At Rope's End (A Dr. James Verraday Mystery #1)(67)

Maclean burst out laughing, covered her mouth with her hand, not quite quickly enough to stop a line of vodka and soda from dribbling out.

“Hey, not fair to tell me something that funny just when I’m taking a sip!” she said, wiping away the rivulet. “Don’t you know that’s illegal?”

“What, making a cop laugh when they’re drinking?”

“You know what I mean,” said Maclean.

“Well, I didn’t want to lie to you about it,” Verraday replied. Then he leaned forward. “Hold still. You missed a spot on your chin.”

Maclean held her face motionless while Verraday reached over with his index finger and gently wiped away the droplet.

“There you go.”

“Thank you. Lucky for you, Everett is outside my jurisdiction. Making me laugh while I’m sipping a drink, however, is not.”

Maclean signaled for the check.

“Well, it’s late,” she said. “I should go. The press conference is at ten in the morning, and I don’t want to be too foggy for it.”

The waiter brought the check and began to hand it to Maclean.

Verraday signaled for it and took out his wallet.

“My turn, Detective. But only because they’re not paying you overtime.”





CHAPTER 33


Maclean pulled up at the curb in front of Verraday’s house.

“Well, Professor, it’s been interesting working with you.”

“Same here, Detective. You’ve had an intriguing life. And dare I say it, you’ve even changed my opinion about cops. At least about some of them.”

“And you’ve changed my opinion about psychologists, Doctor.”

Verraday smiled, suddenly feeling bashful.

“They’re even crazier than I thought,” she said, laughing.

“Thank you,” said Verraday. “I’m glad to have been so edifying.”

“Well, I guess this is it,” she said.

Transitions had always been difficult for Verraday. Maclean was right. This was it. They had done what they set out to do. Jason Griffin was behind bars, would stay there for the rest of his life, and would never have the opportunity to hurt anyone ever again. But Verraday would miss the time he had spent with Maclean.

“Yes, I guess it is,” he replied, trying to conceal his awkwardness.

“I’ll keep you posted and make sure you get proper acknowledgement for helping solve the cases too,” said Maclean. “Once I’ve smoothed the path with the chief.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Maybe we could even work on something again some time.”

“I’d like that,” said Maclean.

“Well, until then,” said Verraday.

Maclean held out her hand, something she hadn’t done since that first morning when he had agreed to meet her and work with her. She shifted sideways in her seat so that she was facing him. That was something she’d never done before when she’d dropped him off either, thought Verraday. She’d always faced forward. He thought her pupils were dilated. Was it just the way her eyes looked naturally, adapting to the shadowy interior of the vehicle after she’d turned the headlights off? Or was it something more? He couldn’t be certain.

He took the hand that she offered. It was that same grip he remembered from the day she’d met with him. Strong and confident but gentle. It felt good. So good that he held her hand just a moment longer than was customary. When she didn’t withdraw it, his heart began to race. She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just gazed into his eyes. Was he imagining it? He leaned toward her very slightly. She shifted, moved almost imperceptibly forward. When she still didn’t withdraw her hand, or speak or pull away, he slid his free hand around her. He felt her relax into his touch. He leaned forward and gently pulled her toward him. An instant later, his lips were on hers. She released her grip from his hand, and a moment later, he felt her reaching around him, drawing him closer in return. Her other hand caressed his cheek. He felt her tongue responding to his gentle probing. Her hair smelled good and felt wonderfully silky to the touch. He stroked it as he kissed her and breathed in her intoxicating scent. He felt himself getting hard and pulled her even more tightly against him. When she responded in kind, he felt like he was having an out-of-body experience. Yet at the same time, he had never been happier to be in his flesh.

He had no idea how long they were there. It could have been five minutes, or it could have been twenty. This was one situation where his expertise in the field of memory was of no use to him. But gradually, following some subtle series of signals, they slowly disengaged—not fully, but just enough to gaze into each other’s eyes and speak.

He thought about inviting her in. But he didn’t want to seem too aggressive. She’d already mentioned the morning press conference. He didn’t want her to be tired the next day for her big public appearance. Nor did he want to jump the gun. Underthinking relationships had been his downfall in romance. Then he had the maddening realization that overthinking had been a problem for him too. He saw her looking at him, just expectantly enough to signal that she wanted him to provide the lead.

“Well,” said Verraday. “I should let you go. You’ve got that press conference in the morning. And I’ve got a lecture too.”