Conviction of the Heart (11 page)

The perfect plan came to him, and he executed it immediately.

Fighting noisy mid-afternoon Friday traffic on Carson Street hadn’t been part of his calculations. Over the last decade, East Carson had become the trendy place for Pittsburghers to hang out, and particularly drink. It was rumored to have the longest stretch of pub crawl in the United States. Unfortunately, the narrow street hadn’t added any additional parking to accommodate its popularity. He cruised the length of the street several times, east and west, before he could slip his truck into a spot scarcely vacated by the car before him, almost close enough to tap bumpers.

With a deep breath, he tucked his keys into his brown leather jacket pocket, then picked up the cellophane-wrapped bouquet of daisies he’d bought at a florist downtown. A cool wind insinuated itself along the back of his collar. He shivered and pulled his jacket closer.

The daisies were pretty, but the real kicker was the envelope tucked inside.

Would she even bother to open it?

He thought she would. She seemed very thorough. She’d at least open it before discarding it. Then they’d see what happened.

A tug on the heavy glass door at the bottom of the steps let him in, and he took the stairs two at a time. Aspiration lifted him upward, a giddy smile on his lips. He managed to wrestle it away before he stepped inside her office.

The waiting room was like a hundred others he’d seen, perhaps made upscale by the plush brown print upholstering the chairs. A heavy-set woman sat at a computer, typing, only glancing up after she’d finished. Her pale pink suit fit awkwardly, pulling at the underarms. Her gaze went first to the bunch of flowers, then to his face.

He smiled, an expert at diplomacy with gatekeepers. His hand slid into his jacket pocket and came out with his badge, which he flipped open for her to see. “Detective Nick Sansone to see Ms. Taylor.”

The woman’s lips flirted with a smile as she indicated the flowers. “Business or pleasure?

He chuckled. “Which will get her attention faster?”

With a conspiratorial grin, she lifted the telephone receiver and punched three numbers. “Suzanne, a police detective to see you. Something urgent.”

Perfect
. He winked his approval.

The inner door flew open, and Suzanne came through it, breathless. “Is it—Oh. It’s you.”

“Very observant,” Nick said, enjoying the flow of expressions across Suzanne’s face. Alarm was usurped by surprise, which gave way to suspicion, and finally rolled over into a restrained pleasure.

“Lieutenant.” She glanced at her assistant, then back to him. “Won’t you come in?”

“Thank you.”

He grinned at the assistant to solidify his personal connection, then followed Suzanne into the office. He didn’t think he’d ever seen so many books in one place before, outside a library. Two walls were lined with them from floor to ceiling. The flowers in his hand felt awkward now, and he held them out to her.

“For you,” he said.

Her fingers tightened into a loose fist for a moment, then she reached out to take them. “Thank you.” She leaned the open end of the bunch toward her face, inhaling the slightly musty scent of the white flowers. “You came all the way out here to bring me these?”

“Clearly waiting for you to drop in on me hasn’t been fruitful.” He crossed to the window behind her, checking out the view toward the river. He’d make her turn around, keep her off balance. Old police trick. “This is very nice.”

“You can see what I’m dealing with,” she said, waving at her desk. “I’m buried this week.”

“All work and no play makes Suzanne a beautiful—but dull—girl,” he said, turning to look over his shoulder, adding a scolding look.

Her jaw tightened. She didn’t seem to have much patience with practiced flattery. “What brings you to the South Side?”

“Just that. I wanted to brighten your day.” He turned completely to face her, then looked at his watch. “But I can’t stay. I hope the day improves.”

“But—” Her brow furrowed with confusion.

“I’m sure glad my desk doesn’t look like that.” He grinned at her, then stepped out into the reception area, giving the assistant a little salute before he left the office. An outright laugh fretted behind closed lips until he cleared the building, releasing it into the fresh air.

How long would it take her?

He walked slowly down the crowded sidewalk to his truck, waiting for his cell to ring.

And waited.

He climbed into the truck and opened the window to catch some of the season’s fading sunlight. And waited.

Maybe he hadn’t turned it on. He pulled the cell from his pocket and eyed the display. Nothing. Not even a text.

