While Others Sleep. Helen R. Myers
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she knew of the big-boned and loudmouthed detective was that he’d been Greg’s distant relation through marriage. The scene he’d caused at Greg’s funeral made him a permanent part of that bad dream. Of all the people to run into…
“I said, why are you here?” he demanded.
“That’s none of your business.”
“You? On these premises? Guess again.”
She had a choice—create a bigger scene or cut her losses and opt for a hasty retreat. As loud as he was, if she drug this out, they were bound to attract an audience. Yet she didn’t quit easily.
“I don’t want any trouble. Five minutes is all I need.”
“To do what? Everyone knows you have an ax to grind.”
“If I did, I’d be at District B.”
“We’ve had transfers and realignments, something I suspect you know.”
She refused to respond to that. Getting a friend in trouble wasn’t an option, and accepting that she’d made a mistake in coming here, she let off the brake and jammed her foot onto the accelerator.
The launch into street traffic was almost as unnerving as running into Lefevre, and she barely missed a FedEx truck while, in her rearview mirror, she saw smoke rising as a minivan struggled not to rear-end her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, gripping the steering wheel. “I’m sorry!”
Damn Lefevre. How was she supposed to know he’d been transferred? What were the odds that he would be leaving the building as she was arriving?
9
As soon as the coast was clear, Blade joined Lefevre in the parking lot and asked, “What was that all about?”
“You tell me.”
He wasn’t admitting to anything until he had to. “What are you talking about?”
“I can’t decide whether you were hoping she’d shoot me or if you were hiding from her.”
Blade knew better than to respond to either part of that observation. “You know, the less I’m recognized around here the safer it is for everyone.”
“It looked like you were hiding from her.”
“Never met her before. What’s your beef with the woman anyway?” He knew Lefevre usually salivated over the long-legged type, and Ms. Cody Security had the figure to be a Las Vegas showgirl.
Beneath his neatly trimmed mustache, Lefevre’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Campbell Cody is poison. Got one of our guys killed—her partner. My wife’s stepbrother. It happened a short while before you arrived, though people talk about it even today.”
“Now that you mention it, I do remember hearing something.” But back then he’d been preoccupied with his own misery, and with learning a new job. What intrigued him was the intensity of Lefevre’s anger. Maybe Campbell Cody deserved it, but for someone who didn’t work too hard at hiding that he cheated on his wife, Alan Lefevre seemed somewhat overzealous. “So, she was a cop?”
“Please. More like a bitch with a gun. Greg found out the hard way.”
“Her partner?”
“Yeah, Greg Gerrard.”
“What happened?”
“She didn’t watch his back when she should have. She turned chicken, that’s what she did. Talks a tough game, but I wouldn’t trust her to cover my ass against a toddler with a water pistol.”
Blade thought about last night. She’d seemed pretty dedicated to him. “Why do you suppose she was here? If she knows she’s not welcome, she took a big risk.”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. Only—” he checked his watch and made a face “—not now.”
“Yeah, I have to get moving, too.”
“You owe me.”
Lefevre pointed a finger at him as though punctuating the statement made it written in stone. Blade merely raised his hand, letting him wonder if the gesture signaled an agreement or farewell. It didn’t matter; the detective was in his issued sedan and gunning the engine. Seconds later, with tires spinning on the still-damp asphalt, he pulled into traffic and sped away.
Grateful for the reprieve from the inquisition, Blade started for his truck, only to see a white SUV with a light bar on top pull around the corner of the building. Impressed with Campbell Cody’s nerve, Blade ducked behind the van nearest his truck and watched her pause while a young African-American woman in uniform ran out of the building and got into her truck.
10
As the petite officer hurried around the front of the truck and climbed in on the passenger’s side of the SUV, Campbell watched for onlookers. Visibility on this side of the building was minimal, but she thought she’d glimpsed movement by a van parked a few vehicles away. Right then a sheet of cardboard came tumbling across the asphalt and she decided it must have been debris tossed by the wind that spooked her. Even so, the instant she heard the passenger door slam she hit the accelerator.
“I thought I’d missed you.” Taneeka Rawley shivered and stretched her hands toward the vents blowing warm air. She wore no jacket over her uniform, exposing her elegant neck and delicate ears to the bitter bite of the wind. “I saw Romeo confronting you and hoped you wouldn’t be so rattled that you wouldn’t circle the block and try again. That’s why I didn’t take time to dash back to my office and grab my jacket.”
Campbell flipped the fan to high, then darted across traffic to head in the opposite direction of where Lefevre had gone. “Sorry about that.” She remained shaken from the experience, and resentful that Lefevre thought he had a right to confront her. “I should have known that oversexed yahoo wasn’t out doing what they pay him to do.”
“At least his taste in his victims is improving,” Taneeka said with a wicked grin. “I swear, I don’t know how his wife stands him.”
“Who knows that she does?” Campbell had met Beverly Lefevre once at a baby shower for another of Greg’s relations. She wanted to believe the attractive and intelligent woman, who worked in a commercial bank’s trust department, was too smart to be easily conned for too long. “Maybe she’s the city’s next time bomb. People like Lefevre always think they’re immune from repercussions, especially when it comes to paying for their behavior.”
“Campbell…I would have come to you sooner if you’d given the word. I do know where your office is.”
Despite the gentle tone, Taneeka’s words retained a rebuke for Campbell’s self-isolation. She was one of the few who had the right. They’d met in college and had gone through the academy together.
“You don’t need to be seen there any more than I needed to be spotted by someone from our old division,” Campbell replied. “It’s enough to have to drive this thing.”
“Remember our first year on the force and the guy who asked if you were trying to be the Longview version of Dirty Harry?”
“Paulk. His glasses were so thick, I doubt he knew if he was watching Clint Eastwood or Miami Vice.”
“But man, did he know the recipes for explosives. Scary. So where is that sexy car of yours?”
Campbell had a moment of nostalgia over the classic Shelby Mustang that she would wash and wax every week. “In California, or so I was told. I sold it to pay my legal fees. You never want to find out how much money it costs to stop people from trying to suck the last ounce of blood out of you.”
“All the more reason for you to have called.”
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