Second in Command, page 7
part #1 of Fairview Station Series
“So, where are we headed?”
“I’ve rented a small apartment at Wafco Mills for the time being.”
Jazz glanced at her before directing her around a raised section of sidewalk. “For the time being?”
“Thanks. Yeah, it’s temporary, until I get over…” Did she really want to bring up Jean and the horrible way she’d dumped her? She’d lost her first and only lover that day and never fully recovered.
“You don’t have to tell me. I’m not prying into your personal life, just talking.”
If Jazz asked questions, it meant she cared or was at least interested, but chatting about her ex was not appropriate conversation with a colleague. Emory wanted to be sure they’d permanently crossed the boundary into personal territory before they had the ex-girlfriend discussion. “It’s a long story. Maybe another time?”
Jazz nodded and launched into tales of her bike patrol downtown when she first joined the force and about making her own path in school and the department with Bennett as a sister.
“Was it difficult, following in Bennett’s footsteps so to speak?”
“It wasn’t like that. I had the benefit of my birth mother’s last name, so nobody knew Ben and I were sisters or that I was even part of the Carlyle family unless we told them. And Bennett was a bit of a screw-up in high school, her words not mine, while I was the quiet, serious one, which made doing our own things easier.”
A streetlight lit Jazz’s face as they walked, and Emory saw the shadows in her eyes again. “Do you mind if I ask a question…about your adoption? I don’t often get to talk to someone who’s been through the system and come out the other side quite so successfully.”
“Okay.” Jazz’s subdued tone indicated she was willing but not necessarily anxious to dwell on the topic.
Emory wanted to know everything about her experience, good and bad, but she went straight to the bottom line. “Are you happy?”
“Wow. Again, not what I expected, Ms. Blake. You constantly surprise me.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
Jazz took Emory’s hand and tucked it into the crook of her arm as they walked. “Not at all. I thought you’d want a retrospective on the system since you’re so focused on maintaining its integrity.”
If only. Jazz’s lips tightened and the pressure on Emory’s arm increased. Maybe Jazz needed support or at least the comfort of touch before answering. “Like you told me, you don’t have to talk about this if it’s uncomfortable.” She pulled Jazz closer to emphasize her point and then didn’t move away.
“I should probably say aloud what bothers me.” She looked toward the sky as if asking for strength. “I was totally blessed and so happy to have the Carlyles adopt me. They were the perfect fit for me in every way, and I have no regrets.”
“But…”
“I want, no I need, to belong to someone special, to have a partner and a family of my own. I’m not taking anything away from the Carlyles because they made me a part of their family in every possible way, but some things you can only do for yourself.” She stopped walking and turned to Emory. “I hope that doesn’t make me sound desperate or ungrateful.”
“No, not at all.” Jazz’s willingness to be so vulnerable, combined with the conversation she’d had with Diane and the baggage she still carried from her relationship with Jean, made Emory feel ashamed and a total coward.
“Does it make sense?”
“It makes perfect sense, and I admire your courage for talking about it. Belonging is one of those things like self-concept, which you already know I have a problem with, that can’t be provided by someone else.” She stopped in front of her door and took out the keys. “This is me.”
“Saved. One more block and I might’ve told you all my faults. Thank you for accepting my invitation, the pleasure of your company, and for looking into the Robinson application.”
Jazz lifted the keys from Emory’s hand and brushed against her to unlock the door. She was afraid Jazz could hear the rapid pounding of her heart and feel her heat rising. “You’re…welcome.”
Jazz pushed the door open and stood back so Emory could enter. “I’d really like to see you again, Emory. Would you do me the honor of going on a real date with me? I’m running out of professional reasons to see you.” She smiled down at Emory, her expression open and sincere.
“I…but…” She fumbled for an excuse, something that made sense and didn’t sound as insecure as she felt. “We should probably stick with work, keeps the boundaries clear.”
“And if I want to blur the boundaries? Please?”
