“I’m not letting you walk to your car alone.”
“Yeah, you might be a little overprotective,” she said, smirking.
“All part of the service.”
Together they stopped in front of her car, and she hit the remote. “This is me.”
He reached around her. He’s going to kiss me after all. She was disappointed when he opened the door to let her in. Make up your mind, woman, do you want the kiss or not?
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“See ya.” She closed the door, hit the lock button and drove out of the parking lot.
* * * *
Jake watched Kyra drive off. After spending an hour with her his opinion of her had changed from jumpy to cagey. She had issues bubbling under the surface. Oh hell, who was he to judge? He had issues too. We both need a friend—that’s all this is. Plus her snarky sense of humor entertained him. It was good she wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship. What happened with Mia might not be able to be fixed, but he had no desire to put his emotions through the wringer again. Though in his heart—Mia was the one. He shouldn’t call Kyra. Why start something I’m not ready to finish? And, I’m not going to talk about Mia to her or anyone else. He started walking back to the bar, stopped at the door, then decided to go home. Before he got to the car his cell phone rang.
“Carrington here.”
“Lieutenant, it’s dispatch. We have a body at East Main Street and Meriden Road.”
“I’m not on call tonight. Where’s the officer in charge?”
“He’s tied up on another call, Lieutenant. It’s been a busy night.”
“Okay, what’s the address?”
“That’s the address the caller gave us.”
“Contact Sergeant Romanelli, and have the first officers on scene stand by. My ETA is about ten minutes.”
* * * *
A block from the bar she pulled to the curb. “Idiot!” Slumped over her steering wheel, she hugged it tight to her chest. This wasn’t the part of town a person wanted their car to break down in, never mind pulling over to cry. Right this minute, she didn’t care.
She clutched at her chest as a piercing pain cut off her next breath. Panic tightened her muscles, making the shooting spasms worse.
Oh my God! I’m having a freaking heart attack.
Kyra merged into traffic, but had to pull over immediately when what looked like Jake’s car flew by with sirens blasting. In less than five minutes she turned her car into the hospital emergency-room parking area. She sat there as she inhaled. Disappointment filled her when her breathing went back to normal as the pain dissipated. Not heart, but a panic attack. “No such luck, Kyra. You’re not getting off that easy.”
The hospital guard started walking over to her car. She slammed it back in gear, pulled out to head home. I don’t want to talk to anyone now.
At the condo she climbed right into bed. Fifteen minutes later she got up and paced around her living room. Rocked with fear, she curled up on the couch with a blanket and turned on the television to clear her mind of Joe’s horrific proposal. Surfing through the channels, she stopped on the one that played old soap operas. Nothing held her interest for more than a minute. She threw the remote, missing the television by inches, and went to the kitchen to retrieve her laptop.
She settled back onto the sofa with the computer and flipped it open. She had intended to catch up with the paperwork on today’s cremations, but found she had no ambition. Instead she opened a new spreadsheet and listed all her bills and her loan balance in the left column. In the right column she listed her salary, her sole income. If she got a second job, it might help—but doing what? She had no skills expect for administrative ones. What kind of money did a part-time job pay? Minimum wage? She’d cashed in her savings bonds, her savings account, and part of her 401k. Tommy’s compassion and forgiveness had gone away with the last withdrawal from the 401k. He forgave her for the withdrawal from Trevor’s college fund. They had time to build it up again Tom said, but blowing their retirement ended their marriage. Tom was looking out for his own ass.
No matter how she arranged the numbers, the debt won over the income. Even with raises calculated into the equation, it would take her fifty years to pay everything off, including the interest. Her throat went dry. Her gut tightened, and her head pounded as she pushed her computer aside. There was no way out for her except to accept Joe’s offer. It was hopeless. She did again what she’d done all night—she cried.
* * * *
Jake pulled to the curb and noted Louie hadn’t arrived yet. As he climbed out of the car, he spotted the uniform. Kudos to Russo. He’d cordoned off the scene and had the bystanders pushed back. Frank Russo, a twenty-year veteran, understood his job. At five-eight, the guy packed a solid punch. Jake knew. A few times he and Frankie had sparred in the gym.
“How many people trampled my scene, Frankie?” Jake asked, surveying the body and surrounding area.
“No one, I got here before the EMTs, Lieutenant. When I arrived I found the body, not the caller. Nothing’s been touched. It was obvious he was dead awhile. I didn’t let the EMTs near him.” Jake nodded for Russo to continue. “At first, with all his track marks, it looked like an overdose, but the head wound—”
“Give me a minute,” Jake said, cutting off Russo before he gave his opinion of the scene. He wanted to form his own impressions before the uniform gave his. He walked over to the body, leaned down and studied it. Russo was right. The wound on the head wasn’t created by his fall. Someone had whacked the poor kid hard on the noggin.
Louie sidled up to him with a coffee in his hand.
Damn, that coffee smells good. “You got one for me?” Jake asked.
“No, but I’ll share. What have we got?” Louie asked as he took a sip.
The medical examiner pulled up behind Louie’s car.
“How’d we get the top dog on an O.D. victim?” Jake asked.
A tall, lanky man of Chinese and American descent, Chen Lang always looked in need of a meal. The Doc carried his one hundred and eighty pounds on a six-foot-four frame. His skin gave off a translucent glow, the same color as the corpses he worked with. Short on staff, Lang spent many hours attending the dead and didn’t seem to care if he saw daylight or not.
“Been a wild night, Jake, the team’s spread all over the state,” Lang said.
Jake stepped away from the body. Louie stood by his side. “After Doc Lang finishes up, I’ll look for cash, needles, or his stash. But I’m betting it’s gone,” Louie said.
“I hope they left his I.D.”
“What the hell have you been drinking? You stink of booze. Where are you coming from?” Louie asked.
“I was out. Is it that bad?” Jake blew his breath into his hand. He hadn’t been on call tonight and it was nobody’s business if he’d wanted a drink. Dispatch had called him in when the lieutenant on duty was tied up on another homicide.
“Yeah, I better take the lead on this one. We don’t want any questions when the case goes to court,” Louie said.
Jake nodded.
The department was a political landmine at the moment. He stepped away from the scene. At his car, Jake wrote down his impressions. Diagrammed the angle of the body, and proceeded to make notes about the wound and the location of the needle marks. He’d compare them to Louie’s and the crime scene team’s tomorrow.
Chapter 5
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