power to remove her from duty. Presenting a calm, rational, nonviolent facade was key. All she needed now was for a Nobel Peace Prize nomination to suddenly appear in her personnel jacket so they could be done with this charade. She and the nice Dr. Oden had been dancing around the events of last Wednesday for nearly an hour. The woman should get to the point, but Jess doubted that would happen in this session.
Shrinks were like lawyers—they billed by the hour.
“What about your dreams? Anything unusual since the shooting?”
“Nothing at all.” Jess folded her hands together in her lap to conquer the urge to reach for her cell. It was driving her nuts not to know what was going on this morning. Had Harper learned anything on the Simmons case? How was the sketch artist doing with getting a likeness of Nina on paper? Had the ME’s office given any preliminary results on Chandler’s death?
She wouldn’t know because she was stuck here. Not that the latter was any of her business.
Speaking of the Simmons case, Jess wondered how long it would be before the good doctor learned about the drive-by shooting and added that to the pile of reasons Jess couldn’t possibly be stable.
While Oden made more notes and decided on her next question, Jess wondered if the doctor had chosen the decor in her office. The plaid upholstery on the chairs clashed annoyingly with the striped drapes, and there was enough brown and tan in the room to depress a mud turtle. It wasn’t normal to be this neutral and drab. Oden really needed a color intervention.
“How are things at work? Any problems fitting in? Sometimes it takes a while to feel like you belong when an abrupt career change occurs later in life.”
Later in life? Now there was an uplifting thought.
“None at all,” Jess said with a smile. Except for Lieutenant Prescott wanting to scratch her eyes out and Chief Black stealing back the case Jess had stolen from him. Gangbangers shooting at her and, oh yes, Burnett getting up close and personal with his ex at a private dinner for two and then showing up to play the boss for Jess. Things were downright dandy.
“Your former relationship with Chief Burnett hasn’t made you feel awkward in your new position at the BPD?”
Apparently the doc could read minds. Either that or Jess’s new boss had given a little more info than necessary when writing up his evaluation. Or maybe he’d spilled his guts during his own psych eval. The annoyance and impatience needling at Jess turned to something far less polite. This session was about her shooting and ending the life of Matthew Reed, not who she’d had sex with last.
“My former relationship with Chief Burnett, having taken place more than twenty years ago, is absolutely irrelevant to these proceedings, Dr. Oden. Nothing related to our shared past makes me feel the slightest bit awkward about anything at all, then or now.”
There were enough lies in those two sentences to guarantee her a seat on the train to hell.
“I see.” Oden jotted a few notes.
“I see” was code for “I think I’m onto something.” Jess had news for the nice doctor: she was done. She grabbed her bag and eased to the edge of her chair in preparation for making her exit before Oden could zero in on just how right she was.
“Here’s what I see, Dr. Oden. I shot and killed Matthew Reed, a sociopath who murdered at least three people. The shooting was justified since at the time he had two hostages, both of whom were mere moments from certain death. Yes, one was my former lover and current boss, but the other was a detective I’d known only a few days. So let’s not make anything of the idea that Burnett was even in the room. I did my job and I have no regrets. No bad dreams. No inability to sleep. No loss of sex drive and no problem getting along with others.”
Maybe that last part was a stretch.
“You believe you don’t need these sessions.” Oden studied her with open skepticism. “That this is a waste of your time. Is that a fair assessment?”
That was a trick question. “I think you’re doing your job, Doctor. That’s what I believe.” Jess stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to do mine.”
“You may suffer later for ignoring your mental health, Chief Harris. You’re aware of the consequences, just as I am. Why add that kind of easily avoidable regret to your already complicated life?”
Jess hesitated at the door. She told herself to keep her cool but she’d suddenly catapulted past any possibility of doing that. She turned back to the well-meaning shrink. “My only regret, Doctor, is that I didn’t find and kill that monster before he mutilated and murdered a federal agent who was a wife and mother. That’s a regret I’ll have to live with the rest of my life. Unfortunately there isn’t a thing I can do or you can say that will fix that. But thank you very much for giving it the old college try.”
Before Oden could organize a response, Jess was out the door. She didn’t wait for the elevator. It was only two flights of stairs and there was no worry about snapping a heel or twisting her ankle. Not in these generic old flats she had worn to show her practical side. Thank goodness she had her blue pumps in the car. She hadn’t ever been vain, not really. She dressed her best for the job because it was expected. People, strangers, colleagues, whoever, responded better to you when you were well dressed. The shoes, now that was a whole different ball game. The shoes were her one true vanity. And the bag. She loved it. She’d paid a killing for the Coach Bleecker tote bag on her fortieth birthday.
A little voice nagged at her for lying to herself. The M&Ms were a close second to the shoes. The bag was a definite third when set against the chocolate. Still, if that was her worst sin, she wasn’t doing so badly.
At least she wasn’t having dinner and hugs with her ex.
Then again, she and Wesley didn’t have children. Andrea might only be a former stepdaughter, but she and Dan had grown quite close during his and Annette’s brief marriage.
Jess escaped the stairwell and hit the lobby determined to erase Burnett and his ex, as well as the psych eval, which she might very well have just flunked, from her head.
Outside she took a moment to get her bearings, then headed in the direction of the parking garage a couple of blocks away. The streets were already jammed with medical district traffic. Birmingham physicians and facilities were tops in the nation. The streets were always crowded in this area. Parking was at a premium.
“Jess!”
She stalled in front of Starbucks and zeroed in on the voice that had called her name. Lori Wells. A smile slid across Jess’s lips and she hurried to accept a hug from the detective. Jess had rolled back into her hometown husbandless, almost jobless, and definitely friendless. In a mere two weeks two-thirds of that sad state had changed.
Drawing back, she assessed her friend’s recovery after being abducted by Matthew Reed. Lori’s eye was still swollen a little but looked far better than a few days ago. The bruises o
n her cheek and throat had turned that ugly yellowy-purple color. Otherwise she was her usual tall, thin, gorgeous self. Long dark hair and rich brown eyes. Dressed in dark green slacks and a mint-colored blouse, she looked damn good for a woman who had escaped the worst kind of evil. God, Jess was glad to see her.
“You have a follow-up appointment with your doctor?” Jess couldn’t imagine anyone tackling this traffic unless necessary. Lori had a couple of fractured ribs in addition to the more obvious signs of the beating she had taken. Like the mental trauma, the damaged ribs weren’t visible to the naked eye. Sometimes what couldn’t be seen was far worse than the readily apparent. As much as Jess wanted to ignore Oden’s warning, the shrink was right. That kind of damage didn’t just go away easily.
“No follow-ups today.” Lori held up her iced coffee. “Unless you’re in a hurry, let’s find a quiet corner and catch up.”
“I have some time.” She could rendezvous with Harper and Prescott before lunch. Both were working the Simmons case. A few minutes with Lori would be good.
Inside the coffee shop Jess grabbed an iced coffee of her own while Lori laid claim to one of the comfy seating areas as far away from the counter as possible. Jess curled up in one of the big chairs. She hadn’t had a break like this in decades. Not having cases stacked to the ceiling in her office was just another aspect of why she felt a little off balance.
Balance is everything. That was what Annette Denton had said about Darcy Chandler. How did a woman who had been a professional ballerina lose her balance and fall over a railing?
Not your case, Jess. Finding DeShawn Simmons had to be her singular goal.
“I’m here to see the department shrink,” Lori stated with about as much enthusiasm as a woman about to undress for her annual gynecological examination.