After making whoever it was out there wait for ten minutes, she stood, grabbed a pad of paper and a pen, and stepped out of the room. She heard the bullpen conversation as she left.
“She’s in a great mood, isn’t she?”
“Clearly she didn’t get laid last night,” Lilliana said in a delighted whisper that made all the guys perk up and smile.
As Kate walked past the Colby’s office, he called out to her, “Kate, what’s up?”
She looked at him and said, “Just going to talk to somebody out front, a walk-in with info.”
“Good,” he said. “I’m glad you’re settling in.”
She nodded and kept walking. She was patient. That the team hadn’t clicked yet just meant it would take a little longer. Chet had been well loved—the wound only scabbed over, not fully healed. She had put her time in on the streets and had worked damn hard to make detective. Now she was here; she was one of them. She should be happy that she was doing the drudgery because it wouldn’t last. Besides, even being new was better than still trying to make the grade.
As she stepped toward the receptionist area, she saw one man sitting on a bench. Could already tell he was tall and fit, his dark hair immaculately groomed. He was dressed in a silvery-gray suit, and he wore it like it had been tailored directly on him.Rich guy.
Instinctively she didn’t like him. Something was slightly familiar about him, but she couldn’t place it. Something about money, something about the posh style, it grated on her. But then she was from the wrong side of the tracks. Born there, she had never found a way across to the other side. This guy looked like he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. As she approached, he stood and reached out a hand.
“Thank you for seeing me.”
She noted the faint French accent.Probably a Quebec transplant.Not a Vancouver native, like Kate was. She shook his hand, wearing the same professional air that had gotten her where she was, and said, “Let’s step into this room, where we can talk.” She then led him into an empty interview room nearby.
As he sat down on the far side of the table, she closed the door, dropped into her seat, pen in hand, facing her notepad, and asked, “What can I do for you?”
He just sat here, without saying a word.
She looked up at him, folded her hands in front of her, resting them on the pad of paper, and waited. She found that waiting often made even the guiltiest of suspects nervous. But not only wasn’t he nervous, it was almost like the waiting helped him to settle. She frowned.
“You are the one who came here,” she said gently, struggling for patience, when what she really wanted to do was get up and walk out. Files were stacked up on her desk; the backlog of work was never-ending, and she always had her private work that she kept secret, though she knew it really wasn’t. Only she was so damned busy that she hadn’t had a chance to look into that particular cold case. Keeping Timmy’s file on her desk was a constant reminder to not forget her brother. As if that would ever happen.
The man across from her finally spoke. “I’m probably just wasting your time.”
“Good to know,” she said. “In that case, we are done here because, sadly, I have no time to waste.” With the pad and pen in hand, she stood, opened the door, and motioned for him to leave. But he hadn’t moved. She looked at him and asked, “So which is it? Are you wasting my time or not?”
He leaned forward and said, “I guess I need to tell you, so you can figure it out.”
She cocked her head to the side, disappointed that she couldn’t return to her desk; still, he intrigued her. He wasn’t here because he wanted to be here, and she didn’t think much could force this man to do anything. Shutting the door with a little more force than necessary, she walked back over and sat down.
Now she waited again.
He grinned at her, a lightning-fast sexy smile that immediately had her back up. “Are you always this difficult to talk to?”
Her left eyebrow shot up. “How do you know I’m difficult to talk to?”
“Because you’re sitting there, trying really hard to not boot my ass off this chair and out of the station,” he said. “And I really appreciate that you’ve given me some time to work through this in my mind.”
She felt like a heel, but, from the look in his eyes, she knew he’d done it deliberately. She tossed down her pen, slouched in her chair, crossed her arms over her chest, and said, “Anytime.”
“I’m having nightmares.”
“We’re not shrinks. You know that, right?” she said in a droll voice.
“Great,” he said. “I’m trying to pour out my soul here, and you’re not helping any.”
“That’s because I’m not a shrink.”
“Ha, ha, ha,” he said. “I know perfectly well where I am. I’m at the police station, and I need to get something off my chest.”
Kate grabbed her pen, leaned forward, her gaze intent, as she studied him. “What did you do?”