Jazz whispered the last word, and Emory caved. “Okay.”
“Okay? Really? Thank you.” Jazz bent her head and kissed Emory’s cheek. “Thank you so much. How about Friday unless you already have plans?”
“Friday would be great.”
“What time should I pick you up?”
“Six thirty.”
“I won’t be late.” Jazz’s eyes that earlier had been dim with sadness now sparked golden brown with possibility.
“What should I wear?”
Jazz waved her hand toward Emory. “Look at you. Wear whatever you want and you’ll be the most beautiful woman in the room. See you Friday.” She kissed Emory’s cheek again and backed slowly away, holding eye contact until she almost stumbled over a shrub.
Emory closed the door and dropped into a chair, her thoughts and emotions in chaos. A real date with Jazz. No work agenda. Was she ready for this?
* * *
Jazz ran the mile and a half home from Wafco Mills, high on her evening with Emory and the sense of being steadily drawn together. Everything about Emory was appealing—her voluptuous body, her poise and style, and the way her eyes tracked every move Jazz made with pure desire. Even Emory’s reluctance to provide the information Jazz wanted was a turn-on because she stood by her principles. Jazz wouldn’t call what she felt for Emory instant chemistry, but she was definitely interested.
She bolted up the front porch steps, reached for the screen door handle, and pulled slowly to keep the squeaky hinges from waking the family.
“Hold up, Lieutenant.” Dylan’s voice pierced the quiet, and Jazz jerked back.
“Are you trying to get shot, Doc?” Jazz released the handle of her weapon in the small of her back and joined her sister on the porch swing.
“Not very observant for a cop. Preoccupied?” Dylan nudged her shoulder and withdrew quickly. “Yuck, you’re wet. Exercise or sex sweat?”
“Shush.” Jazz motioned for her to keep her voice down. “Running.”
“Somebody chasing you?”
“No, I just needed—”
“To burn off sexual energy. You might as well fess up. I know my sisters. Who is she?”
Jazz wouldn’t look at Dylan. “I’m not talking about this. Why are you hanging out on the porch in the middle of the night? Living in the cottage getting boring already? Remember, you wanted the solitude.”
“Just got home from my shift at the hospital and wanted to wind down. Nothing better than this swing for relaxing and being close to the family without being with the family. And yes, I still love the cottage. Thanks again for passing your turn so I could move in. You still like being in the big house with the folks?”
Jazz nodded. “I love family. You know that.”
“So do I, but I need some space right now. The family has always been there for me, and with my residency coming to an end, I just need to be more independent.”
“I get it. Anyone interesting on your radar that you need all this independence for?” Jazz asked.
“I don’t even have time to check the radar, much less act on what I find.” Dylan laughed. “I only have another week of supervision before they cut me loose, and then maybe I’ll think about women again. In the meantime, I’m getting carpal tunnel.”
“TMI. Let me know when you’re ready to date because I know a couple of decent cops who’d love to go out with you.”
Dylan shook her head, and her wavy dark hair shifted across her shoulders. “No disrespect, but after growing up with cops and what happened with G-pa and Papa, that’s the last thing I want in a partner. One of us on weird shifts dealing with crazies is quite enough, not to mention the daily threat of death.”
“I won’t tell G-ma, Mama, or Bennett you said that.”
“Thanks. I value my life.” She leaned over and kissed Jazz on the cheek. “Okay, if you’re not dishing about your love life, I’m going to bed.”
“I don’t want to jinx it.”
“She must be pretty special and she’d be lucky to get you. I love you, Jazz.” She bounded off the porch, waved, and walked around the side of the house toward the cottage.
Emory was special, but why? Maybe being the chaser instead of the chasee was the turn-on for Jazz. She wasn’t desperate to jump Emory but she was certainly attracted to her. Was that a bad thing? Too early to tell. She pushed her feet against the porch floor and relaxed into the rhythmic sway of the swing until her eyelids flagged. As she headed upstairs to bed, the same phrase repeated in her mind. Too early to tell.
