We were driving back to my place after brunch when I remembered why I’d called him last night.
“When Smitty got shot, what would have happened if I hadn’t been there to call it in?” I asked.
“There isn’t much traffic on that stretch of road, especially at night. If nobody came along, it could have been an hour before the communications officer would have noticed anything wrong.”
“An hour! That’s crazy, Malone.”
“Look, Smitty was still conscious. He could have used his portable radio to call the post. There’s a repeater in the car, on the same frequency as the regular radio. He could have called in if you didn’t.”
“Don’t you check on your guys more frequently?” I was stunned by such a lackadaisical approach.
“No need. During the course of a shift, they normally call in about every ten or fifteen minutes with requests anyway. If it’s a slow night, the dispatcher can make contact every half hour. It all depends on what’s going on.” Malone stopped at a light and turned to face me. “Why the sudden concern?”
I lowered my eyes. “Guess I worry about you.”
He grinned and leaned over to kiss me. It was one of those slow, languid, lingering kisses I liked so much. Behind us a horn sounded as the light turned green. “It’s been a long time since anybody worried about me.”
“Don’t mention it.” I faced forward, blushing, as the car behind us honked again.
I knew Malone was right. There were systems in place to keep the troopers safe, protocols and people. All well trained and thoroughly tested. So why was I worried? Was I getting in over my head with Malone? Or was there something else?
“Why so serious, Jamie? You look like you’re trying to find the answer to double digit inflation.”
I smiled softly. “Just working on a part of the book. I get ideas at the strangest times.”
Now it was his turn to smile. “I’ll bet you do.”
* * * *
Saturday night was made for frumping. I kept my promise to Malone and went grocery shopping, restocking the cupboards and the fridge with all kinds of goodies. Chocolate chip cookies, macaroni and cheese, tomato basil soup and olives were my gourmet dinner. Before he went to work, Malone made a derogatory comment about my pedicure, which still showed chips of polish from my vacation six weeks ago. I wedged cotton balls between my toes and waited for the neon pink polish to dry. The phone rang as I settled in my rocking chair.
"Hey, Jamie."
"Hey, Malone. I decided I'm going to find out what your first name is. If I guess, will you tell me?"
I could picture his smile coming across the line. "Sure."
"Busy night?" I lounged back in the chair, draping my legs across the arm of the aunt. It would have been impossible to paint my nails on the sofa, no matter how comfortable it might be.
"Actually it's kind of quiet. I wanted to tell you about the truck."
"Kleinschmidt's truck?" He had my attention.
"I remembered what you said, about the fringe on the jacket. So I pulled the lab report and went back over it again." Malone was calm, as if he were describing the weather. I wanted to smack him.
"What did they find?"
"Lots of smudges on the wheel, mirrors, door handles and gear shift, but nothing we could match to any records in the computers."
"Go on,” I said anxiously.
He ignored my prodding and kept talking in a bored monotone. "Anyway, among the items found in the truck were two narrow strips of leather. One was only an inch long, the other closer to three inches. They were snagged on a spring that poked through the seat cushion."
"That's it?" What a letdown.
"Yeah, that's it. No way to tell if those belonged to the driver or not. But if the jacket he was wearing did have fringe on it and the strands caught on the spring match, we could use that as evidence."
I bent over my toes and blew on them to speed up the drying process. "Whoop-de-doo. You still don't have anything of consequence, Malone."
"Maybe not, Jamie, but if we get a lot of little details, they may add up to enough someday. I just thought you'd want to know. What are you doing?"
"Sitting here stark naked with the stereo on. I'm in the mood for some reggae music. I couldn’t find any opera that I liked. "
His voice went softer on the line. "Mind if I stop by after work?"
"I'd mind if you didn't."
"See you around midnight," Malone said.
Since I’d opted for neon pink polish, it only seemed appropriate to continue with that color scheme. Once my toenails were dry, I painted my fingernails as well. Every now and then, when I feel the need to splurge, I go to a salon for a real manicure. Since I spend a lot of time on the keyboard my nails take a fair amount of abuse. It just isn’t practical to have them very long. But I like to paint them occasionally.
One night, last week, Malone had let slip that he had a soft spot for pink. I’d been waiting for an opportunity to see just how much of a softy he was. So in addition to my nails, I dug out some appropriate sleepwear. I don’t have a huge supply of slinky negligees. With the colder weather, I usually wear flannel pajamas. Not exactly the wardrobe of choice to spark romantic interest. But I knew there was an item that would fit the bill tonight.
In the bottom of the drawer was just what I was looking for. Probably the most money I’ve ever spent on myself for something I’d only dreamed of wearing before. Actually, I’ve worn it twice, but never when I was expecting a visitor. It’s pure silk, in a very soft shade of pink, with thin spaghetti straps at the shoulders. It hugs my meager curves very nicely and stops about mid-thigh. It dips very low in the back, so if I’m feeling extremely naughty, I can always wear it backwards. The gown comes with a matching wrap, the same shade of pink with a little black trim along the collar and the cuffs. The wrap drapes to my ankles.
