A Fine Specimen (18 page)

“No,” Ben said. “Recruit
day is tomorrow and you know it. Sit down, Alex. You need to tell me how come
you let Ratso Colby slip through your fingers. An hour with the guy and it’s
done—we can issue a warrant for Lopez. You’ve been gunning for Lopez for two
years now. So what’s the deal? Why the fuck did you let Colby go?”

Alex leaned back in his
chair, trying not to grit his teeth. “I…wasn’t alone on Sunday.”

“You were on
patrol
?”
Ben asked, confused. “Why?”

“I wasn’t on patrol. I
was…with someone.” Alex scowled at Ben, willing him into giving it up. But
Ben’s genetic makeup included pit bull DNA. He had never given up on anything
in the fifteen years Alex had known him.

“I still don’t get it,”
Ben complained, drawing bushy, gray-red eyebrows together. “We’ve been after
Ratso for, like, forever. You chewed my ass out for letting him slip through a
window just a coupla days ago! Then you spot him and you let him go just
because you were with…someone…”

Ben’s voice dropped
away. Alex could actually
see
him thinking. It was like watching ball
bearings roll around in an empty space. Ben’s eyes widened and a broad, wicked
grin spread slowly across his face. “Wait a minute. Could that someone you were
with by any chance be,” he held his hand a little over five feet above the
ground, “’bout yay high, big blue ones, blonde hair, very pretty?”

“That’s none of your
business,” Alex said, jaws clenched. “What I do on an off-duty Sunday is none
of your concern.”

“Nope. Sure isn’t.”
Ben’s blue eyes danced with devilry. “But that don’t mean it’s not interesting
just the same.” He slapped his knee in delight. “Hot
damn
! I was
wondering when you’d take the fall. Had to happen sometime. Even to big, bad
Alex Cruz! I want to be invited to the wedding. No, wait—I want to be best man!
Fuck, after all the crap I’ve put up with over the years I deserve to be best
man. And I want at least one home-cooked meal a month. I want that in writing.
Been eating junk food since the last wife left.”

Alex shuddered, panic
rising in his throat. “Whoa, now, wait just a minute here. Not that it’s any
business of yours, but it’s not like that. It’s
nothing
like that. It’s
just…we’re just…seeing each other. Not that it’s any business of yours,” he
repeated, feeling like a broken record.

“Sure,” Ben said equably
as he stood up. “I hear you. I’m outta here. Gotta go get measured for the
tux.”

* * * * *

Meanwhile, Caitlin and
Kathy were bonding over truly disgusting station house coffee.

“God, this stuff is
terrible,” Caitlin grimaced. It was like drinking essence of burnt rubber and
gym socks. “Do they brew it like that on purpose?”

“Well, that’s one
theory.” Kathy blew on her cup and eyed Caitlin with amusement. “The female
officers used to think it was a male conspiracy. To see whether we could stand
the coffee or not. We drank gallons of it in the beginning just to show that we
were man enough to stomach it and ended up with ulcers. But it wasn’t a test of
our manhood, it was just that the pot is never washed out.” She shrugged. “And
we’re not the maids so it
still
doesn’t get washed out, and that’s why
it tastes like week-old crap.”

Caitlin was pleased to
note that the female officers hadn’t been pressed into dishwashing service. Or
had refused to be. “Did you encounter any gender prejudice when you started as
a police officer?” she asked curiously. “Did you have any problems because you
were a woman?”

Kathy thought about it.
“Not really. All my problems were related to the nature of the job. Being a cop
is a hard job for anyone and getting through the academy isn’t easy. The
physical requirements are really tough. However, the instructors treated the
women exactly the same as they treated the men—like shit.”

Caitlin studied Kathy
carefully. Kathy looked like every other good cop Caitlin had ever met. She
looked smart and tough and competent. As if nothing could ever disturb her or
throw her, as if she were in complete control of herself and the world. Caitlin
envied Kathy her air of control. She couldn’t even control her own hair.