Chapter Six
Jazz was almost home after an uneventful night shift when her cell phone rang. “Hello.”
“Lieutenant Perry?” an unfamiliar female voice asked.
“Yes, this is Jazz Perry. How can I help?”
“You left several messages. I’m Karen Patrick with the US Adoption Agency. I apologize for taking so long to get back with you, but I’ve been out of state, and you said you wanted a face-to-face. The question should probably be, how can I help you, Lieutenant?”
Ms. Patrick sounded professional, but her low-pitched tone was also kind of hot. Jazz was still on an adrenaline high from the last fight call and shook her head to refocus.
“Lieutenant Perry? You still there?”
“Yes, sorry. I was hoping for some information on one of your clients, Shea Spencer, an eleven-year-old who—”
“Ran away last weekend. Aren’t you the officer who found her?”
“Yes, but—”
“I can’t tell you how grateful we are for your help. Unfortunately, she’s still in a group home, but I’m determined to find her father or placement soon. She’s going to be just fine.”
Professional or not, Karen Patrick wasn’t blowing Jazz off so easily with a sultry voice and a quick thank you. “Is there any chance we could talk in person? I’d like to know more about your agency.” Maybe appealing to her pride would be the ticket to a face-to-face.
“Well…I’m headed to the hospital now to pick up some paperwork from last night. My office computer is being replaced, and I need the files ASAP. Can you meet me there?”
“How about the canteen? I’ll buy you a world-class vending machine brew.”
Ms. Patrick laughed and a deep, throaty sound filtered through to Jazz. “I have a better idea. Why don’t I stop by Green Bean at Golden Gate and get us a real coffee? What’s your pleasure?”
If Karen wasn’t flirting, Jazz was more tired than she thought. “Flat white.”
“See you in fifteen. I’m coming from the gym, so don’t expect business attire.” She disconnected before Jazz could reply.
Jazz darted onto Wendover Avenue eastbound and pulled in front of the ER five minutes later. A steady stream of hospital personnel changing shifts crowded the parking lots and hallways. Jazz spoke to the regular night shift folks as they made their way out and nodded at the less familiar morning group.
She settled at a table in the canteen, and a few minutes later the elevator chimed and a woman dressed in bright workout gear stepped off. Jazz tried not to stare, but the woman demanded attention—clothes clinging to her like gift wrap, squared shoulders, searching her surroundings with more intensity than many police officers. Jazz stood as the woman approached.
“Good morning, I’m Karen Patrick.” She studied Jazz’s face as if trying to commit her to memory, placed the coffee carrier on the table, and offered her hand. “Lieutenant Perry?”
Jazz returned the firm handshake. “Yes, I’m Jazz Perry.” Up close, Karen Patrick’s eyes were almost hypnotic, still scanning but never losing focus. Tiny laugh lines at the corners of her mouth hinted at an age her body didn’t broadcast.
“Mind if I sit?”
“Please.” Jazz pulled out a chair and waited for her to settle before sliding it back in. She caught a whiff of an exotic fragrance mingled with recent sweat. “Thanks for meeting me and for the coffee, Ms. Patrick.”
“It’s Karen, please.”
“Karen.” She was attractive, and Jazz was single and intrigued. She got the feeling Karen would be uncomplicated and ready for anything—like so many other women she’d dated—nothing like the one staring at her from the doorway. She withdrew her hand from the back of Karen’s chair.
Emory was stunning in a business suit jacket that gathered at her waist accenting her breasts, minimizing her midsection, and flaring slightly over her hips. She was beautiful, and Jazz started to tell her so, but Emory’s rosy cheeks paled as she glared at Karen Patrick. “Em…Emory.”
“Jazz.” The word sounded strained as if Emory forced it out.
“Would you like to join us?”
“You’re busy.” She studied Jazz a few more seconds before turning without further comment and disappearing down the corridor.
Jazz dropped into the chair across from Karen, unsure what had just happened.
