Quintic (7 page)

Had she
chosen her outfit for what she wanted to do? She had a disguise for
every occasion
, and this one sure worked
on her. But, even though Bridget loved her almost as much as he
did, as a woman, his old secretary did not have the same weaknesses
he had. Would Bridget yield to the softer, tender outfit as he was
about to?

He didn’t
want to break up their conversation in case his secretary was
softening to Patricia’s coaxing, but he couldn’t spend the
afternoon holed up in his office as if he had not seen her. The
precinct was a place of business, damn it, and he had work to do!
He made some calls to stretch the half hour into an hour, but the
team had long ago noticed he never stayed far from Patricia when
she was in the place, so hiding out in his office would soon become
suspicious.

He didn’t
have to
ignore the two women for much
longer. Before the hour was up, both women gathered their things
and made for the door.

“
I’m taking
Bridget home,” Patricia duly informed him. “I’ll be back in less
than an hour. Bridget has the flu; she needs rest. It’s all
settled. She’s going to take a couple of days off. Two, maybe
three.” Patricia smiled at Bridget for approval. “Bridget has
agreed to let me fill in for her. She’s shown me the phone, but I
think the rest will wait for her return.”

“
You’ll do
just fine, sweetie.” Bridget patted Patricia’s cheek before turning
to him. “I appreciate your concern, Chief MacLaren.” Calling him by
his title was Bridget’s way of letting him know she knew he had
used Patricia to set her up but wasn’t holding a grudge. “I called
the Chief of Police to inform him of the arrangement.” No grudge
all right. The Police Chief didn’t have anything to do with
Patricia’s hiring so why Bridget had called the guy was beyond his
comprehension. Solely to prevent him from hiring a temporary
receptionist?
The thought
never crossed my mind, Princess
.

A
nd on that, the women left. He
had expected Patricia to take Bridget away from the office, but not
by offering to take over the woman’s duties. An inefficient
solution, they had temps for that. What the hell did the damn woman
know about phones?

MacLaren’s Newest
Employee: The First Hours

T
he phone switchboard was a mess.
A long time ago, the IT department, under Bridget’s tight
supervision, had programmed the team’s desk phone numbers, mobile
phone numbers and home phone numbers in the console, but not one
had bothered to identify the collection of buttons on the console.
Bridget knew the buttons by heart and could patch a call in
seconds.

She had also
programmed
an impressive list of contact
numbers within the force; she had built up quite a network over her
thirty-year employment. Those contacts proved very useful when
Chris needed to get something done fast or sidetracked the system.
Bridget might disapprove of his unorthodox ways but helped
nonetheless.

The phone
rang then but
did anybody answer? Nope,
no fucking receptionist for now. As the ringing stopped at the
first ring, Chris knew Bridget had transferred the calls to the
precinct’s main switchboard before leaving. Maybe he should leave
the main desk in charge for a few days? An hour or two of delay in
getting his messages wasn’t catastrophic, and the fuck if he
wouldn’t enjoy forcing Central to leave a message. Besides, the
only urgent calls coming through where about dead guys, and dead
guys were never in a hurry.

Patricia
returned an hour later. The damn woman had probably left Bridget’s
car neatly parked in the old woman’s driveway, and walked back.
Cats sure liked to walk. He smiled as she tried to smooth her
windblown, messy hair.
No
need, Pussycat. In a few hours, I guarantee it’ll be
worse
. Yes, he would quit early
today,
very
early. He was on the phone as she waltzed by his
office, but when he looked up and gave her that crooked smile of
his she liked, she blushed and headed straight to Bridget’s desk.
Maybe she had guessed some of his lingering thoughts about her
softer, tender outfit.

When the
phone rang next, she answered it. Not good. The phone kept ringing
the rest of the afternoon. Sometimes, it rang for more than two
rings, and a few times he counted up to six rings. He let her sweat
at it. The sooner she realised she was in over her head, the sooner
he could hire a temp, off the record, though. He knew a woman at
Human Resources that shared his views on Central’s meddling. At
five sharp, Bridget’s regular closing time, Patricia made a call.
The phones went quiet after that.

Smiling big,
he put his desk in order, switched off the lights, closed his
office door and swaggered to Bridget’s desk. Patricia sat observing
him. Behind her glasses, her blue eyes were dark.
Tired, Angel?
The blues got darker as he drew closer. From its typical
fifty-two beats per minute, his pulse spiked to seventy, not an
unusual pace around her. She did look so soft. And sexy. Her hair
was definitely about to get a whole lot more tousled.

“
Hey, Angel.
How about I give you a ride?”

“
That would
be nice. Thank you,” she answered with a smile as she
picked up her bag and followed him. He
liked.

She did most
of the talking on the way to her place. Through the lobby. Up the
elevator. Down the hall. She stopped talking when he closed her
door. She was always babbling when she was nervous, wasn’t
she? Nervous, apprehensive or
hopeful.

“
I did
promise you were going to pay for it, didn’t I?” he said, barely
five minutes later.

She was
breathtaking with her hair magnificently dishevelled. He tugged at
a lock of hair gently and kissed her neck. He kissed her ass. The
hair didn’t have anything to do with him kissing her ass, but the
sleek pants and panties around her ankles did. She was still
breathing heavily under him, her front to the back of the couch. He
liked coming at her from behind, her wetness enclosing his cock
deep into her, his hand playing with the sensitised hood.
Immensely. She did too.

“
Fuck
, I like to hear you moan.”
So it had not been from her masturbating, they still had time. Then
again, knowing her, she was probably going to run off again.
One day, I will make you stop
running, Pussycat.

