am I supposed to get over losing the people
I love?”
Kimber shrugged and stroked her cat. “I don’t know.
Maybe you can’t. But you have to move forward. You haven’t done a single thing
since Sara died.”
“I have so.”
“Yeah?” Kimber raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Name
something.”
“I’m going to start my own business.”
“Oh yeah? When? I’ve been hearing about your ‘talent
agency’ since before Sara died. At the time, I thought you’d really go through
with it. I thought you could do anything. But I bet you’re no further on it now
than you were then. I bet you don’t even have a name picked out. It’s just
talk. All you’ve got is talk.”
Mr. Giggles pounced onto the kitchen table, sending
wet cat fur and Lori’s mail flying everywhere.
“I hate your cat.” Lori contemplating chucking the
little monster back outside.
Kimberley scowled. “Well, he hates you, too. Oh, and
what’s this?” She bent and picked up an envelope from the floor. “From
Playboy.” She ripped it open and unfolded the letterhead within. “Looks like
they want you to be a centerfold. Guess that’s how you know your career is
over.”
Lori snatched the letter from her hand. “That’s not
true.” She crumpled up the paper and threw it in the trash without reading it.
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Whatever.” Kimber scooped up her cat and kicked the
rest of the mail in Lori’s direction. “I’m going to watch TV.”
Steaming with frustration and injured pride, Lori
stared after Kimber’s retreating form. She gathered up the rest of her wet,
cat-scented mail. She dumped it all back onto the table before stalking out to
the living room. A little alone time might help. Maybe some retail therapy.
“I’m heading out!” Lori yelled at the empty hallway.
She grabbed her purse from the couch and stalked to the door.
“Where you going?” came Kimber’s bored voice.
“Everything’s closed but bars and strip joints.”
Far, far away. “Driving. Maybe off a nice, tall
bridge.”
Scuffling footsteps raced down the hall. Kimber
skated into the living room. “Let me find my shoes and I’ll go with you.” She
shrugged into a floor-length faux fur coat and kicked out a tennis shoe from
behind the recliner.
Lori shook her head. It wasn’t that cold, and
Kimber looked like a yeti.
“I’d rather be alone.”
A flash of hurt crumpled Kimber’s face and, just as
quickly, the look was gone.
“Fine.” She strode back down the hall, one shoe on,
fur coat floating behind her, head held high.
Lori considered calling her back with an apology and
a promise to hang out later, then changed her mind. With the mood she was in,
she’d only wedge the distance between them even further.
She couldn’t afford to lose anyone else.
CHAPTER THREE
Davis groaned when the
early-morning scent of a burning coffee pot wafted down the hall from the break
room.
Thank God he relied on tasty,
non-burnable Mountain Dew.
“Your buddy, the Detective
Sergeant, is totally out to get you,” Tonda Carver huffed as she plopped into
her chair.
“Why me?” Davis asked, not
expecting an answer. “You’re my partner. Shouldn’t he be after both of us
equally?”
Carver shrugged and fiddled with
a cough drop. “Don’t ask me. He’s a man. You’re a man. Ain’t a woman on this
earth who understands men.”
“Thanks.” Davis debated telling
her than men didn’t understand women either, but figured she already suspected
as much.
“All I know is, you better solve
this case and solve it fast. He’s under pressure due to the whole ‘high
profile’ aspect, and he’s making noises like the fall guy won’t be him.”
“Nice.” This wasn’t the first
time his superior officer breathed down his neck.
Carver sucked the orange-scented
lozenge into her mouth, distending her left cheek with its bulge. “Didn’t he
threaten to lateral you last year?”
Davis clenched his jaw.
The threat had nothing