Bleeding Out (40 page)

Frank looked at the woman she’d made love to last night, the woman who’d held her while she whispered her terrors and then lulled her to sleep. Unsure where to start answering, she set the pot down slowly and deliberately.

Placing her hands lightly on Kennedy’s waist, she said simply, “I’m good. How are you?”

“Very good.”

Frank kissed Kennedy’s forehead and they held on to each other, neither knowing what to say, wondering if anything needed to be said. Frank felt only relief and gratitude, like the night had brought a deadly storm, yet here in the bright light of the next day she knew she had miraculously survived it.

She pushed away enough so that she could see Kennedy’s face and said, quietly, “We should talk.”

“Oh, now you want to talk. Uh-uh.”

Kennedy’s hand flew up and landed on Frank’s mouth. She kissed Frank into silence while her coffee grew cold. In Kennedy’s bed, after the sweat had dried and their hearts had slowed, Kennedy generously offered, “Now you can talk.”

“Thanks.”

“I bet I know what you’re going to say.”

“What?”

“That this was a mistake and you didn’t mean it to happen and we can’t see each other anymore.”

To her own amazement, Frank laughed. She kissed Kennedy, pulling her closer.

“You know me too well, sport.”

“That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it?”

“Well, it was an accident, I didn’t mean it to happen. But, as for a mistake,” and here Frank breathed deeply, “it wasn’t a mistake. I think it was the best thing that’s happened to me in a very long time. Absolutely not a mistake.”

Frank touched the silky head against her shoulder, remembering that old feeling of wanting to stop time, to have it stay as perfect and peaceful as it was this second. Instead, she continued. “As for seeing each other…I know I don’t want to let you go. Not just yet. But I don’t want to hurt you or use you, either. That’s the—”

Kennedy twisted out of Frank’s arms and leaned over her.

“Frank. One thing—you’re not using me and you’re not hurting me. What happened last night, and just now…,” she bent closer to Frank’s face, as if she were about to whisper a secret, “…Frank, I’ve had sex with a lot of people but I’ve never made love to anyone. I wanted to cry last night I hurt so bad for you, and then when you started kissing me in the middle of the night…”

Kennedy shook her head, her hair brushing against Frank.

“…that was something…awesome…and I don’t want to let you go yet either, not today, not tomorrow, or the day after that. Let’s just take what we have for as long as it lasts, and when it’s over we’ll both know it.”

“Sounds very noble,” Frank murmured, “like something out of
Casablanca.”

“Out of what?”

“Never mind.”

Frank rolled Kennedy off and stared hard at her. “I just don’t want to hurt you or lead you on. I’ve got places to go—to go back to—there are things that I’ve walked away from that I just can’t ignore anymore. I’ve tried for years to bury things without a proper funeral. More and more they’re coming back to haunt me. I can’t do this anymore—I need to revisit places. And I need to do it alone.”

“That’s fine. I don’t want to settle down with you happily ever after, I just want to be with you for a while. The
real
you.”

Kennedy searched Frank’s face, then demanded, “Let me.”

Frank studied Kennedy’s eagerness, her ardor, and goddamn if it didn’t feel good to be a part of that. “There’ll be a price for it.”

“You’re such an idiot, Frank. There’s a price already. You don’t think if I walk out that door right now you’re not going to pay? I know I will.”

“Might not be as bad.”

Kennedy stopped arguing. “Hey,” she said, “Merry Christmas.”

Frank grinned, “Oh, yeah. I forgot.”

They kissed deeply, and that seemed to settle the discussion.

“You hungry?”

“Does a Crip wear blue?”

“Come on, I’ll make break—”

“Lunch.”

“Lunch, while you open your Christmas present.”

“Frank,” Kennedy protested, “I didn’t get you anything.”

Realizing Kennedy’s dismay was genuine, she cupped the woman’s face in her hands and kissed her ever so softly.

“Oh yeah, you did.”

The next day, Frank was at Parker Center. Most of the employees had taken the day off, making a long weekend that stretched into New Year’s, and the parking lot was almost empty. She studied the building in front of her, absently stroking the bare spot on her ring finger. Sunshine warmed the car; a light wind ruffled her hair. She sat for a while, feeling the easy weather on her and thinking about what she had to do next. She’d have almost been content to sit there for the rest of the day, just watching the light change across the face of the building.

Frank climbed took the steps up to the homicide bureau, suddenly chilled inside the cool, dark building. She ran some checks on the computer. When she’d finished, she gathered her courage and walked the few blocks to the BS unit. She thought that Clay’s secretary might be in but was surprised to find Clay himself sitting at her desk.

“Lieutenant,” he greeted, extending his hand. “Good to see you.”

“You too. Thought you’d be taking advantage of the holiday.”

He waved a hand. “All the children are off doing their own thing this year, so it’s just me and my wife puttering around the house by ourselves, getting in each other’s way. I figured I’d try to do some catching up. What brings
you
here?”

“I actually wanted to make an appointment with your secretary.”

“Ah-hah. Have you got another interesting case for me?” Frank hesitated, then answered, “Yeah. Mine.” Richard Clay cocked an eyebrow. “Well, it just so happens I have some time. Come on in.”

He sat against the linked fence, apart from the men shooting hoops. He liked being outside. It reminded him of the parks. He’d close his eyes and feel the sun burning around him. He’d pretend he was there, watching the girls. He’d close his eyes and dream he was flying. He’d close his eyes and plan.