By the time the day
ended, Caitlin would be a mess. Her hair would be curling wildly around her
face, her brand-new outfit would look rumpled and ten years old, her new shoes
would be scuffed and any makeup she might have put on that morning would have
long since worn off. She would have ink stains only on her hands if she was
lucky, on her new shirt if she was unlucky.

By the end of the day,
Caitlin knew, Kathy would still look spic-and-span, leather shoes and leather
gun belt polished, shoulders straight, not a hair out of place.

“Command presence” it
was called in the Police Academy, and it was taught on day one. Officers were
taught to control situations with their presence and behavior, and not with
force.

The human response to
aggression wasn’t quite as ritualized as that of, say, highland gorillas.
Caitlin doubted whether a show of teeth, loud grunts and slapping the ground
would frighten off a delinquent, but many potentially dangerous situations were
defused by a police officer’s calm voice and air of command.

Though command presence
was taught as a conscious technique, Caitlin was certain that most police
officers were born with it and it was simply refined during training and on the
job. Certainly Alex had been born with it. She was sure he had made an impressive
criminal too.

“Did you always want to
become a police officer?” Caitlin asked. It was a question she’d asked many of
the officers. Most of them said yes.

“Not really.” Kathy
drained the last of her coffee and made a face as she put her cup down. “God,
if that doesn’t put hair on our chests, nothing will. No, I wanted to become a
nurse. I had actually enrolled in nursing school when an old high school friend
of mine invited me out on patrol with her. That night, there were two
stabbings, a jewelry store robbery and a murder.” Kathy shook her head fondly.
“Jesus, who could resist after a night like that? It was the most exciting
thing I could think of to do with my life. The next day I applied for the
academy. Hey!” Kathy angled her head to see what Caitlin was writing. “Is there
going to be a quiz?”

Caitlin laughed and
shook her head. “No, and if there were, you’d ace it.”

Kathy, like most police
officers, was a dominant personality. Strong, confident, needing the rush of
challenge and excitement.

At times like this,
Caitlin marveled at how the world was put together. She herself was happiest
squirreled away in the library reading about dead people. Her favorite
challenge was how to organize her footnotes. She’d make a lousy cop.

They spent another hour
on a special psychological test Caitlin had devised then Kathy left to go on
patrol.

Caitlin went into an
empty room and spread her material out. She couldn’t wait to start collating her
results. And once she was a fellow at the Frederiksson Foundation, she could
send her questionnaire out under the auspices of the Foundation to other police
stations throughout the country. There could be a paper and—who knows?—maybe
even a book to be gotten out of it. The thought pleased her so much she barely
noticed the time passing.

“Your pen is leaking.”
The deep, familiar voice startled her out of her reverie.

Caitlin looked down and,
sure enough, there was a blue splotch on the questionnaire folder. The middle
finger of her right hand was ink-stained and there was a faint stain on the
front of her brand-new and expensive blouse. She sighed and turned around.

“See?” she said
accusingly. “That’s my point exactly.”

“Yeah?” Alex asked
mildly. “What point?”

“
You
wouldn’t get
ink all over yourself, would you?”

“Well…no.”

“They probably taught
you how to make inanimate objects obey you at the academy,” Caitlin grumbled.

Alex’s mouth lifted in a
half smile. “No, but they did teach us neatness, which is something your fancy
education seems to have neglected. Come on, Caitlin. Put your things away and
I’ll take you out to lunch.”

“It’s lunchtime
already?” Caitlin asked, startled. She looked at her watch. It was 12:38.
Suddenly, she realized she was ravenous.

Several of her textbooks
were perched precariously close to the edge of the table and her papers were
scattered all over the surface. She couldn’t leave this mess behind. Smiling up
at Alex, she reached across the table for her books. “Okay. Where are we
going?”

“There’s a good deli
with table service around the corner,” Alex said. “Gather your things up and,”
he neatly sidestepped, avoiding by inches the pile of heavy hardbacks that fell
to the floor, “watch those books.”

“Oh Alex.” Caitlin’s
eyes widened as she stooped to pick the books up. “I’m so very—”

“Sorry,” Alex finished
for her. “Uh-huh. I know you’re sorry, honey. It’s okay. I’ve learned to be
careful and watch my step around you. You’re a real dangerous lady.”

