Hide (Detective Harriet Foster #1)(5)

“Do I look like a rookie to you? I’ve switched teams, not rank.”

Lonergan smirked. “I got twenty-two under my belt.”

“And I’ve got a solid seventeen.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “All right. Take it easy. No offense.”

Foster grabbed her bag and shoved it into the bottom drawer, then sat down. Lonergan went back to his computer screen, a satisfied smirk on his face. She glared at the top of his block head, distrustful of his buzz cut. Old-school cop was right. But she was sure he meant that as a badge of honor, wholly unaware it might mean something entirely different to her.

“Just know, if you’re worried about it,” he said, not bothering to look at her, “I know how to keep my powder dry.”

“What’d you say?” Foster asked, a warning in her delivery.

“Meaning my gun is for the bad guys, not for me, in case you were worried about what kind of partner I’d be. I don’t mean to pick at sore wounds—my condolences and all—but I thought I’d put it out there so we’d know where we stand right from the jump.”

Slowly she rose, her fists clenched, her jaw tight. She didn’t know the man, having just met him minutes ago, but what she saw so far was a problem. Callousness. That was how she’d peg it. A screw loose somewhere.

She could feel the heat rising at the back of her neck. It took everything to keep her voice neutral, professional. “You don’t talk about my partner. Get it?”

Lonergan rolled his chair away from his desk but said nothing. He didn’t even blink.

“You don’t talk about her, and nobody here talks about her. Pass it around so they all know.”

Lonergan smiled. “I never mentioned your partner, did I?”

“Not you, not anyone. We clear?”

Foster held Lonergan in her angry sights. This was her nonnegotiable. Lonergan shrugged, smiled, and let it go like it was nothing. “Whatever you say, partner.”

She reached into the drawer and grabbed the aspirin bottle Griffin had given her from her bag, then slammed the drawer shut with great force, the sound getting the attention of the cops around her. “Bathroom?”

Lonergan jabbed a fat thumb behind him. “Down the hall. First left. Gents and gals. We don’t do none of that unisex shit here. You’re gonna have to choose.”

He was a goddamned dinosaur. She spotted a lone paper clip on the desk, plucked it up, and slipped it into her pocket. “Anyone ever tell you you make a lousy first impression?”

Lonergan swiveled around, giving Foster his back. “Nobody I give a shit about.”

She looked where he’d pointed. “I’ll be back.”

He turned back to watch her go. “Roger that. Oh, and Foster?” She stopped, not bothering to turn around. “Anybody ever tell you to lighten the hell up?”

She tightened her grip on the bottle. “Nobody I give a shit about.”

A minute later, Foster stood at the sink in the women’s bathroom, staring into the streaky mirror. Things weren’t going well. She’d been in the building less than an hour, and already she’d had enough. What the hell was wrong with him? Who said things like that?

She turned away from the sink and leaned against it, taking the dim room in. It looked cleanish, the smell of industrial-strength disinfectant strong, but the porcelain toilets in the stalls and the sink looked as though they’d been there since the first Daley administration. She turned back to the tap and downed another two tablets to chase the ones she’d taken in Griffin’s office. Bad for her liver long term, but she had more immediate needs at present.

“He knows how to keep his powder dry,” she muttered. “Bastard.”

She let the cold water run a bit before wetting her cheeks to get the heat out. Foster stared into the mirror again, past the streaks in the glass, at the strained stranger looking back.

“It’s only the first day. Pull it together,” she told her reflection. “You don’t have to go home with him; all you have to do is work with him. Cop up.” She tried a smile, but it wouldn’t stick. How long had it been since she’d smiled genuinely? “Do it. Focus.”

She lifted her palms off the sink and stretched her fingers, checking her hands for steadiness. Rock solid, nearly. She gave herself one final look, one final pep talk, and then went back to start again.

“About time,” Lonergan said as he slipped into the rumpled blazer that had been hanging on the back of his chair. “Thought you mighta fell in. We got a body. A woman. On the Riverwalk.” He grabbed his coffee and the stromboli. “I’m driving. You’re last one in. Besides, women can’t drive for shit.”

Foster grabbed her bag, glaring at Lonergan’s back as he brushed past her.





CHAPTER 3


A psych eval, probation, and a voluntary thirty-day stay at Westhaven Psychiatric Hospital. That was what his lawyer had worked out for him. What a crock. Since when was looking a crime? Since when couldn’t you walk on the same street, slip into the same bar, or follow a woman home just to see where she lived? In retrospect, he could see now how following someone could have been misconstrued. He’d been curious, that was all. Now he was prohibited from making any contact. Fine. There were other women. Special ones. He’d just have to be careful from now on. Bodie stuffed the last shirt into his battered duffel and zipped it tight. Thirty days. Up today. It had been intolerable even with the ill-scheduled home pass he’d been given just the day before. It was ridiculous, he’d argued, then. Why let him go, then make him come back, only to release him for good the very next day? Was it some kind of test to see if he could handle himself? Was it the result of some bureaucratic screwup the powers that be were afraid to cop to? It didn’t matter, he’d decided. He’d taken the pass, enjoyed his time, and now he was packing up and getting the hell out of here for good.