“Girlfriend?” Karen asked.
“Friend. I think.” Emory had only recently agreed to go on a date with her, and Jazz wasn’t sure how to categorize their relationship. “Maybe more, not sure yet.”
“Sounds complicated.” Karen slid a coffee toward Jazz. “I don’t do complicated. Life is too short. Why limit yourself when so many options are available?”
Jazz took a sip of coffee, hoping to clear some of the brain fog. Maybe she was dulled by exhaustion or in sensory overload. If she listened with her hormones, Karen’s comments sounded flirty and sexual. If she listened with her head, they were just substantive enough to still be professional. “Are we talking about work or something else?”
Karen leaned back and breathed deeply. “I believe my philosophy is sound in any case. But you look tired, Jazz. Maybe we should have this discussion when you’re rested.”
“I’ve waited long enough. I’d like some information about Shea Spencer.”
“You said you wanted to talk about the agency.”
“I want both. Actually, I’d like to see Shea.”
“Why, may I ask?”
“Let’s just say she made an impression on me, and I want to check on her,” Jazz said.
“That might sound simple on the surface, but it’s actually not. USAA is a private agency, and we value the confidentiality of our children, facilities, staff, and families. The only way I can confirm Shea’s location or allow you to see her is if the group home has no objections.”
“But I just want to make sure she’s okay.”
“And my word isn’t good enough? Why such potent interest in this child?”
Jazz briefly considered spilling her life story to Karen, but her priority was fulfilling a promise she made to a little girl. “I just met you. Your company may well be everything you say, but I’d like to see for myself. Please make that happen.”
Karen studied her for a few seconds before pulling a business card from an inside pocket in her tights and placing it on the table. She slipped Jazz’s pen from her shirt pocket. “I’ve put my cell number on the back. I’ll try to get an answer for you in a couple of days. Maybe we can help each other.”
“How’s that?”
“North Carolina is considering privatizing more of Child Protective Services’ responsibilities. A positive recommendation from a high-ranking law enforcement professional could only help our cause. Of course, I wouldn’t expect a recommendation until you’ve seen the operation, have a full understanding of what we do, and make your own comparison. It could take some time to convince you, but I’m prepared to put in the work if you are.”
Jazz wasn’t about politics and had no intention of stepping into that minefield, but she wanted more information and this looked like a perfect compromise. “Of course.” Since they were on such agreeable terms, Jazz pushed her luck. “Do you have any input in the foster parent application process?”
“Why do you ask?”
She told Karen about Louis and Denise and the lack of movement on their application.
“Sounds about right for CPS. Sometimes I’m privy to potential parents, especially if they express no age preference and appear suitable for older children. Would you like me to look into their situation?”
Jazz nodded. “So, you’ll get back to me?”
“Indeed, I will, Lieutenant, on both issues. I think you’ll find me much more responsive than CPS.” Karen smiled, and her gaze briefly settling on Jazz’s mouth. “Speak soon.”
Jazz pulled Karen’s chair out and followed her to the elevator where she raised the flap of Jazz’s left shirt pocket and tucked her business card inside. Either Karen was coming on to her, or Jazz’s gaydar needed fine-tuning.
Karen stepped inside the elevator, and before the doors swished closed, she said, “It was very nice to meet you, Lieutenant Perry. I look forward to our collaboration.”
Jazz stared at the closed door for several seconds. Why did she feel like Karen Patrick would be so easy to get to know? And why did Emory’s reaction to seeing them together bother her? Women. It was too early, or in her case too late, to do such heavy thinking without sleep.
She pushed the elevator button to return to her car but changed her mind. Maybe she’d just look in on Emory before she left. She made her way through the hallways, tapped on the CPS office door, and pushed it open slightly. “Emory?”
“Not here yet.” Sheri McGuire frowned at Jazz from behind the large desk and offered no further information. She apparently hadn’t gotten over Jazz’s questions about Shea’s care.
