Playing God (21 page)

The dream took him, floating like a man on a magic carpet, to the place he always went, awake or asleep. The darkest spot on his soul. He hovered there in the crystalline blue light of a morning just past dawn, looking down on the sprawled white body of little Kristin Marks. Thrown away on a landfill like an empty can, worn shoe, or yesterday's news.

Every cop had them, the cases that wouldn't let go. Kristin was his. Sometimes she came to him alive, running eagerly to show him a drawing or tell him something about school, though he'd never known her alive, and when she got close, he would see the maggots crawling out of her mouth and down her thighs. As he hovered above her defiled body, her eyes flickered open. Soft, shining brown eyes. She looked up at him and tears rolled down her face.

He groped his way out of bed, staggered into the bathroom, and threw up. Kristin lived inside him like a chronic disease, occasionally flaring up in an acute attack of memory and sorrow. He drank some water, splashed some on his face, and went back to bed, hoping the dreams were over. For a while, they were.

When his dreams returned, they were erotic. Ironic and entirely in keeping with his life that he should lie chastely in bed beside the sexiest woman in town, dreaming of sex with imaginary women. When his alarm went off, he moaned and reached for it, found Alana's hand had beaten him to it. She shut it off and moved it out of his reach. "Not this morning, Copman," she said. "You need to sleep."

"Gotta get up, kiddo. Work to do." Words thick and slurry, eyelids glued shut. He struggled to sit up.

"No," she said firmly, emphasizing her point by straddling him, sliding her legs down along the outsides of his. Bare skin against bare skin. Her hands on his shoulders pinning him to the mattress. "You're staying right here. Doctor's orders. The streets aren't even plowed and Terry has your car."

"Got to—"

She stopped his words with her mouth. He put a hand on her shoulder to push her off. Her incredibly warm bare shoulder. Ran it down her bare back, along the length of her, as far as it would go, back up again, and down, marveling at her smooth warmth. Even half-asleep, it shook him, a bone-deep shudder of desire. He buried his hand in her hair to keep it off that skin, wanting to feel her breasts against his bare chest. Forgetting she read men's minds for a living, held a Ph.D. in desire from the school of life.

She rolled up his tee-shirt and let her nipples slide across his skin, down over his stomach. He opened his mouth to say "no" and was given a nipple to taste, an experience that had been the stuff of more than one dream. Now, somewhere between dream and reality, he didn't protest when she helped him out of his tee-shirt, teasing him with her slowness, tenderly easing it over his bad arm. Nor when she stripped off his underwear and lay on top of him, her hands expertly stroking and guiding. "I've waited five years for you," she whispered. "Don't rush me." Moving him slowly yet surely toward that place he'd been dreaming about. Whispering into his neck, "Let it come, Joe, let it come, Joe, let it come," as he exploded, groaning, gasping, and fell back into the abyss of sleep.

He woke again to the smells of coffee and bacon and voices in the kitchen, Alana and Kyle. He lay listening, unable to summon the energy to move. The assault had laid him low, the drugs made him dizzy and inert, and the sex had drained the last drop of energy out of him. For years, half the department had assumed he was getting this. Snickered and envied him behind his back. Now his position was anything but enviable. Alana was a major player in a case he was working.

The phone rang. He heard Kyle answer, then footsteps. Kyle came in, his hand over the mouthpiece, looking apologetic. "Sorry. It's Cote," he whispered. "He insists."

Burgess struggled up on the pillows and took the phone. "Yes, Captain?" His voice sounded thin and weak. Not how he ever wanted to be with Cote.

"Ted Shaw's very upset with you." Cote didn't ask how he was doing, didn't even acknowledge the attack. This wasn't how things were done. An assault on a cop was a big deal. If they didn't close ranks and get tough, it was that much easier for some joker to do it the next time. The public had to know—you touch one cop, you've touched them all. Burgess waited, conserving his strength.

"Are you listening?" Cote asked.

"You heard about last night?"

"That's why I'm calling. Jen Kelly was terribly upset." Exasperation hissed down the line.

"Kind of her. Was it the stitches or the cracked bone or just that I was attacked?"

Cote cleared his throat. "Yes. Right. Of course. How are you, Joe?"

"Hurt."

"How long do you expect to be out?"

Was that hope in Cote's voice that he could find a better yes-man and put him in as primary? Not among Burgesses' people. "Until noon."

"Noon today? What's the doctor say?"

"The usual. No heavy lifting. No contact sports. No jogging for six weeks. Be sure and take my medicine. I think that's what he said. I was a little out of it." He must not be too badly off. He could engage in malicious obedience designed to drive Cote crazy without giving him any reason to complain. Burgess was, after all, answering his questions.

"You should take a few days. Let someone else run the investigation."

"Hard to hand it off at this point, I've got reports to write, but I appreciate your concern." Back in your court, asshole. "Shall I stop by when I get in?"

Cote said a frustrated yes and disconnected without achieving his purpose. Burgess cradled the phone and closed his eyes. "Did I really say noon, Terry? Am I crazy?"

"No. You just hate his guts. You'd crawl there if you had to, just to stick it to him."

"No way." He sighed. The pillow felt so good and more sleep looked so tempting. "Just want everyone to know what a tough guy I am."

"They already cringe when you walk by, what more do you want? Oh, looky, here comes your nurse. Breakfast must be ready."