She sucked in an
outraged breath. They were in a building full of armed alpha males and females,
trained for violence, and
she
was dangerous? “I am
not
dangerous.
You take that back!”

Laughing, he evaded her
punch and took her elbow in that special grip of his. The grip that seemed to convey
he wanted to prevent her from floating away or running off.

It would be nice if he
didn’t use that grip in the station house, but complaining was pointless. Alex
did what he wanted, when he wanted, how he wanted.

Caitlin described her
new questionnaire to Alex as they walked to the deli. He half-listened,
enjoying her ideas, enjoying the sound of her voice even more. It would be a
good questionnaire, he knew that much about Caitlin. No doubt it would be the
best questionnaire in California, in the country, the best questionnaire in the
history of the world.

It’s just that it was
hard to concentrate on double-blind samplings and the
DSM-IV on a day
like this.
The air was warm and clear,
bright with buttery sunlight, and it reminded Alex that he’d been holed up in a
windowless room all morning.

Jesus, since when did he
mind spending the day in his office? Since when did he go out to lunch as
opposed to ordering in and eating at his desk? Since when did he notice the
frigging
weather
?

He found himself smiling
as he walked into Sam’s Deli. The food was so great here. Why didn’t he eat
here more often? Why did he chow down stale sandwiches at his desk?

The only bad thing about
Sam’s was that it was a hangout for the dreary drones working at the three
banks, two insurance corporations, four internet service providers and three
financial services companies in the area—and they were all freaking out about
the economy, ruining the vibe of the place. Alex hated business people, but he
supposed they were necessary. For something, anyway. Otherwise, why would there
be so goddamn many of them?

He steered Caitlin to
the line where customers waited for the small bistro tables to be freed. He
loved taking her by the elbow. She had the softest skin he’d ever felt. Though
she definitely had good muscle tone, her biceps weren’t hard and stringy like
some slender women. It took an effort to remove his hand.

“I need to ask you a
favor, Alex,” Caitlin said.

“Sure,” he said, craning
his neck to see over the heads of two insurance agents in front of them. They
were talking about the tanking derivatives market, premiums and the prime rate.
Market share and the Nasdaq. Recession and 401(k)s. The subprime market and
CDOs. Washington bailouts and the FDIC.

Alex shuddered, glad for
the hundred thousandth time that he was a cop, and that his only worry was
putting the bad guys away. Market upswings, market downswings, recessions and
bubbles, he didn’t give a fuck. His salary got deposited into his bank on the
first of every month and that was the one and only time he ever thought about
money. He owned his own home, he earned more than enough to cover all his needs
and one day he’d be getting a good pension. What more could he want?

Money was boring, the
hugest yawn he could imagine. Bagging bad guys—now
that
got his rocks
off. The thrill of the chase, the intellectual challenge of putting a case
together that would hold up in court, the camaraderie of the officers in the
cop shop—even when they drove him crazy—it was all he had ever wanted.

And now he was getting
laid on a regular basis by a fabulous woman. Life just didn’t get any better.

Two couples were getting
up from their tables as Alex checked out the blackboard on the wall. The miso
soba sounded good. He smiled down at Caitlin, thinking about soup and sex.
“What was this favor you wanted?”

“I want to go on
patrol,” Caitlin said. “It would really help me with my study. Ron Torrance
said it was okay with him, but to check with you first.”

“Absolutely not.” All
thoughts of food and sex fled right out of Alex’s head. “Out of the question.
You’re not going on a ride-along.”

Caitlin was taken aback
at Alex’s vehemence then a hurt look came into her eyes. Alex glanced away. He
didn’t want to see it, though she could send hurt looks his way from now until
kingdom come and it wouldn’t change his mind.
No way
was Caitlin going
out on a ride-along, and that was that.

“Alex…listen. Ron said—”

“Sorry,” Alex
interrupted, though he was anything but apologetic. “It’s against station-house
policy. Ah, I think our turn is coming up. Come on, let’s get ourselves
something to eat.” The two tables had been cleared. Alex was glad to see that
they were far apart from the guys in front. He didn’t want to sit next to any
suits and have to listen to them gab about how much money they were losing in
the lousy economic environment.

