“What is it with you and the smiling?”
“People will think there’s something going on between us!” Megan defended herself.
“Oh, please. Get over yourself and give me that card.” Gina took it and tore it up. “There are plenty of other more serious consequences to dealing with Barry, and you know it.” She pointed to the stack of cards. “Write another one—write that his requests for special treatment disrupt your peace of mind and affect your work.”
“They don’t affect my work!”
“Have we not just spent ten minutes obsessing over Barry?”
“It’s not obsessing.”
Gina nodded toward the computer. “Delete the e-mail.”
Megan swallowed. “I…should read it first.”
Gina leveled her stern policewoman’s stare at Megan. “Deep breath. Read the next card.”
Megan inhaled and exhaled. “Barry called me in the middle of the night—”
“At your unlisted home number.”
Megan hoped that Gina wouldn’t ask how Barry got her unlisted home number. “He knew I would be asleep,” she continued, “and took advantage of my grogginess to trick me into giving him the mayor’s meeting schedule, which then confirmed that the mayor was meeting with out-of-state candidates for the new assistant police chief.” An echo of the anger she’d felt then calmed her pounding heart now. Hey, this aversion-therapy stuff might work.
“It was a dirty trick, but it was very clever,” Gina commented.
“I still should have been prepared.”
“He woke you up at one-thirty in the morning! On purpose!”
“He had a deadline.”
“You are not defending him.”
Megan stared at the card. She was defending him, drat it all. “Okay. You’re right. Thanks, Gina. I can handle things now.”
“You’re deleting the e-mail?”
“I’m going to write a refusal before I open and read it.”
“Megan—”
“Gina.” Megan stiffened her spine. “I have no business deleting e-mails unread. If I do, then he is affecting my work. I have to be able to deal with him when I’m department spokeswoman again. This is good practice.”
Gina gave her a look with just a touch of pity in it, then headed back to her own desk.
Pity, huh? Megan brought her fingers to the keyboard, mentally composing a polite, yet firm, very firm, refusal, when another e-mail from Barry popped up with the subject line Need urgent favor.
The sinking feeling she tried to ignore told her that she’d been hoping the first e-mail might be a let’s-get-together-for-coffee e-mail. Which would be a prelude to a dinner or a movie or a night of wild monkey sex.
No!
She did not think that way ever. Certainly not about Barry. Okay, she would not think that way about Barry ever again. Gritting her teeth, Megan tried to type a scathing reply to the as-yet unread message, but her hands had been sweating and SDeR B Atty was all she managed to type.
Oh, fine. Sighing, she opened the e-mails and discovered that he wanted her to run a license-plate number for him. He was interested in a name and whether that name dinged any police bells.
Although cops had been known to do so, accessing the Law Enforcement Information Network outside the performance of official duties was totally against the rules and Megan wasn’t in a position to break any rules. She typed back a naked No and hit Send, feeling strongly virtuous.
The feeling lasted for a couple of seconds before she realized she’d made a tactical error.
“Oh, no.”
“What?” Gina asked.
“I shouldn’t have answered him.”
“You answered him?”
“I said, ‘No.’” Megan’s e-mail was already chiming. “But now he knows I’m here.”
“What did he want?”
“For me to run a plate.”
Shaking her head, Gina pointedly looked at her monitor. “I didn’t hear that.”
“It’s okay that you heard it. I’m not going to do it.”
Gina didn’t meet her eyes.
“I’m not!” Megan had to raise her voice over the sound of the e-mail chime. She turned off the sound.
She tried very hard to concentrate on her very important work—yes, the world would be a better place once she finished inventorying the True Blue pencils that the community relations department passed out to school kids. She was about to make a huge decision: The navy-night color was no longer manufactured so Megan had been given the responsibility of choosing a new color for their next order. It was important. It was. Every time elementary school students used their pencils, they’d think of the police. The blue—and yes, it would stay blue—color had to be strong, but not intimidating. She had a call into the Dallas Cowboys organization to find out what their shade of blue was called so the police didn’t duplicate it. But the police had gold lettering and the Cowboys had silver, so Megan thought that was enough of a difference if their only choice was the Cowboys’ blue—well, the point was, she was busy making important decisions here. She had no time to pay attention to Barry and his incessant e-mails.
They were coming at the rate of one a minute now. What a jerk.
And then three minutes went by without one and Megan was lured into looking at them and their identical subject lines: I’m sorry. Please?
Megan slumped. Honestly, for all the mental energy she’d expended, she should just—No. This was a test and if she gave in now, she would never be able to take a stand against him again.
A thought occurred to her and she grabbed for her phone and activated the instant voice mail. He’d be calling any minute.
She wouldn’t be able to keep her voice mail set that way for long, but Barry wasn’t stupid. He’d get the message and leave her alone.
She waited, then went back online to search the Internet for pencils.
She had three solid minutes to compare pencil colors and quantity prices before her e-mail icon flashed. The subject line read You’re not answering your phone.
Megan sighed.
“You could block his e-mails,” Gina suggested.
“I hate myself,” Megan muttered. “He just…just…”
“Pushes all your buttons?”
“Oh, it’s worse than that. I have special buttons just for him.”
Chuckling, Gina leaned down and when she straightened, she handed Megan a handful of change across their desks. “I could use a Dr Pepper right now. You could, too.”
“Yes. Dr Pepper. Sugar. Caffeine.” Megan stood. “I’m on it.”
“Why, thank you, Megan.” Gina grinned and pointed to her dimples.
Megan’s e-mail chimed.
“I thought you turned that off.”
“It turns on after you access it.”
“Oh, Megan.”
“I’m going now.”
“Good idea.”
Megan