Quintic (37 page)

“
Really
, Big guy. Do you think I
could have let him go by himself? Alone in that kind of place. I
wouldn’t go alone, and I’m a city girl. Someone had to cover his
back. For Hamilton. For you.”

“
Say what?”
Again he was stunned. “You covered the rookie’s back and for me no
less, you have a lot of imagination, Princess.” What did she expect
him to reply to that?
Thank
you
? No fucking way. “Why did you say
Charles wanted to go?”

The kid
could have picked any strip club.
Three
clubs were of interest in the case, a one in three odds. Charles
didn’t know Lemieux had brought Patricia to that particular club,
neither did the young officer know she had also taken Chris,
the boss,
so why the fuck did he chose that one? Coincidence, no way.
Charles wanted to go to a strip joint. She picked which
one.

“
I don’t
know, Big guy. He probably thought it would help the case. I didn’t
ask. I don’t have that detective instinct, those hunches like you
do.”

Instinct?
Taking his boss’s lover
-girlfriend-damn
woman to a strip club didn’t testify for great instincts on the
kid’s part. Lousy cop instincts and, even more, fucking shitty
survival skills. Chris just couldn’t get over that part.
And comparing Charles to me won’t
soften me up, Darling of mine.
“Princess,
I know you chose the place. You wouldn’t have brought him there if
you didn’t have an ulterior motive. So let’s try again.
Why?”

He noticed
the fingers of her right hand pianoting on her thigh
absentmindedly. The woman was thinking hard. Her
eyes cast down, she rubbed her hands on her thighs a few times as
if smoothing the fabric of her pants.

“
I
c
an’t tell you.” Well, that was a new
one. He lifted a questioning eyebrow. “Truly, I can’t. I would if I
could, but I can’t, so I won’t.” Her eyes pleaded with him now.
“Christopher, I really can’t. It doesn’t have anything to do with
the case. Well, not really. But I believe he needed to do it.
You’re going to have to trust me. And Charles did well. He behaved
like a proper officer; you should be proud. And you should confirm
him in the team. Let him know he’s doing OK.
Oui
?”

When she
started with the French thing, he was in trouble. He did trust her
judgement. At least
, when it didn’t
regard her well-being and safety. What the fuck was this all about,
then? “Let’s be clear on this. Tonight’s events had nothing to do
with Lemieux? Or any other police business? Police business that,
may I remind you, Darling of mine, you resigned from?”

“
Absolutely
nothing. Nada.” He sighed. She had answered that one way too
quickly. “
Absolument rien,
mon chéri
.” The French thing
again.

“So what was all that about?
Couldn’t you have called me earlier? You know, BEFORE going
there.”

She turned
serious.
“I thought about calling you,
right when Charles called, but I figured he might not talk to me if
you were there. And then, after, I couldn’t call. I knew you would
get angry. I mean, you’re not exactly Mister Sunshine when you get
a phone call in the middle of the night.”

She had that
right. Then again, how would she like it if he called her from some
police station in the middle of the night to get bailed out? Fat
chance of that ever happening, though. He would just flash his
badge and take care of it, whatever
it
was. Or take care of it
without the badge. Like the murder thing. Although she had helped
on that one, hadn’t she? Immensely. Recklessly.

“
Besides
, it was no big deal,
Christopher. I was booked with some hookers that made great
informants for my character−”

“
Stop!
Next thing, you’re going to
say you had fun.”

“
No, it
wasn’t fun. Especially the fight and the punching. But it was no
big deal. And Charles was great. I mean, he could have got his
badge from the car and walked away from the mess, but he didn’t.
Nope, he went to the station in the back of the van with the rest
of us guys.”

‘
Us guys.’
What the fuck?
“They made you ride with
the men?”

She crooked
her head to the side. “Great, don’t you think? Did you notice how
I’m dressed? Nobody realised I was a woman until they frisked me at
the station. This outfit is way better than the one I had on when
we, hum. Ah. Anyway. When in a strip club, dress as a man. Lesson
learned. When I go back, that’s what I’ll do.” A blazing
cheshiresque smile accompanied her announcement.

Shit. Was
that supposed to reassure him? Dress like a guy? Go back? Why the
hell would she go back?
Ever
? And she was frisked? Fuck,
he had forgotten about that detail. Standard procedure. Fuck. Fuck.
And fuck!

If the cops
hadn’t realised she wasn’t a guy, neither would the guys at the
club. Good thing, no one would have made a move on her. He smiled
back. Then frowned. For the guys wouldn’t have detected her gender
during the fight either. Fucking shit. He had almost started a
fight himself when they had gone together, and he knew what that
fight had been about: her, in a different outfit, though. “The
fight the cops arrested you for. What was that about?” He asked
casually to hide his worries.

“
I don’t
know. What are fights ever about? It started between two guys. I
wasn’t paying attention. Then Charles intervened, attempted to
pacify them and next thing we knew, half the place is in an uproar.
We tried to leave but got stopped before reaching the door. I don’t
know what kind of men go to those clubs, but frankly, they could
use some anger management classes.”

She had
suggested such a class when they first met. Somehow sex with
her
seemed to work better. He grinned a
the thought. “Guys in those places go for the skin and the beer,”
he explained, before pressing on. “So you guys did not start it?”
She shook her head no, demonstrating her slight insulted outrage by
raising a delicate eyebrow. “Did you fight?”

She
looked at him, her blue eyes wide and innocent.
“Who, me? You know I can’t fight. I tried to pull Charles to the
door, but he kept wanting to be the good police officer. That’s how
we got caught in it.”