He placed a hand to the
small of Caitlin’s back and felt her jerk away from his touch. She was
offended. Well, there was nothing he could do about it. She wasn’t going on a
ride-along. He knew only too well how a placid, routine patrol could turn
violent in seconds.

Caitlin hurried ahead of
him, back stiff. She was angry at him and he didn’t know how to make amends,
other than to give in. Which was out of the question. There wasn’t any doubt in
his mind at all about that. Better Caitlin in a snit than Caitlin caught in a
crossfire.

She sat down before he
could pull her chair out and waited patiently while he took his seat across
from her.

“It is
not
against station-house rules.” Caitlin leaned forward, her expression impersonal
and serious. Alex understood that she was trying hard to be objective and not
to presume upon their personal relationship. “I distinctly remember Peter
Cannell doing a series on the Baylorville PD for the
Chronicle
and he
went on patrol with the officers. Often. He wrote some very effective stories
about it.”

It was true, dammit.
Peter Cannell had become a familiar and welcome figure around the station house
and his sympathetic articles had even won him a few minor awards. He still
stopped by occasionally to renew the friendships he’d made at the station. Alex
always welcomed a chance to buy him a beer and swap war stories.

But Peter Cannell was a
tough, wily Irishman, totally unfazed by the violence and degradation he’d
observed throughout his investigation. He wasn’t Caitlin.

“Policy’s changed,” Alex
said curtly. “Someone got hurt and sued the PD.”

Caitlin pulled in a
deep, calming breath. “You can be protective of me, Alex,” she began quietly,
“but you
can’t
treat me like a fool. I know perfectly well that I would
have to sign a waiver before riding along. Everyone does. So no one has sued
your department. And of course I would never sue your department if something
bad happened.”

If something bad
happened.
Alex’s heart jumped in
his chest at the idea. At the idea of Caitlin hurt, injured or—God!—dead.

“All right,” Alex said
angrily. “I made that up about the lawsuit but someone
did
get injured a
few months back. A friend of Kathy Martello’s, as a matter of fact. Ask Kathy
about it if you don’t believe me. Her friend wanted to ride with her and the
patrol car responded to an armed robbery call. There was a shootout. Kathy’s
friend took a bullet.”

It had been a ricochet,
the bullet having spent most of its force before creasing the woman’s arm.
Basically it had been a flesh wound, requiring just a few stitches, but Alex
wasn’t about to tell Caitlin that. He wanted her to think of the risks, he
wanted her scared and, above all, he wanted her away from any possible danger.

There was another kind
of danger now, in Caitlin’s face. She wasn’t pouting. He’d somehow known she
wouldn’t pout. For all her girlish looks, he knew Caitlin well enough to know
that she was at heart a mature woman who was serious about her profession. No,
it wasn’t a pout—it was something more serious than that. She
looked…disappointed.

In him.

“Alex.” Her voice and
expression were cool. “I won’t insult you by threatening to pull rank on you
and calling Ray Avery. I will, however, remind you that this is pure
discrimination. Either your department has a ride-along policy or it doesn’t.
As far as I know, it does. And that means that everyone—everyone except me, it
seems—has a chance to ride in a patrol car. I find that unfair and
discriminatory.”

“Can I take your orders?
My name’s Sergio and I’m your server today.” A tall man with dark hair pulled
back in a ponytail slid two menus written on a sheet of butcher paper in front
of them. “Today’s specials are up on the blackboard.”

Alex turned gratefully
at the distraction. What happened to his lighthearted lunch with a woman he was
massively attracted to? He felt aggrieved.
I don’t get enough shit back in
the office
? he thought. This whole situation was going south, fast.

Caitlin was studying the
menu as if it were the key to passing an exam. She didn’t look up once at him.
Alex’s jaw muscles bunched as he slid the sheet of butcher paper away. He
looked up at their server. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”

“Don’t be silly, Alex,”
Caitlin said coolly. “Order what you want.”

