Black Heart (14 page)

she could help out with daily reports.”

“Bullshit,” Tristan snapped.

Marty’s brows arched up in surprise. “Tristan, what is your problem?”

He ignored her as he continued to glare at Rosemary. “Get the hell out of my office.”

The woman just about tripped over her own two feet trying to flee the room while Marty

glared at him. “You didn’t have to be so mean to her. What is your problem?”

“Nothing except for the fact that she was trying to unload her workload on you. Daily

reports are her job.”

“What about the phone?” Marty asked, nibbling on her bottom lip.

He shrugged. “It goes to voicemail for a half hour during her lunch break if no one else

answers it. It’s not the emergency line, Marty. She just didn’t want to have to deal with

returning phone calls when she got back from lunch.”

Marty looked at the door where Rosemary had just exited and frowned. “Oh.”

“Yeah,
oh
. You have to be careful. While you’re here in this weird little position you’re

going to have her and a few others trying to unload their work on you. She tries to do it to

all the new secretaries. Just check with me before you agree to do anything and you’ll be

fine.”

“Thank you.”

He pushed away from the desk and stood up. “Don’t thank me. I’m just covering my

own ass.”

“Why am I not surprised?” she mumbled to herself.

His jaw clenched as realization hit him. The one person who used to trust and like him

now hated him along with everyone else. He was now truly alone in this world. There

would never be another person that he could be himself around or feel free with. He had his

family. They loved him and he loved them, but they would never, could never, handle the

real him. The one person who came close now hated him. Their easy going friendship was

good and dead, because he’d killed it.

Even though their friendship had ended years ago, his heart felt like it was being

squeezed in his chest. Why the hell did doing the right thing have to hurt so damn much? It

was the right thing to do. He was sure of it. He knew his future. For the rest of his life he

would be sought out by restless spirits. That wasn’t something that he wanted to have to

endure on top of acting oblivious to it in private. He needed his alone time at home to deal

with it. No woman, especially Marty, could ever be part of his life.

He walked over to the window and leaned against the wall, staring out into the bright

afternoon. For several minutes he watched the playground across the street as the

elementary school children had their morning recess. It was one of his favorite times of the

day. It always made him feel better to watch them. Their carefree smiling faces always did

that for him, but not today. He looked over his shoulder to see Marty working at her

computer.

This wasn’t going to work. He could not work with her in the same station for the rest of

his life. Even knowing they’d only be sharing an office for a few weeks was killing him.

Years ago he’d accepted the fact that she’d move on and marry someone else one day, but

did he really want to be around to see it? No. He didn’t want to see her with another man,

didn’t want to see her stomach round with another man’s child. It would be too much even

for a cold bastard like him to handle.

He cleared his throat. “I think maybe we should find you a desk in the pit,” he said,

knowing even that wouldn’t be enough to make him stay. It might be enough to keep him

sane until he got a transfer and was able to sell his house.

She didn’t even look up when she answered. “No.”

“What do you mean by ‘no’?”

She shook her head slightly, never taking her eyes away from the computer screen. “This

is my office.”

“No, this is
my
office.”

At that she finally looked up. “No, this is
our
office. It will remain
our
office even after I

officially start my new job.”

“Says who?” Tristan asked, feeling his temper flaring. This could not be happening.

“My father. Half of this office was meant for my position. I thought you knew that,” she

said, looking back at her screen.

For a moment he couldn’t talk, couldn’t move. Then finally after what seemed like an

eternity he was able to manage a coherent sentence, “Oh, fuck no.”

-
-
-

“Well, this is fun,” Shayne said wryly from his position on the couch. He laid his head

back, sighing and then looked back up again to glance at Marty and Tristan, who were still

glaring at each other over their desks.

“Ye’d think after two weeks that this would get old,” he shook his head, “but it hasn’t.”

Tristan ignored him as he usually did during their daily standoffs.

After another scowl in his direction, Marty returned her attention back to her work. He

took advantage of the moment by looking her over. His lips twitched into an appreciative

grin as he took in her conservative, but sexy black blouse that showed a hint of cleavage and

hugged her breasts the way that his hands itched to. He groaned inwardly when he thought

about the short black skirt and heels that she wore today. Was she trying to kill him?

“Tell me something,” he said, clearing his throat, “how exactly are you supposed to catch

me today if you’re wearing heels?”

Her glare shot right back at him as she opened her bottom desk drawer and pulled out a

pair of tennis shoes. Tristan couldn’t help but chuckle. “Do you really think that you’ll be

able to change your shoes fast enough to catch me today?”

For the past two weeks he’d greatly enjoyed messing with her. It was so much fun to

watch her get pissed. Her cute eyebrows would draw up together, her eyes would narrow

on him while her lips pursed up and she made a little sound of frustration. It might be sick

to purposely piss her off for his own enjoyment but….what the hell.

He really couldn’t remember having more fun at work. There was last year when he ran

off the previous occupant of that desk, but that was completely different. He hadn’t enjoyed

fucking with him, well, yeah he had, but his reasons had been simple then. He’d just

wanted the little whiner out of his office. With Marty though, he was really enjoying the

challenge.

