“Yeah. Well—” He lifted a shoulder. “—they’ll just have to get over it. ”
She laughed, the sound a cross between a bark and a cackle. “You’re partnering with Mad Dog.”
“Heard that, too. Any advice?”
She studied him appraisingly. “Don’t get on her bad side. Mad Dog don’t take prisoners.”
“Good to know.”
“I’m Sue.” She held out her hand. “And single, just in case you’re looking.”
Zach took it. A lot of pain. Hunger for affection. “I’ll keep that in mind, Sue.”
“You do that.” She buzzed the major. “Detective Harris is here. Yes, Sir.” She ended the call and stood. “He needs a minute. C’mon, gorgeous. Let’s go find your new best friend.”
Zach followed her past a row of uncomfortable looking chairs and into the maze of desks and bodies manning them.
“Mick,” she called. “Your new partner. And he’s super-yummy.”
The room went quiet. Folks peered up from monitors and out of cubicles. All gazes landed on him.
Not the introduction he had hoped for. But it’d do.
“Hey,” he said. “Good to be here.”
Mick stood, looking grouchy. “That’s right everybody,” she said, “this is the guy who’s replacing Carmine. Detective Zach Harris.”
The others who weren’t on the phone or with someone, stood and came over. A flurry of names. Mac. Killian. Rooster. Red. J.B. and Buster.
With the introductions came handshakes. Too many, and too fast to get any kind of a read on them. A sensory onslaught.
“Where’re you from?” J.B. asked.
“California. Hollywood PD.”
“Hollywood?” J.B. repeated, eyebrows lifting. “So, you took care of all the beautiful people? Wiped their fancy asses, so to speak.”
“So to speak,” Zach agreed. “Tough job, all those tight buns.”
“Welcome to N’Awlins, Hollywood. Get ready to get your hands dirty. We deal with some real shit down here.”
“Bring it, dude. I’m ready.”
A grin spread across J.B.’s pockmarked face. “You sure of that?”
“I look forward to it.”
“Dare,” Major Nichols called from his doorway, “Harris. My office. Now.”
They started that way. “Just so you’re aware,” Micki muttered, “J.B. can be a relentless asshole.”
“I got that.”
“Good. ‘Cause it ain’t gonna be easy.”
They reached the commander’s office and stepped inside.
“Close the door,” he said. “Take a seat.” They did and he moved his gaze between them, settling on Micki. “Everything good so far?”
“Typical J.B. It’s about to get stupid.”
“I have a nickname already,” Zach said. “I figure that’s a good sign.”
Micki rolled her eyes. “Hollywood.”
Nichols’ eyes crinkled at the corners. “Let’s cut J.B. off at the knees, shall we?”
Zach smiled. “You give the word, I’ll bring the chainsaw.”
He chuckled. “Best way to get J.B. and his pals off your back is to earn their respect. Got a homicide. Corner of Royal and St. Peter. Rouse’s grocery. Around back, by the garbage bins.
“Are you kidding me?” Micki popped to her feet. “A homicide? Right out of the gate?”
“Why not?”
“Obvious reasons, Major!”
“Detective, what’s the first thing you do when you get a new gun? You see how well it shoots.”
“But—”
“Discussion’s over. Keep me posted.”
“No worries, partner,” Zach said as they exited the office. “I promise not to puke.”
Chapter Six
Monday, July 8
10:00 A.M.
So much for promises, Micki thought, listening while Zach retched. He hadn’t even gotten a look at the vic yet, just a good, gut-roiling whiff. At least he’d made it outside the perimeter. Nothing screwed up a crime scene worse than a steaming pile of vomit.
It was going to be a long frickin’ day.
“Man, he’s really sick,” said the first officer, handing her the log. “I still remember my first time.”
“We all do, Strawberry.” She signed both of them in and handed it back. “One way or another.”
Harris shuffled back over, looking embarrassed. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s cool.” She handed him a stick of peppermint gum. “Most everybody does it, one time or another.”
He unwrapped the gum. “Most everybody but you, I’m guessing.”
“Good guess, Hollywood.” Weakness wasn’t an option, not for a blond with a big rack and southern twang. Not anymore, it wasn’t. “Ready?”
He nodded and they made their way back under the crime tape. She noticed the closer to the vic he got, the faster he chewed the gum.
“Does it always smell this bad?” he asked.
“Not always. You’ve got yourself a primo-stinko set-up here. Dead body. Loaded dumpsters. All of it cooking in the miserably hot July sun. Your stomach empty now?”
“I’m thinking yes.”
“Good. This ain’t gonna be pretty.”