They had
a
lovely evening of sex, both hard and
soft, food, wine, red (of course), spicy and robust, and talk, all
soft, and mostly silly. Vacation ideas. People they knew. Her work.
Her books. Her paintings. His work. The cases the team were
investigating. Patricia’s waitress case. Plans for the
weekend.

Patricia
remained vague about how she had convince
d Bridget to take three sick days. Chris did not bring up
Patricia’s new receptionist job. Perfect evening. Not once did he
mention the marriage papers sleeping at City Hall, the moving in
and anything relating to the last months events
(
we’re well past the first
year mark, Angel
); all those could wait.
She smiled in her sleep; he was happy.

He left
early the next day. He needed to stop by his place for a fresh
change of clothes. He usually kept four or five suits at her home,
underwear, toothbrush, t-shirt, weekend clothes, emergency sweats,
running shoes and such. No pyjamas, though, what was the point,
right? Rummaging in her walk-in closet, he realised he had
forgotten to bring his suits back from the dry-cleaner.

“
What did
you do with all the clothes you left in my closet a couple of weeks
ago?” She asked when she heard his curse.

“
Wore them
all. They’re at the cleaner.”

“All of them? How come?”

“
Want me to
show you
, Darling of mine?”

S
he blushed and buried herself
under the covers. “Just wear what you had on yesterday.”

Wish I could, Angel, but I messed my
pants
. For some reason, he hadn’t taken
the time to completely pulled them off. And then, they had stayed
in a pile on the floor where he had dropped them off
after.

For
all-nighter
s on the job, he only changed
his shirt (he had a couple of new ones in the bottom drawer of his
desk). They were in the off-season for murders, and nobody had
worked last night. For sure the guys would notice if he went to
work wearing the same suit as the day before. They would know why
too. He didn’t give a fuck who knew, but she might get embarrassed.
It saddened him when she was, made him feel as if he should have
protected her better. Unless she was blushing at him, then he
liked. Immensely.

As for the suit jacket,
Patricia had worn it for their late in-room supper.

“
It smells
of your cologne,” she had said.

Now the
jacket smelled of her. He had trouble thinking of work with that
damn scent cocooning him hence him driving home to change both
pants and jacket, a big grin on his face.

Since she
had left for work at the same time he did, she
arrived at the office earlier than he did. Something was
up. First, she had awoken before him and was showered and dressed
before he was up, an event in itself. Then he had to hurry to get
her breakfast from the hotel’s kitchen downstairs while she was
putting her makeup on or she would have left without getting any
food. A first. She preferred to take a cab instead of him dropping
her off, alleging she had to sort the messages before the team got
in.

Chris
suspected
the early start, the
almost-missed meal, the cab, all of it had more to do with her
being yet again in over her head in a job, but he didn’t say
anything. He took it as a good sign she was ready to come back more
regularly to the office.

The big grin
stayed as he shaved, taking his sweet time too, showered and
dressed. He even made himself a cup of espresso and sipped it
watching the morning news.

Patricia
called him once on his home phone
. “Just
wanted to know if you’re planning on coming in soon. No rush, Big
guy.”

Shortly
after, she called his cell, his urgent-but-not-life-and-death
number, “Can you stop by Bridget’s house to make sure she’s
OK?”

So he did.
Bridget answered the door in her bathrobe, a feverish glow to her
skin. Patricia had done a good job of persuasion. He had known only
Patricia could convince the old broad, but still he was impressed
with the three fucking days.

Bridget did
not let him in the house. “It’s full of germs; you better stay on
the balcony.”

“
No
prob
lem. Do you need
anything?”

“
I’m quite
fine, thank you. Is everything all right at the office? You are not
overworking Patricia, are you? I can go back if she needs me; I’m
only staying in for the team. I don’t want them sick from my
virus.”

He had
trouble keeping from laughing
at
Bridget’s confession. Difficult to say if Bridget believed she was
doing it for the team, or if she agreed to the sick days just so
that Patricia would appear to have more influence on her than he
did. Either way, since it made the two women happy, it was fucking
grand with him. Needless to say, he didn’t linger on Bridget’s
balcony.

He wondered
if
Patricia would fetch him coffee. She
was working for him for the next days, was she not, not working
with the team but
for
him? The thought made him smile, and it was
quite a smile. Wolf-like.

Business as Usual for
MacLaren

W
hen Chris finally arrived at the
office, most of the team was in already. He found her in deep
conversation with Fredrick, her calling him
Frédéric
every two
sentences and the kid eating it up. If the kid kept leaning closer,
he risked toppling over. The kid’s smile was as big as Chris’s had
been at her place. That kid needed to get a girlfriend of his own,
someone his age, and soon.

Both
Patricia and Fred were wearing jeans and a white long sleeve V-neck
tee, but that was as far as the resemblance went. Fred looked like
he had slept in his clothes while she looked sleek in her outfit.
The mandatory jacket she equated with the plainclothes cop uniform
was for now draped on the back of her chair. With her hair loosely
braided, she was gorgeous. This morning, her perfume, as Chris knew
from earlier at her place, was light and flowery; the kid was close
to swallowing her up.

“
That kid’s
going to be in a fucking good mood all day,” Chris grumbled to
himself. Not that Fred was capable of showing such an
emotion.

From the
looks of them, they were up to something. She sure was working on
Fred hard. She smiled up when
Chris
stepped closer. Fred’s left eyebrow had twitched before he scurried
back to his dark basement office. Yup, fucking up to
something.

“
How is
Bridget?” She asked handing him his messages. “Did she look better?
Does she want me to stop over? Maybe I can drop by on my lunch hour
and bring her soup.”