Damaged Goods (Don't Call Me Hero Book 2) (16 page)

“Okay, sure,” I conceded. “Go ahead.”

“Where are you hiding out these days? Nobody’s heard from you since you gave your notice.”

“I went back to Minneapolis. Next question?”

“Don’t get cute with me.”

“I’m sorry, Lori. I’ve never been good at keeping contact with people. I hardly call my parents.”

“That’s not making me like you any more, Detective.”

“Officer,” I corrected. “I’m low grunt on the totem pole around here.”

“Do you want to leave a message with the Chief?”

Chief Hart was an old family friend. My dad’s childhood best friend had been the reason I’d gotten the Embarrass job in the first place.

“Not really,” I said truthfully. “But I’m guessing you won’t give me David’s number unless I do.”

“You guessed right.”

“Uh, tell the Chief that I’m sorry it didn’t work out, but that I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

“You can tell him yourself,” Lori said. “Here he is.” I heard her voice, muffled now.
Chief, it’s Cassidy Miller for you.

I ran my hand over my face. Lori had gotten me good.

A deep voice rattled in my ear. “Cassidy! So nice of you to call and see how we’re surviving without you.” Chief Hart’s voice exhibited no signs of sarcasm. He was earnest and genuinely pleased that I’d called. His unearned kindness made me feel even worse.

“Hey, Chief. How are things?”

“Generally good. It was a little chaotic around here in the weeks after the Mayor’s trial—excuse me,
former
Mayor—but things have calmed down as of late.”

“Have you chosen a new mayor yet?”

“The election’s next week. Bill Desjardin was mayor for longer than most people around here can remember, but we did okay without him before and we’ll do it again.”

“Who do you think will win?”

“I honestly don’t know. It seems like a pretty even race right now between Clyde Anderson and Rita Poole, but I wouldn’t be surprised if a dark horse third candidate won the whole thing.”

I didn’t recognize either name, but I hadn’t lived in Embarrass for too long. I took mental note of their names though; I was sure Julia would have an opinion about the candidates.

“Listen, I’m gonna have to give you back to Lori now. I’m about to go out on a complaint—we’re a little shorthanded around here these days.”

I hadn’t expected to escape the phone call unscathed, so I let him have the dig. “Good hearing from you, kid. Tell your old man I said hi.”

“I will Chief, thanks.”

Chief Hart handed the phone back to Lori. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she said.

“Are you satisfied?”

“Yes.” The monosyllabic word sounded smug.

Lori finally gave me David’s contact information. Apparently I’d jumped through enough hoops for her. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?” she said before we hung up.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I decided to wait until the end of my workday when I knew David would be on duty before calling. I’d forgotten to ask Lori if they’d hired a replacement for me, but even if not, David would be on duty around the time I got off of work.

“Go for Addams.”

His greeting made me chuckle. It reminded me of my first impression of my former colleague. He’d been blessed with all-American good looks, complete with piercing blue eyes and deep dimples that made themselves known whenever he flashed a particularly mischievous grin. David Addams knew he was classically attractive, which sometimes manifested in arrogance.

“Hello?” he tried again.

“David, it’s Cassidy. Miller,” I added in case there was any confusion.

“Fucking, eh.”

“Yeah, there seems to be a lot of that going around,” I remarked.

“Sorry for the language. You surprised me. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“I’m calling with a favor.”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“Julia Desjardin—”

“Doesn’t live here anymore,” David supplied.

“I know, dude. Let me finish.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Julia tried to get custody of her mother, but the judge gave guardianship to her father instead. I was hoping maybe you could keep an eye open for Mrs. Desjardin—make sure her husband is treating her properly.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“Julia’s in Minneapolis with me. I mean, she’s not like
living
with me,” I clarified. “We’re just in the same city.”

“You forgave her, didn’t you?” David seemed to accuse. “After she embarrassed the entire police force? After she switched sides and left the city high and dry without a prosecutor? After she let a criminal get off scot-free? After all of that, and you’re not angry with her anymore?”

I thought David’s soliloquy made it sound worse than it really was. The entire police department was three people, and I had been one-third of that. There was a chain of command—a hierarchy to make sure the city prosecutor position would be refilled. And it wasn’t as though her father had killed anyone.

“I’m …” I struggled with an answer.

“I know she’s hot and all, but doesn’t it bother you?”

“Sure it bothers me.” I paused and reflected on my verb tense. Bothered or bothers? Was I over it or not?

“So will you do it?” I redirected the conversation. “Will you keep an eye on Julia’s mom, and let me know if there’s a change in her status?”

“Of course. Anything for a friend.”

His words brought with them an unreasonable amount of guilt.

“David, I’m sorry.”

He cleared his throat in my ear. “You should be.”

+ + +

When I finished my shift later that day, my phone rang with a call from Julia. “Hey, Beautiful,” I answered.

“What a day I’m having,” Julia complained with a sigh. “Would you like to meet me for a drink after work?”

“I never need an excuse to see you,” I said smartly. “I’ve got some paperwork to finish before I’m actually free, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“It’s no matter. I’ll be at the bar. You know the one.”

I ended up taking a detour back to my apartment after work, which included a quick shower and change of clothes. I had shown up to work that morning in little more than an upgraded version of my pajamas. I didn’t normally fret over what I wore in public, but any moment spent with Julia was anything but normal.

My hair was still wet from the shower when I arrived at the bar where Julia and I had first met. It wasn’t one of the gay clubs in the city, but it had a reputation for catering to a mixed crowd. I’d first spied Julia out with a group of her friends—a college reunion she’d called it.