Alana had skewered her hair on top of her head and wore one of his shirts. Devoid of make-up and covered from neck to knee, she looked like somebody's kid sister, complete with little pearl earrings. She smiled sweetly. "How's my patient? Hungry?"

"Worn out," he said.

A smile so big she might as well be wearing a sign that said: "I fucked Joe Burgess."

Kyle looked at him curiously.

"Hope you like bacon and eggs," she said.

"You fix it?"

"No. I can't cook. I called Terry to come fix it. What the hell do you think?" She sat cross-legged on the foot of the bed and let her hair down. "I'm tired, too. You're as restless asleep as you are awake. You talk in your sleep, too." He knew something was coming. Didn't expect what followed. "Who's Kristin?"

Now that she'd gotten what she'd wanted for years, she wanted more. Probably nothing would ever be enough. She was so hungry for love, she'd suck him dry and still want more. He didn't have enough Band-Aids in his own cold heart to patch her together. Kyle looked at them uneasily, wanting to intervene with no idea how. No one mentioned Kristin Marks around Burgess.

He hated violating his privacy like this, but was too tired to deal with the hours of game playing any alternative would produce. "Open the closet," he said.

Looking puzzled, she crossed the room and opened his closet. She stared at the inside of the door, then silently closed it, her face white. "What the hell... Joe..."

"That's Kristin."

Her hand went to her mouth. She stared with big, sorry eyes as her legs folded beneath her and she crumpled into a little heap on the floor. She wrapped her arms around her knees, pulled them into her chest, lay her face on them. She made no sound but he knew from the shake of her shoulders that she was crying. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I'll never get it right, will I, Joe? Even when I want to help, I hurt you."

"I'll go get that coffee." Terry backed out of the room.

He got out of bed, awkwardly pulled on his underwear, and knelt down beside her. Ignoring the pains in his arm and his head, he drew her against him, feeling the wetness of tears against his chest.

"You should have left me in the park," she said. "I'm nothing but trouble."

He rubbed his stubbly chin against her hair. "Hush. You're talking nonsense."

"I know I can't cure anything that ails you with a good fuck."

"It was good, though."

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. "You think you're a cold, hard, locked-up man, Joe, but the weird thing is, all you know how to do is give. You don't know how to take."

"I take plenty. Plenty of shit from scumbags. Liberty from people who don't belong on the streets. Money from the taxpayers. Grief from my sisters and my boss."

She pointed at the closet. "You carry stuff like that around with you, never saying anything to anyone, letting it eat you up inside."

"I said plenty about that at the time. Damned near lost my job."

"Because the guy who did it walked, didn't he, Joe? I remember now."

"He didn't walk, he... look, we're not going to talk about this, okay?"

"Sure, Joe. It's something we're both good at anyway. Not talking. Come eat before it gets cold. I really am a pretty good cook."

"Alana... about last night?"

She swiped away a tear and gave him a trembling smile. "Don't worry, Copman. Your secrets are safe with me."

"Speaking of secrets, what was it you wanted to tell me last night? Before we were so rudely interrupted?" He let her help him into his robe and followed her into the kitchen. Kyle poured three cups of coffee, and Alana told her story.

Chapter 17

"A man picked me up one night about a month ago." She made a face. "I know what you guys are thinking. Plenty of men have picked me up in the last month. Just listen, okay? Let me tell this my way. Then you can ask all the questions you want." She pointed with her fork. "And not a word until Joe eats something."

What was it with women wanting to mother him? There wasn't anything needy or boyish about him. He wasn't hungry but he wanted her story, so he ate a piece of bacon. After the first bite, he was famished.

"Okay," she said. "So this guy picks me up and drives me to a big empty parking lot. So far it's perfectly normal, right? I ask him what he wants, to give him a price, and he says, 'I'm not here for sex, okay?' Sure, I think, but I say, 'I've got a living to make, so if you aren't here to do business, please take me back where you found me.' He says, 'Look, I'll pay you, no problem, I just want to ask you some questions.' So I'm thinking this is some newspaper guy, because, like, they do that sometimes, want the point of view of the girl on the street, you know?"

He waved his fork over his empty plate. "This is better than Becky's. Got any more?" Becky's was a waterfront restaurant known for great breakfasts and a clientele ranging from fisherman to bankers.

"Yeah," Kyle seconded. "Got any more?"

She refilled their plates with a knowing smile. She made a man hungry, that was why. Satisfied him and left him hungry. "Was he a reporter?" Burgess asked.

"No. He said he wanted to get close to one of our customers, a guy who was a regular on the street, and could I help him? I didn't know what that was about, drugs, maybe? I said, 'Look, mister, if you're looking to deal drugs, don't ask me to help.' That surprised him, like he'd never thought it, and he says, 'Hey, I just want to talk to this guy.' But it was, you know, just too weird. Then I thought maybe he was a cop, so I asked him and he said no way."

She grabbed the coffeepot and filled their cups. "I was curious what he was up to, and everything, but there was like this atmosphere in the truck that spooked me. He was so nervous. I thought maybe this was about drugs and stuff, even if he did say no, and I don't have anything to do with that." Not quite the truth. Alana used occasionally, but she said she didn't deal, and he believed that. "Whatever it was, he was like, so focused on finding this man it creeped me out. I mean, there's lots of ways to find someone, right? Especially a doctor—"

"Hold on," Burgess interrupted. "He was looking for a doctor?"

Alana rolled her eyes. "Isn't that why I called you?"

He tried to recall Kyle's message. "You think it's the same guy who tried to grab you?"