“Are you going to send me to a strip club to pick up your lunch again?” she bit back.

He chuckled deeply at the memory. Since she was supposed to be his assistant, thanks to

Hank, Tristan decided to see how far he could push her. He heard the Fluffy Bunny had

good ribs, not that he’d ever go to one of those places much to Shayne’s dismay, but he

thought it would be funny to send Marty there to pick up his lunch.

She came back an hour later glaring at him through slits. Without a word, she dropped a

huge paper bag in front of him and stormed off. The ribs were dry as hell and tasted like

leather, but he’d sat there smiling while he ate them.

“Or are you going to trick me into getting out of the car again and then ditch me on the

side of the road, leaving me to hike back to the office?”

“I came back for you!” he said, laughing harder.

-
-
-

Marty watched him laugh, forcing herself not to smile. She really loved it when he smiled

or laughed. It reminded her of the time they used to spend together when they were closer

than any two people could be without having sex. If his little pranks made him happy, then

she’d let him have them. They really didn’t bother her that much since it made him smile

and of course she always got back at him.

Like with the ribs.

The girls in the kitchen did her a favor by giving her three-day-old ribs and fries that she

may have poured salt on, and soured coleslaw, but he ate it all up just to rub it in her face.

He paid for it later, she mused with an inner smile, remembering the two bottles of antacid

that he’d drank.

“You snuck through the woods and scared the hell out of me! I thought you were a bear,

you jerk!” She still couldn’t believe that he’d been able to sneak up on her like that. He had

his arms around her waist and growled in her ear before she knew what was happening. She

may have screamed…a little.

-
-
-

“Ah, good times,” he mused with a chuckle. He really loved working with her, which he

really shouldn’t. She couldn’t stay, but until she left he didn’t see why he couldn’t have a

little fun. There was no harm in that.

Someone knocked at the door, making Tristan sigh. It was time to get back to work. Of

course that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t consider the next trick he’d play on her. There

was always the interrogation room. He chuckled at the memory of her pacing the room

while glaring daggers at the one-way mirror where she knew that he was watching her.

Granted, she hadn’t known that he had half the force in there with him drinking soda,

eating chips and pizza while they watched her rant and rave about what an asshole he was

and what she was going to do to him when she got out. It really was better than watching a

game, the guys agreed. Hell, even Hank pulled up a seat and a slice as he watched the

show.

“Come in,” he said.

Stacey, a uniformed officer in her early thirties, opened the door and walked in, holding

a large pile of dull yellow letter sized envelopes. Tristan walked over and took them from

her. He’d been waiting all morning for them. As she pulled back her hand, she ran her

fingers suggestively over his.

“Thank you,” he said absently, hoping it would be enough to send her on her way. He

hated dealing with her. She always came on too strong and wouldn’t take the hint that he

wasn’t interested. She knew that she was beautiful and any guy here would be happy to

have her. The problem was that more than half the guys already had and he wasn’t

interested in joining their ranks.

If that wasn’t enough to keep him from asking her out, the fact that he felt like he was

cheating on Marty anytime he so much as looked in the direction of another woman was.

He couldn’t explain it, but he’d never been attracted to another woman. A few times he’d

forced himself to try, but they’d all ended with failure and left him feeling like a cheating

asshole for simply taking a woman out to dinner.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Detective?” she practically purred.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Marty watching this little scene intently.

Interesting. Maybe he should play on it to piss her off. She looked really cute when she was

jealous and jealous she was. He didn’t have any doubts on that account. She wanted him,

but not as much as he wanted her. That was simply impossible.

He would never purposely hurt her. Jealousy was a bitch that messed with your mind and

tore at your heart. He knew that all too well since she made him crazy with jealousy about a

hundred times a day. That was another reason she had to go.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you, Officer.” He purposely didn’t say her name, knowing that any

familiarity would only encourage her.

Her smile slipped, but she still managed to send him an inviting look before she left the

office. Tristan tossed the pile of envelopes on his desk and sat down.

Marty cleared her throat delicately. “She was pretty,” she said, then felt really stupid.

What was wrong with her? She only said and did stupid things around him. She cringed at

how that just sounded.

He looked up with a knowing expression and grinned. “Jealous?”

Yes!
“No,” she scoffed.

The bastard just chuckled as he opened the envelopes and pulled out thick stacks of

paper.

“What are those?” she asked, well, more like demanded. She was a bossy little thing he’d

come to realize over the last couple of weeks.

Tristan sighed. This was really going to set her off on one of her little rants. “The files of

the missing girls from Massachusetts, Vermont and a few towns south of here.”

“What? I thought we were going to look at those together?” She was already pushing

away from her desk before the last word was out of her mouth.

Again, he sighed. “Marty, I don’t have to do anything. This is just a hunch I’m playing

out, nothing official. Therefore, I do
not
have to include my little stalker in it,” he answered

her evenly as he spread out the files, preparing to create a database from them. He could

have seen the files online, but he always preferred to see the pictures and field notes on

paper even if they were just copies.

“I’m helping,” she stated, not asked.

“No.”

“You still can’t type that well with your left hand. You need me,” she pointed out,