Dying To Play. Debra Webb
Not that he could blame her. In this line of work, who wanted to partner up with a guy who couldn’t watch his partner’s back? The Bureau had stuck him on desk duty. This was his one shot at making things right. His new partner resented the hell out of him, but he could live with it. She certainly hadn’t been his first choice, either. Though by all accounts she was a damned good cop, she was a woman, and he wasn’t sure he could trust her to react like a cop when the chips were down.
He couldn’t make a mistake and he couldn’t allow her to make one. This was his opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. To bring down the Gamekeeper and to get his professional life back. He didn’t really care that he no longer garnered any respect from the other agents. And he sure as hell didn’t need any friends. It was the job that kept him going…that he needed. If he had to go back to that desk for the rest of his days…well, he just wasn’t sure he could handle it.
Sure, he hated the way everyone looked at him now. As if they feared he’d go berserk at any given moment. But more than that or even the ever-present talk behind his back, he hated the looks of sympathy.
The panic he struggled with on a daily basis abruptly surged into his throat.
He choked it back.
This time would be different.
He would do everything right this time.
“Callahan, this is Detective Henshaw.” Jentzen stood next to an older man, fifty, fifty-five maybe. He looked a little rumpled and a lot cop smart. The cigar clenched in the corner of his mouth gave him a sort of Columbo-without-the-trench-coat look.
Trace extended his hand automatically. “Trace Callahan,” he said, not missing the older man’s methodical scrutiny.
Henshaw pumped his hand a couple of times and grunted. “I’ve heard of your reputation.”
Trace forced a smile. He’d just bet the old man had heard of him, but he doubted it was anything good. “Don’t believe everything you hear,” he suggested in as good-natured a tone as he could manage.
Henshaw chuckled, but those cunning eyes told the tale. He knew a lot more than he would dream of saying. “I’ll bear that in mind, Callahan.”
Trace looked from Henshaw to his reluctant partner and back. “I suppose Jentzen told you about the working arrangements?”
Henshaw nodded. “I can live with it. Temporarily.” He looked at the woman at his side. “I’ll have my final report ready by the end of the day.”
“Just leave it on my desk. I’m not sure when I’ll—we’ll get back to the office.”
“Will do.”
Jentzen’s cellular phone rang, and she stepped away to take the call. Henshaw gave Trace a final curt nod before walking past him. Trace reciprocated, damned tired of the pretending and the double-talk, but he had to play it out a little longer.
Until he set things right again.
“Just one more thing,” Henshaw said, as if he’d almost forgotten some important aspect of the case he needed to pass along.
Trace turned to face him. “What’s that?” Their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills.
“Don’t let anything happen to my partner,” the old man warned. “You risk her life unnecessarily and you’ll answer to me. You got that, hotshot?”
Trace read no malice in the man’s tone or expression…just genuine fear for his partner’s well-being. The warning wasn’t anything he hadn’t anticipated. “I’ve got it.”
“Good.”
Detective Henshaw pivoted on his heel and exited the bank. He paused outside the door to light his cigar. A puff of blue smoke rose above his head. Trace looked away, suppressing the urge to reach into his own pocket for a cigarette. He’d quit smoking ten years ago. Then, when everything had gone to hell, he’d picked them up again. Last month, he’d finally worked up the nerve to quit for good. He hated being at the mercy of the habit…almost as much as his new partner obviously hated the idea of being partnered up with someone who polluted her air space. She seemed to make an exception with Henshaw. Or maybe she had him trained not to light up in her presence.
His gaze sought and found Elaine Jentzen. She was no green, right-out-of-the-academy rookie like Molly had been. She was street savvy and smart, but more than that she was experienced. Despite her youth, she’d worked long and hard to get where she was. A degree in criminology with a minor in psychology and graduating top of her class from the police academy were pretty impressive feats to have accomplished by age twenty-two. Her very first case in Homicide had made a hero of her. She’d been flying high ever since. Not to mention making deputy chief before hitting thirty. He imagined she’d made a few enemies along the way as well. No one moved up the ranks that quickly without pissing off somebody.
According to what he’d pulled up on the computer about her, she was a third-generation cop. All three of her brothers were either policemen or firemen. Her sister was the only exception in the bunch. She’d chosen education for her field of expertise, then married during her first year of teaching. Five years and four children later, she was a stay-at-home mom with a college professor husband.
Trace didn’t have any siblings. His parents had died long ago. It was just him. That hadn’t really ever bothered him before. But now, somehow, it did.
Considering Jentzen’s brood, it made him feel lonely. He almost laughed at that one. He was alone.
And that’s the way he liked it.
Self-pity wasn’t his style.
Nor was being dependent upon another human being.
He surveyed his new partner’s long legs, then all that dark hair that fell past her proud shoulders. She was tall, five foot seven inches or eight maybe. Thin, but more lean than skinny he’d bet. The black slacks weren’t formfitting, but were well tailored to the sweet contours of her body. She wore her badge and weapon at her waist in a no-frills fashion. The white blouse was something soft and flowing. It nestled against her skin in all the right places. His gaze lingered a little too long on her breasts. He blinked and forced his attention up to her face.
But her brown eyes were her best asset, in his opinion. Her every emotion shimmered in those wide, oval pools. She emanated more strength and courage than most women in his experience. The fact that she’d already earned his respect to an extent surprised him. He was usually slow in allowing that kind of confidence.
As she argued with someone named Flatt on her cell phone, Trace watched her every move. She used her hands a lot. Long, delicate fingers were tipped by short nails. Her face was as animated as her hands. And what a pretty face it was. Too pretty for a cop, especially one so ambitious.
She did this thing with her hand…just a quick motion of running her fingers through her hair. He liked that. He liked her. She was a good cop. A real cop, he thought, his lips slanting up into an unexpected grin.
Nope, self-pity wasn’t his style.
But then neither was lusting after the forbidden.
He couldn’t make a mistake this time.
He wouldn’t make a mistake.
Elaine Jentzen was a complication he didn’t need or want. But he would make the best of the situation…if that was possible.
“Earth to Callahan.”
Jentzen’s voice startled Trace back to attention. “Yeah?” Damn. He’d zoned out again.
She gave him one of those barely tolerant looks teachers saved for their most trying students. “If you’re ready now, I’d like to get this show on the road. We have to make a statement to the press.”
Well, at least now he had his answer to making the best of things.