That sounded
reasonable. It was
all bullshit, though;
her answering with a question betrayed her participation in the
fight. “Did you throw any punches?” He looked down at her hands.
Light bruises, earned during her hammering on the diner door, still
shadowed her skin, but no new scratch marked her hands.

“
No. Of
course not. Didn’t have time. It all happened so fast. Lucky
Charles was there; he watched over me. I owe him. Really. You know,
I didn’t feel all that safe with him at first, but he surprised
me.”

She didn’t
feel safe with the guy, but the damn woman had gone nonetheless?!
“Did you get hurt?”
Dumb
question, MacLaren, as if she’s going to tell you.
She looked OK, but he knew that didn’t mean
shit. Even on her deathbed, she would hide her wounds from him for
the sake of it-is-OK-I-do-not-need-you. Especially if she thought
it might get Charles in trouble.
Damn fucking right it will
.
“Well, did you?”

“
No. Of
course not. I told you, Charles was perfect.”

O
K. Charles was perfect.
Everything was fine. Why then did she make a face every once in a
while? He sighed as Fists and Knot yearned for relief. “Does part
of the I-wish-I-could-tell-you-but-I-can’t shit include Charles and
you going back there anytime soon? At any time at all?”

“
Nope, I
think we’re done for now. You can rest easy.”

Easy for her
to say, she had fallen asleep on the fucking interrogation room
station!
“You’re sure you can’t tell me
what this was all about? No personal details, just the general
intention here.”

“
I
cannot. Let me just say that I did some, hum,
womanly therapy.”

“
If your
idea of therapy is taking one of my guys to see strippers, I want
you to stop that right now. Unless I’m the guy, of
course.”

Her hands
were in fists
when she snapped back. “I’m
not taking you to the strippers again. That didn’t feel right. You,
hum.” The pink tip of her tongue wetted her lips. “Ah. You seemed
to enjoy yourself a little too much.”

That made
him
laugh, finally. “Jealous, Darling of
mine?”

“
You’re
flattering yourself, Big guy. Why should I be jealous? I mean, it’s
not like−”

“
You know,
Dollface, for my womanly therapy session, we don’t have to go to
that specific strip club. Or any other for that matter. We can stay
right here, just the two of us. How much would a private therapy
session cost me?”

“
Christopher
James MacLaren, you are a jerk! You have absolutely no manners. No
wonder your guys are scared of you. Why do I put up with
you!”

So Charles
was afraid of him, good to know
. She
wasn’t, though, never had been. The smile grew bigger. Her eyes had
turned the stormy blue colour he liked. The nerve of you, they were
saying. As if she didn’t know why she put up with him. His smile
turned into another bark of laughter.

“
Christopher! Stop it. It’s not funny!” Both her hands flat
on his chest, she tried pushing away from him.

She pushed,
she winced;
he saw, and his laugh died.
He grabbed the hem of her t-shirt and tugged it up.

“
Christopher. Now is not a good time,” she
groaned.

That he had
already figured.
As soon as he had jerked
the t-shirt off, she crossed her arms over her chest, her hands to
her shoulders.
Cold,
Angel?
She wasn’t a prude, at least not
with him. The damn sports bra didn’t lessen her beauty; he was
personally acquainted with the lovely breasts she had hidden under
it.

“
Let me look
at
you, Angel of mine. Please,” he asked
in a soft voice, Knot twisting in his guts.

She
raised her chin defiantly before biting on her
lower lip. Her hands dropped sluggishly. “I think. Perhaps. I would
like. Some ice.” A large bruise decorated her left shoulder, its
size about that of a man’s fist.

B
y the
time Christopher got her some ice, took a shower, drive her back to
her place and got her more ice, he had to go to work. Needless to
say, they did not fool around.

The Big
guy
was afraid to touch her; he handled
her like a porcelain doll. So what if she had cried when the ice
first touched her shoulder? She had shed no more than a tear or
two. The man was maddeningly overprotective, and it made her want
to hide under his covers and wait for him, all soft and warm.
Infuriating. She didn’t need him to protect her. Truly. Moreover,
she had a lot of interesting things to do besides long for
him.

What she
need was a job. An exciting place where to meet people.
New
people. New men? Part of her problems these days came from
being way too much into Christopher, that and the fact that he knew
it. Damn infuriating. Nice yes, and maddeningly infuriating. Sexy.
Too sexy. Dangerous. Frankly, she liked him a little too much, had
from the start. So yes, indeed, she needed a new job. With
men.

A store? A
department store in a mall. Those stores were always crowded with
people. And she liked to shop, plus her closets were often empty.
Sell jewellery? Or lingerie? And she would get discounts. Not that
she needed the rebates, or money for that matter. Hum. What she
needed was to keep busy.

Shopping
centre
s were action-packed destinations.
Couples fighting or holding hands, kids running around, teenagers
shoplifting. And malls had in-house security agents, both dressed
in dull uniform or cloaked in plain clothes. Christopher would stay
out of her way with them around. Hum. What if she liked the
shoplifter-kid? Maybe he was shoplifting to help his sick mother
feeding his six fatherless younger siblings. Damn, if the kid was
so desperate, she might even help him do a little thieving herself
and then what? She rolled her eyes at herself. Her thoughts went
all over the place these days. She needed to do
something.

Library? No
way. Beauty parlour? Women all day, she couldn’t. Factory? Please
shoot me now. A restaurant? People ate the weirdest things. A bar?
There again, people drank the strangest things. A coffee shop? Hum.
Could she spend her days drinking lattes and flirting with
customers? She
loved
coffee shops. Would her French barista have an
opening? No, wait! Writing she did in dedicated areas in a ‘don’t
mix business with pleasure’ tacit arrangement with herself. She
wouldn’t be able to both write and work in the same place. Another
café then? Unless she went back to the library? Heck no.