Maybe she’d just tossed the flowers after all.

He stared at the phone, crestfallen.

Startled by a knock on his passenger-side window, his fingers contracted on the phone till it chirped. He buzzed down the window, as Suzanne smirked at his discomfort.

“I figured you’d be here. Lying in wait. Like a pirate.”

Heat rose in his cheeks. “Right. I’m here.”

She waved the envelope in the window, a twinkle in her eyes. “These are for me? Tickets to the Benedum Center tomorrow night? Moody Blues?”

“Well, there are two tickets.”

“So I can take a date. Very thoughtful of you.”

The amusement in her eyes tickled him. She was having fun. At his expense, of course, but he’d brought her happiness. Good. “Thanks. We exist to serve.” He grinned at her.

“The sad thing is, the Moody Blues are very old school at this point. Hardly anyone listens to them anymore. Who would I find to go with me?”

Oh, yes, she was enjoying the hell out of this. “I happen to have a clear schedule tomorrow night,” he said.

“Really? What a coincidence!” She bit her lip to hide the smile.

“So…?”

“So?” she asked.

He eyed her for several moments, keeping his face carefully straight.

She broke the pretense first. “I’d be delighted to go with you, Lieutenant. Thank you very much. Shall I meet you there?”

“I’ll pick you up, counselor.” That was the man’s role, after all. He’d fully expected to drive up to get her.

“Tell you what, why don’t you meet me here? Less mileage. Also, less guilt about leaving work early.”

“If you’ll leave work early, I’ll buy you dinner, too.”

“A special occasion indeed. As long as we’re not eating at the Donut Connection.”

He rolled his eyes. “Very funny, very funny indeed. You be ready at six-thirty. I’ll be here.”

Wagging a warning finger in her direction, he started the car. She stepped back and waved as he pulled away from the curb. Someone skinnied into the parking place as quickly as he’d taken it on arrival, and he nearly missed her blowing him a kiss in his rearview mirror.

Distracted, he almost ran into the Honda in front of him, squealing his brakes to a stop as horns blared. He didn’t dare look to see if she was still watching. She’d find it much too amusing for his ego.

Sweet Mother of Mary, what that woman will make me do…

****

Nick stopped by the precinct after he left Suzanne’s office, meaning to check his messages. The sight of Greg Morgan coming out of the chief’s office stopped him in his tracks.

The bulky councilman didn’t bother to notice him as he headed for the back exit. But Nick came under the laser-sharp eyes of Butch Reickert.

“Chief?”

Reickert leaned against his door frame in his shirt sleeves, his stance anything but casual. He looked ready to chew up his desk and spit it out. “Something you need to talk about, Nick?”

Nick glanced in the direction of the departed Morgan, then back at Reickert, guessing Morgan had filed a complaint about the incident at his Shadyside home. “Can’t say I do, chief. It was a good call.”

“I know you’re too good a cop to let personal involvements leak over into your work. Especially anything that would reflect on the department.” The chief held his gaze for several long seconds, then nodded. “Your word’s good enough for me.” He straightened, rotating his shoulders. He turned to retreat into his office, then stopped. “Be careful, Nick. Be careful.”

He went into his office and closed the door.

Careful?
Nick scoffed. Morgan deserved the warning, not him. If he continued with the attitude he’d shown Nick and Suzanne, he’d trip himself up, political connections or not. Suzanne was doing the right thing, helping that woman out of a situation she was clearly not equipped to deal with. Perhaps he had let his personal attraction for Suzanne persuade him to cross jurisdictional lines, but it had been justified. He’d do it again if she asked.

A small voice in his head nagged him. If the chief felt disturbed enough to warn him, then there must be something worth warning him about.

Greg Morgan had his hands in a lot of different enterprises around the county. If rumors were true, he wielded more power than just from his council seat, and some of that on the nether side of the law. He could sure cause trouble for Nick, and for Suzanne, too, if he chose to.

Let’s hope he’s smarter than that.

The squad room was empty. Nick continued through to his office, shrugging off his jacket to hang on the back of his door. He eyed his desk, not as empty as he’d implied to Suzanne, particularly the in-basket. A glance over the case names on the top several files convinced him he didn’t want to begin combing through the whole stack now. He’d be there all night.

