Split Second

CHAPTER 7

It was a glass half full, Lucy thought, but working a half day was better than nothing. She got out of Dillon’s office as fast as she could. He always saw too much. She cleaned up some paperwork, humming to herself to keep focused, because her brain kept splintering off to her father, laughing or smiling, or to his face slack in death, and tears would clog her throat. An hour later, on her way out, Coop called her over. “I got a call from the Cleveland PD. A bartender notified the police department last night, said our guy came in the bar about nine o’clock, looked around, then left real fast when he saw the bartender looking hard at him. He said he ran outside and looked around for the guy, but he didn’t see him. Then he called the police.”

“So he’s aware everyone’s on the lookout for him.”

Coop nodded.

“Same description?”

“He didn’t even change his black socks.”

“Do you think he will now?”

“He got a scare last night. I’m thinking he’s gonna have to get out of Dodge, head to another big city, maybe Philadelphia or New York, and change his routine and color scheme.

“Hey, why don’t I buy you some lunch—there’s that new Moroccan restaurant over on Crowley. My friend at State says the couscous is pretty good.”

She eyed him. He wasn’t acting like a conceited jerk. In fact, she didn’t ever recall his being anything but nice to her, and she realized she appreciated it. She didn’t have to jump on his busy fishing line if he threw it her way. She started to say no, and then her stomach growled. When was the last time she’d eaten? She couldn’t remember. Coop grinned. “Yep, it’s that time. You got something heavier than that wimpy jacket? It’s pretty chilly out there.”

They stopped by Lucy’s black Range Rover in the Hoover garage, and she shrugged into her leather jacket she kept in the backseat. She paused for a moment, eyeing the jacket. “I wonder if the cleaners can get blood out of leather?”

“What did you do?”

“Me? Nothing. I was thinking about Dillon’s leather jacket, the one he put over the head of that woman robber at the Shop ’n Go.”

“I don’t think I’m going to ask him. How’d you come by that Range Rover?”

“My dad gave it to me when I graduated. He said an FBI agent couldn’t have too much muscle, car included.” Coop led her to his blue Corvette with its black-leather interior that smelled like a million bucks.

Lucy ran her fingers over the shining hood. “This is a very sexy car.” Not that I’m surprised; a cool car would be a must to maintain your rep.

He lightly tapped his hand on the top of the car. “I had to put the top back on two weeks ago for the winter. In the summer, though, cruising around as a convertible, she’s something else. The color is called jet stream blue.”

“Not a girlie blue, yet not so dark it’s nearly black. It’s nice. The metallic finish gives it a kick. Jet stream blue? Neat name. Yep, very sexy, Coop.” She couldn’t help it, she smiled at him. Was she nuts?

“That’s what my mother said. She presented her to me on my last birthday.”

A laugh spurted out. His mother gave him this car? What kind of line was this? “Your baby is a her?” Well, why was she surprised?

“Her name is Gloria. The day after I got her, she was sitting here in my slot, singing out her name to me.”

“And you’re saying your mom gave Gloria to you?”

He nodded. “She said I was getting too staid, too set in my ways, and here I was thirty-one years old, and she wanted some grandkids. When I told her she already had eight rugrats from my prolific siblings, and that I was only on the very first day of my thirty-first year, she said that wasn’t the point. When I asked her what the point was, she smacked me, told me the point was I was to go cruising around D.C., looking hot, and getting myself some action. The salesman, she assured me, said the Corvette Grand Sport was just the ticket. She’s got high hopes for Gloria.”

Lucy eyed him. He sounded legitimate—self-deprecating, charming, really, not like the playboy of the Western world at all. She ran her hand over the hood. “Given Gloria’s cost, your mom must really want a grandkid from you.” Then she reached out and stroked his ego, to see what he’d do. “And, Coop, you already are hot. Everybody in the unit knows that.”

He opened his mouth, stared at her, then shook his head. “You’ve been listening to people you shouldn’t, haven’t you? There’s nothing to it, just some of the guys pulling my chain. No, wait, it’s Shirley, isn’t it?”

“Come on, don’t try to pretend you’re some sort of hopeless nerd.”

“I know it’s Shirley. I heard her tell Ruth I had to add pages to my black book, it was so crammed. Then she was going on about Annette in the forensics lab and Glenis in personnel. They’re friends of mine, that’s all, just friends.”

Lucy said, “Yeah, right, you’re no philanderer, you’ve just got lots and lots of ‘friends’ who happen to be female.”

“Shirley was looking over my shoulder when I was thumbing through my address book to find a sheriff’s number in North Dakota. As for—well, both Annette and Glenis? They really are friends, nothing more.”

Lucy laughed at him. It felt good, but it died quickly enough, and she swallowed and looked away. Her cell rang. It was one of her friends, Barb Dickens. Lucy knew if she answered it, she’d start crying at Barb’s sweet concerned voice. She let it go to voice mail.

He said nothing more and helped her into the Corvette. Then, whistling, he walked around to the driver’s side. He thought there was a bit of color in her thin face, at least until she felt guilt about laughing. Coop hoped she liked couscous.