It made me wonder if any of those women actually lived in the city or if they’d all been visiting from out of town like Julia had. It also struck me that Julia never talked about her friends. In Embarrass where she’d grown up and had lived a good portion of her life she’d been seen as a bit of an untouchable. She’d kept people like Grace Kelly Donovan and David Addams—people with whom I’d instantly made connections—at an arm’s length. I considered myself fortunate
that she hadn’t regarded me the same way despite the high walls we’d both built up around us.

The bar was sparsely populated that evening. It was midweek and far too early for the regular bar crowd to be out, but here and there I spotted clusters of young professionals enjoying an after-work cocktail with friends and co-workers.

Julia sat at the bar with her back to the main entrance. Even though I couldn’t see her face, I recognized everything else about her: the raven-dark hair that flipped ever so slightly at its ends, the expensive-looking pant suit that emphasized the slender roll of her shoulders and her tapered waist, and the black stilettos that dug into the rungs at the bottom of her bar stool.

She’d removed her suit jacket and had draped it over the empty barstool beside her. It served as a hanger for the outer layer but also a buffer and deterrent from anyone taking the seat next to her. In front of her was a martini glass, three olives at its bottom.

I caught a waitress between tables. “I’d like to buy that woman a glass of champagne,” I said, gesturing in Julia’s direction. “Can you make that happen?”

The cocktail waitress, herself not much older than the legal drinking age, nodded and took my money. It wasn’t any special occasion to warrant the purchase, but I wanted to see Julia’s reaction.

I lingered in the background and watched the scene unfold like a teleplay. I couldn’t hear voices or see lips moving, but I could read body language. Julia sat a little straighter, a little stiffer on her bar stool when the waitress delivered the long-stemmed glass with its pale, bubbling contents. She and the bar worker had a brief exchange, Julia trying to give the unsolicited drink back before something settled over her—recognition, understanding. She swiveled on her chair, drinks forgotten, and began to look for me.

My face could hardly contain my cocky grin as I made my way over to her. The eager look on Julia’s own face transformed into something resembling nonchalance when she finally spotted me. It was a good trick to be able to school her emotions like that, a trait I myself had never been able to accomplish. I bet it served her well in the courtroom.

She leaned her back against the edge of the bar and crossed one leg over the other. “I’ll ask you not to knock over my drinks and get alcohol on this blouse, Miss Miller,” she purred. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“Well I guess if that happens, you could always send me the dry cleaning bill again,” I quipped.

I leaned toward her and hesitated only briefly before my lips met hers. Being able to kiss her in public was still new and felt a little forbidden. Not wanting to Out her, we’d done our best to hide our intimacy in Embarrass, but now there was little reason to.

“Tell me about your day,” I instructed.

“I don’t know if I’m cut out for this,” she sighed.

“This?” I repeated. I settled onto the stool that wasn’t occupied by her suit jacket. “Small talk?” I made a motion to the bartender and got myself a drink.

“No.” She took a quick sip of her martini. “Being a public defender.”

“But you’re an amazing lawyer,” I protested.

“The actual work is fine,” she clarified, “but my co-workers are driving me crazy.”

“Are you sure you’re not being overly sensitive?” I tried to delicately ask. “I know you prefer working on your own.”

A small smile curled the edges of her mouth. “I’m well aware of that, dear. But it’s not that.”

“What are they doing that’s bugging you so much?”

“They’re young,” she said, making a face. “Frustratingly so. I feel like a babysitter more than a lawyer most days. And none of them really want to be there. They’re law students biding their time until graduation.” She pushed a lock of hair away from her forehead. “But enough of my struggles. How was your day? How was Mendez?”

“Good. The same. I found out who’s running to take over your dad’s job. Do the names Clyde Anderson and Rita Poole mean anything to you?”

“Clyde owns the bed and breakfast at the edge of town and Rita has a small shop on Main Street. Where did you get that information?”

“I had to call the police department to get David’s contact information. Chief Hart was in a chatty mood. Do you think either of them will do a good job?”

“I’m a little surprised, actually. Neither one seems like the mayoral type, but it’s of little consequence to me,” she dismissed.

I grabbed the hand that rested in her lap. She intertwined her fingers with mine. It felt good—surprisingly so—to be able to talk with her about average, mundane things. She was having a challenging week to be sure, but no one’s life was in danger and no one’s father was on trial. And we had each other. It made me feel like I could take on any challenge thrown my way.

But nearly as soon as those good thoughts washed over me, I noticed a change in Julia’s body language.

“What’s wrong?”

Her hand slipped out of mine, unobtrusively, but still gone, and her fingers returned to the base of her martini glass. “Nothing, dear,” her words said to me, but her entire demeanor had changed. Her body had become rigid and her mouth was drawn in a tight line.

“Julia?” a loud voice carried over the other noises in the bar. “Julia Desjardin?”

An attractive woman approached us. Her long legs crossed over the other, hips canted forward, in a super-model strut as she crossed the bar. For all I knew, she could have been a runway model. Tall and statuesque, the woman was impossibly thin. She wore an impeccably tailored pantsuit that I could very easily see hanging in Julia’s closet. Her long, straight, auburn hair hit the center of her back, and as she drew closer I could see bright green eyes that seemed nearly unnatural in color.

“I thought that was you,” the stranger continued with a wry smile.

A tight smile reached Julia’s crimson mouth, and she turned in her chair to appraise the other woman. “Melissa,” she cordially greeted. “It’s been a while.”