Instead, he looked over the stack of pink message slips the office clerk had left on his desk. After the third or fourth one, the blue ink blurred before his eyes. Instead he saw the wicked gleam in Suzanne’s eye as she teased him about the tickets. He couldn’t shake the appealing image.

Come on, Sansone. Concentrate. A cop can’t afford to be distracted.

He cleared his throat and sorted through the messages. Nothing that needed to be returned immediately. Leave them for tomorrow.

Tomorrow. When he and Suzanne would sit back and listen to the orchestra backing up one of the bands that shadowed his youth.

He flipped off the light and sat there in the dark a few minutes, imagining what might happen, enjoying a quiet that was suddenly splintered by the slam of a door in the squad room outside his office. The squad lights came on, and Nick pulled back a little, grateful the blinds had finally been installed. Talk about distracted—when had that happened? Must have been that afternoon while he was out.

“What a load of crap! Transferred to vice for two weeks? You kiddin’ me?”

Nick heard Jojo Washington and decided to leave his office light off. Maybe Jojo had forgotten something, and he was going to head out again soon. The last thing he wanted was a confrontation with Jojo. Nick could wait.

A softer, female voice answered Jojo, but Nick couldn’t make out the words.

“Tell you what, all this bullshit I put up with, if I don’t make sergeant this round, gonna be some hell to pay, that’s for sure.” Jojo slammed something heavy down on his desk. “No one gonna put me down when I worked this hard!”

“Come, on, Jojo.” The woman continued in a foreign tongue, something with a smooth French sound. Clara Malron. Great.

Nick got slowly to his feet, staying low so he’d remain hidden, and moved closer to the door. Might as well find out what the Three Amigos were up to.

“Emilio’s right. We got to take things into our hands, Clar. Nothing gonna happen otherwise. Just gotta keep our eyes open. Something will come along.”

“Sure it will, sure it will,
doux doux
. Come on, let’s bus’off, hmm?”

Nick positioned himself where he could see Clara’s face. Her eyes animated and cheeks flushed, she watched Jojo intently. Nick considered again the possibility that the two had a relationship other than professional. He’d seen Jojo with other women, never the same one twice. If Clara had her heart set there, she was doomed for him to break it. Poor kid.

“I’ll find a way to kick his ass good, that’s what I’m tellin’ you.”

“Jojo, hush now.” She gave an anxious look back toward the chief’s office. “You’ll get what you deserve.”

Another slam. “You bet I will.”

Clara got to her feet and walked out of Nick’s line of sight, and a few seconds later, their voices dwindled, and the entry door slammed. He stood up, more irritated than worried.

So Jojo thought he’d kick Nick’s ass, did he?

Nick wrestled with several reactions and finally laughed. Wasn’t the first time some junior officer had given him crap, probably wouldn’t be the last. At least for the next two weeks, Jojo and Emilio Vasquez would put in their time with the vice prostitute sweep.

Fourteen days to give him time to figure out what to do next. He grabbed his coat and headed home before anything else could go wrong.

Chapter Eleven

Her hair wasn’t right.

She stood in front of the mirror in the frou-frou restroom that served the office and the rest of the tenants on the floor. She hadn’t decorated it. The ruffled pink curtains and wallpaper practically bleeding fuchsia butterflies were not to her taste at all.

She took her hair down again. Pinned it back up.

How is it her clients always managed to begin the dating life without difficulty or reservation whatsoever? For Suzanne, it was a major trauma.

She held her hair left, right, her eye critical. The Moody Blues were a sixties band. The Age of Aquarius. Hippies. Free love.

Hair down.

She took her hair out of its band, brushed it, then fluffed it with her fingers.

She’d chosen a feminine silk blouse, black with turquoise medallions, and black dress slacks instead of jeans, since they were going to the Benedum. If the concert had been at Star Lake, they’d have lawn seats and a blanket, and more casual would have been appropriate.

Suzanne thought about Nick, and a blanket, listening to music under the stars…going from zero to sixty pretty fast along that imaginative track. A long time since she’d made love with a man.

She shook her head to clear her mind.
Focus.
Shoes.