Before heading home, Brit stopped by his office to feed Mama Cat. Good thing he had, too. He ran into Duke and his partner and they told him they had interviews set with a few gang members about to go down for some other small charges. They hoped when pressed, they might offer up some info on Keith’s murder for leniency on their charge. Brit almost told them he would go with them, but remembered his date with his sister.
Before he left the precinct, he got wind of a rumor that a task force was being formed to track down the cop killers. Brit marched into Sergeant Adams’ office and demanded he be added to the team.
Adams perched his elbows on the desk. “Keith was your partner. Being too close to a case can get in the way.”
“I’m the one who found the only lead we’ve got right now.” Brit clenched his fists. “Every one of you pushed this case off as a random killing. I knew better. Being close to this case isn’t going to get in my way. Put me on it, or I’ll just work it on my own.” Brit met Adams’ stare.
“You look like shit. When was the last time you slept?”
“I’m fine. Let me work eight to two, then I’ll come back and work half a shift on third. I swear I won’t let you down. I’m putting in more hours than that now. I need this, damn it!”
The man clenched his jaws. “You’ll stay grounded?”
“Yeah.” Hope stirred in Brit’s gut.
Adams’ brow puckered. “We’ll start tomorrow. But– ”
“I’ll be here tomorrow.” Brit didn’t want to hear any buts.
“Fine. Go home and sleep. And, oh yeah, stop feeding those damn cats.”
“It’s not me,” Brit lied and only felt slightly guilty. Keith wouldn’t have stopped feeding them no matter what Adams thought. Neither would Mike Anderson.
“Bullshit,” Adams said.
~
Brit went home—after he fed the cats—not to sleep, but to eat crow from his sister. If he was lucky, he could eat crow, then crash a couple of hours before taking her out to a make—up lunch.
He walked in his house and found Susan in the kitchen pouring coffee. “You talking to me?”
“Let’s see.” She smirked. “You forget I’m coming down, you forget to pick me up at the airport, you spend thirty minutes with me then go to bed, leave, and don’t come home for twenty—four hours.” Her finger wagged at him. “Tell me you weren’t out breaking some woman’s heart last night, and I might forgive you.”
“I wasn’t breaking any hearts.” Brit opened the fridge and found it stocked. “Food. I love you.” He pulled out the milk and filled a glass to the rim.
“I’ll believe you love me when you show up at Mom’s party tomorrow night.”
Brit guzzled the milk, then frowned. “What time?”
“I’ve only told you three times. I’ve sent you an email invite and snail mail.” Her mouth thinned. “It’s at six in the afternoon at Fancies’ Restaurant and Bar. It’s two blocks down from that gym you used to belong to.”
“Okay.” Brit gaped at the bluish milk in his glass.
“Okay, you’ll be there?” she asked.
“I will do everything in my power to be there.”
Susan’s chin snapped up. “I don’t like how that sounds.”
He finished his milk, even though it had no taste. “Look, sis, I promise if I can, I’ll be there. I’m drowning in work. There’s Keith and Anderson’s case, Cali’s case, and—”
“Who’s Cali?”
“She’s just a girl in trouble and I’m trying to help.”
“Was that who you were with last night? Why you didn’t come this morning?”
He leaned against the fridge. “Yes, but it’s not like you think. We’re not together.”
“She married?”
“No.”
“Is she engaged, old or ugly?”
He got an image of Cali coming out of the bathroom this morning—wearing a pair of loose khaki slacks and her pink sweater.
“Well?”
“No. She’s prim and proper.”
“Which means you haven’t had sex with her?”
“And we probably won’t have sex.” The probably in the sentence gave him a jolt. Hadn’t he already gone over this in his mind, convinced himself this shouldn’t happen? Yeah, but that changed when he’d seen her eat a donut. Or was it when he saw her in her pink panties? Maybe it was when he saw the pain in her eyes and she cried on his shoulder.
“Why not?” Susan’s eyebrow arched up.
He ran a hand over his chest. “Because she’s not my type.”
“So she’s prim and proper and ugly, huh?”
“No. She’s. . .” Too much like our mom. But damn, he didn’t really believe that, did he? He remembered the guard asking how Cali could have gotten mixed up with someone wanted for murder. Did getting messed up with a lowlife make a woman a doormat?
“Was that her sweater you were sniffing? Hmm?”