Silent Reckoning. Debra Webb
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but not quickly enough for me to miss the abrupt amusement that flickered across his handsome face. Oh, yeah, I wasn’t supposed to notice that he’s handsome anymore. I tamped down the longing that had started building the moment I walked through his door. No matter that I tried to ignore it, it was always there, waiting to pounce on me whenever we shared the same airspace.
Oh, well, old habits were hard to break. I couldn’t not notice how he looked…how he smelled, for Christ’s sake. A new kind of confusion made me frown. Why would he find my feelings on the matter amusing?
He doesn’t have a problem with your being deaf, Merri.
Merri. I melted a little more inside. No, no, I wasn’t supposed to do that, either. Tough stuff. I couldn’t stop the reaction. Just watching his lips form my name was a big-time turn on.
Then the rest of his words assimilated in my brain. “Then what does he have a problem with?” Jeez, it wasn’t like I was incompetent or lazy. I worked hard. Graduated in the top five percent of my police academy class and the top three percent at the forensics academy. He was lucky to get me as a partner. Darn lucky.
He would prefer a male partner, Barlow said, his gaze reflecting the frankness no doubt in his tone.
Shock rumbled through me as realization penetrated the automatic denial. The new guy didn’t want to work with me because I didn’t have a penis? What century was this guy living in?
“Tell me you’re kidding,” I said, making my voice as flat with disbelief as possible. “That mentality went out with the seventies. Where’s this dude been living?”
I liked the amusement I saw in Barlow’s eyes but I was a little too ticked off to enjoy it as much as I should have.
Originally, Mr. Patterson is from Georgia.
Well that explained everything. Bulldogs weren’t the only things Georgia boys were known for. They could be bullheaded, too. Not that I actually had anything against guys from Georgia, but my ex-fiancé was from Atlanta. Enough said.
“So, why not shuffle one of the other detectives to work with him,” I offered. Heck, I could think of half a dozen of the detectives already in the division who would be happy to partner up with me. So far I got along with everybody except the folks in charge.
That’s not the way I do things, Barlow said, all signs of amusement gone now. Mr. Patterson will learn to fit in or he’ll be gone.
Another thought occurred to me. Barlow was big on the whole team-player motto. Maybe someone else would spend some time in the hot seat besides me. I could handle that.
I shrugged. “Bring him on. I’ll teach him some proper manners.”
Barlow let a smile peek through his stern expression and, well, let’s just say that my heart did one of those tricky maneuvers best called a triple flip.
I’m certain you will. I’m counting on you to teach him the way we do things here.
“No problem. Remember, I grew up with four brothers. Patterson should brace himself.” At this point I looked forward to the challenge.
As I watched, Barlow pressed the intercom button and asked his secretary to send in Mr. Patterson, which, of course, drew my attention to his hands. Long, strong fingers; wide, masculine hands.
Focus, Merri. You’re about to meet your first partner and he’s one of those macho types who thinks women can’t do a man’s job.
I found myself holding my breath as the door opened. I forced myself to relax, refused to be the slightest bit nervous as I shifted just enough to look back at him as he strode into Barlow’s well-appointed office.
Tall, young…really young, maybe twenty-five or -six. Good-looking. But my grandmother had a saying, pretty is as pretty does. If he insisted on being a jerk about working with women, then that attitude would greatly depreciate the value of his handsome face.
Barlow stood. I did, as well, though I thought about keeping my seat just to remind him that ladies didn’t have to stand when a man entered the room. Notice I didn’t use the term gentleman.
Barlow shook Patterson’s hand, then gestured to me. Ray Patterson, this is Merri Walters.
I thrust out my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Patterson.” I plastered a smile into place.
He took my hand and shook it firmly. Call me Ray.
Okay. I don’t know exactly how they do things in Georgia, but up here in Tennessee when someone says, “Nice to meet you,” a person generally says something like, “The pleasure is mine” whether they mean it or not. That he didn’t only lowered my impression of him.
Ray turned to Barlow and I did the same, just in time to catch something about seat or seats. Barlow gestured to my chair and then I realized he’d said that we should take our seats.
Before I could settle back into mine I realized Ray had spoken to Barlow. I swung my attention back to him as he said my position clear. Man, I was a little slow on the uptake today. I’m generally much better at keeping up with a two-, even a three-way conversation.
I would prefer a male partner. Ray looked from Barlow to me. I don’t mean to offend you, Miss Walters, but in my experience women are too emotional. That natural fault makes female detectives too unreliable for my comfort.
I told myself to think before I responded, but it was already too late. My mouth was in motion before my brain jumped into gear.
“I understand completely, Ray,” I said with all the feigned patience I could muster. “But we all have our faults. If you won’t hold being a woman against me, I’ll try my best not to hold your stupidity against you.”
Chapter 2
Sunday morning I slept in.
I’d stopped by the hospital after my shift ended yesterday. Shameka was out of the woods. Looked pretty damned good for a woman who’d been shot the night before. She thanked me repeatedly for saving her life. But she was the one who deserved the respect and gratitude. It had taken mega guts to put herself out there like that. And, though Johnson hadn’t been caught yet, Shameka’s efforts were not for naught.
Having drawn Johnson out into the open again, Metro now had hard evidence against Clarence Johnson, drug dealer, on-again off-again pimp and perpetual scumbag. Not to mention we had an eyewitness regarding Johnson’s intentions on Friday night. A witness whose credibility would be impeccable with the DA as well as any judge on the circuit.
Me.
Up to now he’d been a mere suspect. All of Metro had been pretty darned sure he was their man, especially considering Shameka had insisted that Johnson was the one who’d shot the cop. She hadn’t witnessed the shooting but she’d heard him brag about it. But still, we hadn’t had the evidence we needed until now.
The man who’d killed Officer Ted Ferris had left some DNA evidence at the scene of the shooting. Apparently Ferris had injured his attacker. Blood not belonging to Ferris had been found on his uniform. The crime lab had stopped everything to run the needed tests on the blood they’d found in the abandoned Caddy.
I smiled. Clarence Johnson was a match. The blood wasn’t proof positive that he’d killed Ferris, but it was solid evidence that he’d been there when Harris died. The scumbag was going down. All Metro had to do was find his sorry hide. Then again, maybe he’d crawled into some hole and bled to death. That would save the taxpayers having to foot the bill for his trial.
I still felt furious at my new partner. But I would have died before I’d have let him see how he annoyed me as we’d muddled through the day yesterday.
Introducing him around and showing him all the important destinations, such as evidence lock-up, the Chief of Detectives’ office and the archives, my old stomping grounds, had been standard procedure. Ray Patterson smiled and shook hands with everyone he met. He played the good-old-boy charm to