I wanted to get Malone’s attention from the moment he walked in the door. With that in mind, I searched the closet for a particular pair of shoes. They were black, with very high heels and open toes. I slipped them on and posed before the mirror. I sure hoped Malone had been taking his vitamins.
He was due any time now. I wanted no doubt in his mind what this evening had in store. The stereo was ready with a variety of discs, some soft sultry ballads by Diana Krall, James Taylor and light jazz instrumentals. There were candles lit, both in the living room and the bedroom. I touched up my makeup, just lipstick and a little bit of blush. A quick spray of perfume and I was ready.
I was heading for the windows to see if I could spot his car, when the door opened. Malone stood there for a moment, not moving. I couldn’t see his eyes clearly. He was in that shadowy area, just inside the door and all the candles were behind me. My heart did a little stutter. Was I coming on too strong?
“Hey, Jamie.” His voice was a hoarse whisper.
“Hey, Malone.” I wanted to pose for him in some seductive way, but I was frozen in place, halfway between my bedroom and the aunt.
He just stood there, staring at me. His head moved slowly. I could feel his eyes tracing their way down my body. A chill ran up my spine, but I still couldn’t move. Then I heard a clicking noise and realized he had managed to close and lock the door behind him. At last he moved.
“You are an incredibly beautiful woman.”
I blushed and lowered my eyes. “It’s just the gown.”
“Don’t do that.” His voice had taken on a thick, husky quality.
“Do what?”
“Downplay the compliment.” Malone reached out his right hand and took my left. Then he turned me and we started dancing slowly, moving in perfect sync to the music. I think it was Krall singing “The Way You Look Tonight”. “Just smile sweetly, say, ‘thank you’ and accept the fact that I believe you are an incredibly beautiful woman.”
I was having trouble finding my voice. “Thank you, kind sir.”
He twirled me around the apartment. It amazed me how well we moved together. With the heels, I was almost eye level with Malone. His right hand was now inside the wrap, resting lightly on my bare back just above the edge of the gown. “Do you have any idea how incredibly sexy this is? To come in that door and find you like this?”
“Do you have any idea how sexy you make me feel, Malone?”
He stopped moving at that moment and dipped me, just as the song ended. “I’ve never had that effect on any woman before. At least, not to my knowledge.”
“Malone.”
“Yes, Jay?”
“Are you going to kiss me?”
That killer smile crossed his face. “I thought you’d never ask.”
* * * *
Sunday morning, Malone took me to the target range. I had never fired a gun before and was curious. Besides, it was a good excuse to be with him. I watched him practice with his service piece then asked to try it. He attached a fresh target to the line and sent it out into the range. Then he gave me a lesson.
“This is a 9 mm, semi-automatic Sig Sauer. It’s made in West Germany, and it has a sixteen round clip. Add one more in the chamber and you’re good for seventeen shots.”
Malone eased a fresh clip into the handle of the gun and knocked it home. With a fluid motion he pumped a bullet into the chamber, which he referred to as “racking the slide”. Then he stood behind me with his arms extended and let me hold the gun. His hands gently locked onto my wrists and he steadied my aim.
“Don’t jerk the trigger. Try to squeeze it slowly, take up the slack a little at a time,” he suggested. His breath was warm on my ear.
I did as instructed and jumped when the gun went off. I missed the target by a mile. He’d made it look so easy when he was doing the shooting.
“Hold the gun a little tighter. It won’t bounce so much when you fire. Take it slow and easy.”
This time I braced my feet and rested my weight against Malone. When I was ready, I tugged the trigger and sent two shots toward the target. Both hit the paper, but missed the outline of the body.
“Not bad,” Malone said, letting his hands fall to his side. “Try it on your own.”
By the time I fired off the whole clip, my shoulders and arms were tingling. The 9 mm packed quite a kick. I had hit the target nine times, actually striking the figure with four. Gingerly, I handed it back to Malone. He replaced my target then sent his out beyond where mine had been. Smiling, he reloaded the clip and stepped back up to the firing line. Using just his right hand, he leveled the gun and shot it, steadily spacing out the shots until the clip emptied. Then he pressed the button for the target to return. I was stunned by his accuracy. Four holes in the heart, four in the forehead, two where the nose should have been. Three shots in each shoulder and one in the groin.
“Show off,” I muttered.
“You just have to practice.”
“How much practice did it take for you to get so good?” I asked as we drove home.
“A lot. I learned how to shoot when I was a kid and it carried over with the job. I practice about twice a month. I can do the same thing with a rifle.”
Now that he mentioned it, I remember the small medals on the pocket of his uniform.
We got back to my place and Malone dropped onto The Aunt. He hooked my wrist with his fingers and pulled me down with him.
“Hey, Jay.”
