The Night Detectives (David Mapstone Mystery 7)

She shook her head. “The lobby cam was broken all week.”

It didn’t seem so neat to me. But the former football hero was in her radar lock.

“Have you interviewed Zisman again?”

The luminous black hair shook. “He’s not answering his phone. But I’ve got a lot of questions when he resurfaces.”

I still wondered about the missing hours in Grace’s day. I said, “Why would she leave the apartment without telling Tim?”

She shrugged. “Men aren’t the only ones who lie about sex.”

24

Peralta still wasn’t at the office when I had finished writing up the notes from my meeting with the San Diego detectives, and I was starting to worry, which was silly given Peralta’s ability to protect himself and others.

My concern was forgotten when I buzzed open the gate for Lindsey. It closed and locked automatically after she pulled in. Lindsey in a miniskirt would chase away every concern, to be shamelessly shallow about it. She also carried lunch and my new iPhone, which FedEx had delivered that morning. After putting down the bag, she gave me a kiss and a hug that seemed almost normal. Her hand went up inside my shirt across my belly and onto my chest.

“Was this Robin’s?” She touched the cross of Navajo silver.

I hesitated, then nodded.

“May I have it?”

“Of course.” I removed it and slipped the chain over her head. She bent toward me as if receiving some kind of decoration.

The Order of the Lost Sister.

I pulled the cross around to fall above her breasts and fluffed out her hair.

“Thank you.” She was trying not to cry, so she made herself laugh. “This way it won’t tickle me when you’re on top.”

I tried to hold her, but almost immediately she dropped to her knees and started unzipping my slacks.

“Lindsey.” I pulled her up and hugged her. “Just be with me.”

“Yeah.” Her voice was one notch above a whisper but I heard the sardonic tremolo. She was barely with me. Lindsey’s body was in my arms but Lindsey was somewhere else. This appearance was conditional. She wasn’t wearing her wedding band. It wasn’t her fault. All she had of her child was a tattoo.

A few days ago I had nearly died, despite the claim by UNKNOWN that he waited before detonating the mine. I remembered the chunk of wall torpedoing into the pool inches from my head. I was living on bonus time but did she care? She had said that she had messed up, but maybe that meant getting fired, not leaving me. Lindsey, just be with me. What a damned fool I was.

I pushe

d her over to the desk, kissing her, caressing the soft skin beneath the hem of her shirt. After enough kissing to feel her body relax and even wilt, I lifted her onto the desktop, removed her sandals, and slid off her panties. Sitting in the chair, I started sucking her toes and licking her perfect ankles, slowly working my way north with my mouth and tongue. The fabric of her miniskirt tickled the top of my nose. She didn’t resist. I held my arms behind her so she could lean back against my hands. She clutched my head with her hands, bent her knees, and rested her warm feet atop my shoulders.

Circles and slides and figure eights. Cheerleader legs. I played her, made it go on a long time, loving being so connected to everything she was feeling, loving giving her pleasure. I even knew when she was ready to intertwine her hands in mine, gripping me for the grand last movement.

Afterward, she slid into my lap and this time didn’t resist being held.

“I love you.” I couldn’t help myself. It came out involuntarily.

She didn’t say anything, but nestled closer.

I was a fool. The Bettye LaVette song played in my head: Everything Is Broken.

Sex would keep anxiety and time and death at bay. I never have panic attacks if I am getting laid. I had to be satisfied with this eternal truth for the moment. But sex with Lindsey made me lose focus, made me forget, made me fall in love with her again, ensured that I might withdraw my emotional siege machines.

Steps on broken pavement.

The sound was so soft I wasn’t sure I had even heard it over the periodic whoosh of cars on Grand. Lindsey noticed my expression and I held up a hand. Someone was walking across the lot, very slowly. It couldn’t be Peralta, whose entrance was announced with the alert of the gate opening, followed by roaring engine and bumping suspension. My blood stopped pumping for a couple of seconds. Someone had jumped the fence, no easy maneuver. It could be anybody. The office door was unlocked.