“No. No, I’m fine with
whatever you’re having.” She was trying to make him feel like a chauvinist pig,
a control freak. He wasn’t. He’d give her control over every aspect of his
life, if she wanted. She could choose his diet, his wardrobe, his furnishings.
She could choose every film they saw for the rest of time. Just not this. He
didn’t want her hurt in any way. He didn’t want her even near a place where she
could potentially be hurt. He didn’t want her near a place where someone could
think
about hurting her.

“They have burritos. You
like burritos.” Still not looking at him. Damn it! Her face was as smooth and
expressionless as a doll’s.

“No, I’ll have what
you’re having,” he repeated stubbornly.

“All right.” Calm,
collected, Caitlin tilted her face up to the server. “We’ll be having the cream
of broccoli soup. And the steamed broccoli salad with blue cheese dressing.”
She smiled faintly.

Alex hated broccoli. And
Caitlin knew it.

“And to drink?” Sergio
asked, pen hovering over his pad.

“Two glasses of celery
juice, please,” Caitlin said with relish. She was enjoying this, getting her
revenge. Alex barely suppressed his shudder. Celery juice. Gah. Whoever heard
of drinking celery juice?

Caitlin didn’t say a
word until the food arrived. Alex didn’t open his mouth, either. That way he
couldn’t stick his foot in it.

For the first time, Alex
realized how much he counted on Caitlin smiling every time she saw him. How
much he liked it when she hung on his every word. How important it was that
there be softness in her gaze when she looked at him.

No smile, no softness
now. Her face was closed to him. For the first time, she was cool and reserved.
It was as if a chasm had opened up between them.

The food arrived and
Alex was reminded once again why he hated broccoli. It was so goddamn sour and…and
green
. He managed to choke down half the soup before he pushed the bowl
away and attacked the salad, trying surreptitiously to eat the dressing lettuce
and leave the other vegetables.

Caitlin was steadily
making her way through lunch in silence. Alex had a bitter taste in his mouth
and it had nothing to do with broccoli. He took a big swig of the celery juice
and nearly gagged. How on earth could anyone be expected to drink something green
that wasn’t dyed beer on St. Patrick’s Day?

“Something wrong?”
Caitlin asked sweetly.

Alex bit his lip. And
then—maybe it was all those vitamins in the fucking glop he’d
chugged—inspiration struck.

He heaved a huge sigh,
as if in defeat. “Okay, honey, you win.”

“It’s not a contest,
Alex.” Caitlin’s voice was low. She patted her mouth with the napkin. “I
understand your reasons for not wanting me to ride in a patrol car. I don’t
agree with them, but I understand them. You are, of course, free to do as you
see fit. And, of course, I am free to try to do whatever is necessary to
complete my study.”

“Like I said, you win.”
Alex held up his hand. “Okay, okay, it isn’t a contest. It isn’t a test of
wills.”
Like hell it isn’t.
“So listen, how about this? Pederson and
Martinez are going out on a special mission this afternoon. How about if you
tagged along with them?”

It was worth it to see
that smooth, impersonal expression disappear and her face light up. “Oh Alex.
That sounds wonderful!”

Caitlin got up in a rush
and threw her arms around him—tipping the rest of the green crap in the glass
onto his pants.
Better on my pants than down my gullet
, Alex thought
philosophically.

“Sorry, Alex,” Caitlin
said automatically, mopping up the mess with the little napkins she tore out of
the holder. Her smile could have lit the deli. “Let’s get going. I can’t wait
to go out on the special mission. I knew you weren’t as pigheaded as everyone
says you are. I just
knew
it!” She was hopping with excitement.

“Yeah, yeah,” Alex said
wryly, taking the napkins out of her hands. She was making the mess on his
pants worse. “Thanks. I think. Just don’t let word get around. My reputation as
a badass comes in handy and I don’t want to spoil it.” He took her elbow. “But
you owe me, Caitlin. I want a really special dinner since you made me eat this
crap.”

* * * * *

That evening, they had
grilled chicken breasts, steamed green beans with sesame seeds, garlic bread
and lemon mousse for dessert. It was delicious and Alex ate every bite.