Identity Crisis (Sam McRae Mystery 1)

“I had a case and someone else drew the short straw.” He grinned.

“To the public sector,” I said, raising my bottle in toast. “And not having to market your services. Mind if I turn on the game?”

“Do I ever?”

We watched the Orioles play mediocre ball, sipping beer and exchanging thoughts on how they could improve their chances of getting to the playoffs, short of firing the entire team.

“You came quite a ways to drink beer and watch baseball,” I said.

“I didn’t come here just for that.”

“Oh, I can imagine.”

He shot me a glance. “I missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” I wanted to say so much more. I’ve missed you, but you’re married. You’ve got a family. I can’t depend on you to be there for me if I need you. Instead, I said, “What if I’d brought home a date?”

I saw a brief flash of surprise. Then he laughed. “That could have been awkward.”

“Not that there have been all that many,” I conceded. Actually, there’d been none.

“I’ve been thinking about leaving the state’s attorney,” he said. “Opening my own office.”

“Really? You’ve been there a long time, but I always thought you were happy.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s burnout. I think it’s time for me to make a move of some sort.”

“It’s a big decision,” I said. “It means you have to go to those mixers you hate on a more regular basis.”

“You manage it.”

“Yeah, after I take drugs to suppress my gag reflex.”

“Maybe I just need to get out of criminal law. Try something else that might lead to an in-house position with a company.”

“Regular pay,” I said. “Regular hours.”

“Some places let you have your own practice, as long as it doesn’t conflict with the work you do for them. I could start small, doing stuff for fun on the side.”

Like us, I thought. Fun on the side. “It’s a plan. Maybe a better plan than mine. I guess I just had to get out on my own, win or lose.”

“I admire your courage.”

We looked at each other for a long time. He reached out and stroked my arm, then drew me toward him and kissed me lightly. When we separated, he looked guilty.

“I really didn’t come here just ... for this. I really have missed you, but if you want me to go—”

I threw my arms around him and plastered my mouth against his. Our lips were still grinding together as we undressed each other. When our clothes were off, I shoved the coffee table over with one foot for more room. An unread stack of bar association magazines and bulletins spilled onto the floor.

“Get on top,” he whispered. We clambered to find a good position on the sofa, while Oscar watched us idly from the other side of the room. The announcer was screaming something about line drives as I put him inside me. Ray’s hands touched my breasts and squeezed.

Here we go again, I thought. Were we doomed to repeat this exercise in another two months? Or would it take longer next time? For some reason, it struck me as funny, and I laughed.

“What?” Ray asked.

“Nothing,” I said, breathlessly. I hooked my hands around his shoulders and humped with all I had.

Later, as Ray and I held each other, my thoughts turned to Melanie. I wondered how I could possibly help her when I couldn’t help myself.