“Hey, Malone, how about Mortimer?” I’d been guessing names since his arrival last night. So far I had tried Johann, Albert, Wolfgang, Ferdinand, Marcellus and Siegfried. It had to be something unusual if he didn’t use it.
“Nope. How come you never married?”
Embarrassed, I turned my face away. “I almost did.”
“What happened?”
“The bachelor party. His buddies invited his ex-girlfriend to surprise him. They locked them in a hotel room, without any clothes on and didn’t come back for them until the next day. By that time, they had fallen in love all over again.”
“I’m sorry.” Malone sounded earnest.
“Don’t be. If he were that easily taken away, the marriage wouldn’t have worked. Chances are, the first time he ran into somebody from his past, he’d be long gone. I’m better off without him. What about you, Malone?”
“I got married early. Fresh out of high school, I signed up for a three-year hitch in the army. Thought I’d see some of the world and get the money for college. Did my three years, came home and started school. We met in a calculus class in September. By Christmas break, we thought we knew it all. We got married over the holidays by a justice of the peace.” Malone turned slightly on the aunt, and drew me into the circle of his arms. “Marilyn figured she’d convince me to go into business, instead of police work. When I joined the academy, she got cranky. When I graduated and was stationed over here, she refused to move. Marilyn didn’t want to leave Kalamazoo and I had to go wherever they assigned me. We didn’t make it to our three-year anniversary before we were divorced.”
“Sorry it didn’t work out.” That was the longest, most personal speech he had given since I’d met him.
“Ancient history and it’s probably for the best. Not everyone understands a cop’s position. On any given night, you might be involved in a situation where you end up dead because of drunk drivers, drug runners, family disputes, car accidents, assaults. Anything can happen.” He kissed the top of my head and ran his fingers lightly down my spine.
“Like Smitty?”
“Yeah, just like Smitty.”
We were quiet for a while, just lying there together. I tried to block everything from my mind and focus on being with him. The silence slowly unnerved me. There were so many things about him I wanted to know, but I wanted him to volunteer the information instead of questioning him like an interview. Or how he might interrogate someone. Was I beginning to think like a cop? Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing.
"Where are we headed, Malone?" My fingers toyed with the buttons on his shirt. I couldn't look at his face for fear of his answer.
"Where do you want to go?" His arms were around me, his hands lightly stroking my back.
"Forward. But I don't want to go alone."
"Nobody does. It seems like we’ve been slowly moving along this path, enjoying the sights and each other’s company. Are you in a hurry, Jamie?" His deep voice was throaty and gentle. When he spoke softly like this, I found it incredibly sexy. I realized he often used this voice on the phone. Now hearing it in person, with him holding me close, was rapidly turning me on.
“No. I guess we could just keep taking it slow and easy.” I was trying to find the nerve to ask the next question.
“Just nice and slow, one day at a time.”
“Have you been seeing anyone else?" Here's the part where I usually learn the bad news. Like, let’s just be friends, no need to ruin a perfectly good relationship.
"I haven't dated anyone seriously in months." His hands continued to work their magic on my spine. "You?"
"I had a hot and heavy relationship with a carpenter in April. I interviewed him for a couple of articles. He was a runner up in archery for the Olympics and liked to do restoration work on old homes. It might have gone on longer except for one thing."
"What's that?" His cheek was resting on the top of my head. I could smell his cologne. It was gentle, not overpowering like some guys prefer.
"His wife. She was my roommate in college. They separated just before we started dating. Then they got back together. Guess you could say I drove him to her.”
"Ouch."
I wanted to get back to lighter subject matter. Too much serious talk makes me nervous.
"How about Myron?"
"Not even close."
What could have been one of the last pretty days of fall was just beyond my window. The remaining leaves were dropping off the trees, inevitably finding their way to lawns freshly raked only moments ago. A soft breeze was blowing. The sun and a few clouds were playing a game of tag. The sun was winning.
We snuggled for a while, enjoying the contact. The Jewish Aunt was certainly weaving her magic spell. A pair of mourning doves (or maybe they were love birds) perched on the limb beside my balcony. Bombs could have dropped in the hallway and neither one of us would have budged from the couch. My phone rang twice and I made no attempt to get it. That’s why I have an answering machine.
For a big guy jammed against the back of a fluffy sofa, Malone showed amazing dexterity in the art of clothing removal. He didn’t fumble with the snap on my jeans or the clasp on my bra. They just seemed to vaporize at his touch. I ended up on top, completely undressed, breathless. The ridiculous vision of my mother overseeing this scene and nodding her approval dashed through my mind.
Malone worked two fingers under my chin, raising my face so I'd look at him. "You really worry about me?"
"Sure. You're a nice guy, Malone, even if you don't have a first name. I've just never dated a cop before."
"And I've never dated a reporter before, or a writer. I keep fighting the urge to search the room for a hidden recorder."
"Relax. I don't use one. I've got a pornographic memory." I slithered up and started nibbling his ear.
“You mean photographic."
"You do your thing, I'll do mine."