In The Enemy's Arms. Pamela Toth
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something. Right now the sludge in the bottom of the pot was the strongest liquid available.
“Be right back,” he said. It wouldn’t hurt to let her cool her heels for a minute, soaking up the atmosphere while he found out what the other detective wanted. Bryce had waited long enough at the clinic.
Leaving the door ajar, he glared at the guy in handcuffs. As he slid his gaze away, Bryce recognized him as a low-level dealer, one who’d probably end up in jail or dead on the street. Guys like this one got busted all the time, but it never seemed to do much good.
Mari stared at the big mirror and tried not to fidget. Someone might be on the other side, observing her behavior and taking notes. Despite her exhaustion, she scraped back the wobbly chair and walked over to the wall, where she very deliberately studied her reflection. She’d watched Law and Order often enough to know the setup, but let the detectives think she didn’t.
The face staring back at her looked awfully plain, but the lip gloss in her purse seemed too frivolous for the occasion. She limited her primping to tucking some of the loose strands of dark hair behind her ears.
Through the door Bryce had left open, she could hear a couple of male voices. Their conversation sounded guarded, almost secretive, as though they didn’t realize they were being overheard. She had enough problems of her own, so she didn’t pay much attention to their low-pitched discussion.
It seemed like days since she had lost the poor little neonate, weeks since she’d had a good night’s sleep and eons since this cloud of suspicion had first settled over her life.
Feeling slightly dizzy, she sat back down in the hard chair. Where was Bryce? Probably getting even with her.
Let him play his macho games, she thought, smothering a yawn. She would just put her head down for a minute so the room would stop spinning before he came back.
Bryce approached Hank, masking his annoyance. The other detective was overweight and out of shape, with powdered sugar smearing one flabby cheek.
“What did you want?” Bryce asked shortly.
“Got any leads on those vandalized cars out at Ginman’s Lake?” Hank asked with an innocent look on his florid face.
“You called me over for this?” Bryce demanded. Everyone in the department knew Hank Butler was lazy. “It’s your case, Hank. Why don’t you drive out there and ask around? You might learn something.”
Scratching the stubble that bristled along his double chin, the older detective leaned back in his chair, gut straining the buttons of his wrinkled shirt. His little pig eyes glanced past Bryce.
“Didn’t you and the doc used to date back in the day?” Hank asked, trying to sound cool. “I’ll bet you can’t wait to get her alone, huh? Work some kind of deal?”
Bryce ignored Hank’s baiting. He saw that a greasy-haired lowlife had been brought out of the other interrogation room. He and the other dealer had their heads together while the deputy refilled his coffee mug.
“Why are they here?” Bryce asked a deputy.
The deputy glanced over his shoulder. “Street cleaning,” he quipped.
The coffee looked fresh, so Bryce poured two cups. Both of the dealers watched resentfully when he walked past them and shouldered open the door to the smaller room.
“Sorry to be so long,” he said, nudging it shut with his foot.
He stopped abruptly when Mari’s head popped up from the table. As long as he’d been in the department, this was the first time he could remember having a suspect—especially one who was sober—doze off before an interview.
“You okay?” he asked. She’d been pale before, but now she was as white as the foam cups he was holding. “Need some aspirin?”
She blinked and worked her mouth as though her tongue was stuck. “I’m just peachy, Detective. This has been a red-letter day for me.” Her hazel eyes brimmed with resentment. “Could we get on with it, please?”
Here was his chance. Her emotions were high and she was clearly exhausted. She was more likely to slip up and reveal something she would normally have kept hidden, like the truth behind her relationship with Ricardo Phillipe.
Dr. Phillipe had lost his license for illegal drug use. Mari’s association with someone having his shady past was too big a coincidence for Bryce to ignore. If he was ever going to solve this case, he needed answers. His professional instincts tugged at him like a bulldog on a short leash.
Carefully, he set her coffee where its aroma would tempt her. Taking the chair across the table, he flipped open his notebook and stared down at his own scribbled handwriting while she blew softly on the steaming cup.
When he looked up, the sight of her sweetly puckered lips made him forget what he was about to say. They stared at each other as color stained her pale cheeks.
“Do you ever wonder what went wrong between us?” The question spilled out before he could stop it.
Her gaze shifted to the mirror behind him. “Detective, is the reason you brought me down here to interrogate me about my past? Because if it is, I can assure you that the department will be hearing from my attorney.” She scooted back her chair, clutching her purse, and started to rise.
“Please sit down. We’re not done,” he ordered. Damn, but it hurt that she could dismiss her past so easily, as though he had never been a part of it.
She was right about this not being the place to discuss it, even though the room behind the two-way mirror was empty. What had he been thinking?
He ran his finger down the lines on the notebook page, refocusing, and then she made a small sound of distress.
She turned her face away, but not before he saw her eyes fill. The sight of a woman’s tears still turned him to putty, especially Mari’s tears. He had never wanted to make her cry. How things changed. As he stared, mesmerized by her profile, the only sounds in the room were the ever ringing phone and muted voices from the squad.
Realizing that he had been holding his breath, Bryce closed his notebook with a slap. Perhaps he was getting too soft, but he just couldn’t do it. He was determined to unlock the secrets of this case, but if Mari held the key, it wouldn’t be today.
“I’ll take you home,” he said abruptly. “Let’s go.”
If he had hoped to see gratitude shimmering in her pretty eyes along with the surprise that she quickly masked, he was doomed to disappointment.
“You’ve wasted my time, Detective, barging into my office and dragging me down here.” She got to her feet, head held high. “Next time you’ll have to make an appointment like everyone else.” Tucking her purse under her arm, she walked out.
Kicking himself for his moment of weakness, Bryce stood in the doorway and watched her leave. He was getting soft, all right. Soft in the head.
She moved quickly, with no sign of the fatigue that had appeared to weigh her down earlier. Had she been conning him? She was already halfway to the reception desk when his frustration spilled out.
“One more thing, Dr. Bingham,” he called across the room. “Don’t leave town.”
When he saw her shoulders stiffen, regret slapped at him like a cold, wet rag. It wasn’t Mari’s fault that his temperature still spiked whenever he saw her, that he resented the raw lust that surged at inopportune moments or that he hadn’t managed to put the memory of losing her behind him.
One thing was as clear as the window to the street. She wasn’t about to mistake the drug investigation for some kind of courting ritual, or to jump into the sack with him for old times’ sake. After today he’d bet she would rather slice him open with a rusty scalpel than look at him, so he needed to get his hormones under control before he questioned her again.
As Bryce watched her depart, his stomach a tangled ball