Chapter 9
INVESTIGATOR TESSA LEONI regarded her reflection critically in the mirror. She was not a woman prone to overanalyzing her wardrobe. In the beginning of her career, the state of Massachusetts had been kind enough to take care of the matter for her—each and every shift she’d turned out in state police blues. After the incident, when she and the state had agreed it was mutually beneficial to part ways, she’d become a corporate security specialist. Which, best she could tell, involved trading in her dark blue uniform for navy-blue Ann Taylor suits. Maybe once you wore blue, there was no going back.
Tessa grimaced, did her best not to think about the obvious comparison. Such as once a cop, always a cop. Except, of course, she wasn’t.
All in all, she was doing well, she reminded herself. Her daughter was happy, at least as happy as a cautious, hard-eyed, constantly on-the-alert, recovering-from-trauma child could be. Mrs. Ennis, their former neighbor and now live-in font of all wisdom, was happy, not to mention cooking up a storm with a little help from cable TV.
And . . . And Wyatt.
Tessa hadn’t expected to date again. Let alone discover a man she respected, found attractive, and actually trusted. He accepted her, all of her, including a history that included allegedly shooting her own husband. Not just any man could do that.
And it’s not that Sophie truly hated him. At least, not any more than any other man.
Tessa sighed, returned her attention to her attire. Navy-blue suit. Sharply tailored jacket coupled with matching straight-legged slacks. She looked taller, leaner, tougher.
All good things when having lunch with Boston detective D. D. Warren.
Why was she doing this again?
Because it was her job and she was a professional and she could handle this.
Tessa’s stomach clenched. She felt nervous and resented the sensation. She and the good detective had a history. For starters, D.D. was the one who’d investigated the shooting death of Tessa’s husband. But the two women had managed to work together—kind of—to track a missing family a while back.
Whether D.D. appreciated it or not, Tessa had once worn the uniform. She remembered the isolation of being a female cop. And probably more than anyone, she could understand what D.D., with her recent injury, was going through now.
Hence, lunch.
Tessa finished fussing with the collar of her plain white shirt. She looked less like a corporate security consultant and more like a federal agent. But that was okay. She wore what she wore. She was who she was.
Tessa was not a woman who harbored illusions. There were good things in her life—Sophie, Mrs. Ennis, Wyatt and, hell, maybe one day a puppy. But there were also other things. Decisions made, actions taken, that could not be undone. She still bore the scars; she still suffered the nightmares.
And yes, she did wonder: Did a woman like her deserve to be happy?
She looked at her daughter, and she didn’t know how to want anything less.
Which meant for now, she would be a grown-up and take a wounded detective to lunch.
* * *
TESSA ARRIVED AT Legal Sea Foods in the Pru Center fifteen minutes early. She hoped to choose the table, preferably one in the corner, and set the stage.
Of course, she found D.D. already waiting. At a corner table. Back to the wall. She rose slightly when Tessa was led over by the hostess. The detective moved easily enough; Tessa had to look for the weakness to spot it, the way the detective held her left arm against her ribs a shade too tight.
They shook hands, professionals. D.D. was wearing her signature caramel-colored leather jacket, with wide-legged tan slacks and a deep teal–colored button-down shirt. Man’s shirt; Tessa would bet money on it. Further evidence the good detective wasn’t back to fully functional. But her short golden locks retained their usual level of wild curl. Woman still had some fight left in her, then.
Good, Tessa thought. She was looking forward to it.
“How’s Jack?” Tessa asked, taking the seat across from D.D., with her back to the room. Jack was D.D.’s young son. Two, three years old? Where did the time go?
“He’s going through a nursery rhyme stage. We read a lot of Mother Goose, sing lullabies. Sophie?” D.D. asked.
“Good. Into gymnastics, tae kwon do and target shooting.”
D.D. was regarding her with a faint smile. “I hear other rumors as well. You and the New Hampshire sergeant Wyatt Foster? Thought there was some chemistry during the Denbe case.”
“We’ve been dating six months.”
“Nice. Introduced him to Sophie yet?”
Tessa hesitated; she couldn’t help herself. D.D. arched an inquiring brow.
“We tried two outings,” Tessa confessed. “Mostly . . . she stared at him. You know, the way you and I might regard a serial killer or registered sex offender. She was never sassy or disrespectful . . . but I wouldn’t have blamed Wyatt for running for the hills. Sophie can be very intense.”
“They should build something together,” D.D. recommended. “Wyatt’s a carpenter, right? Maybe he can teach her how to make something. Sophie will suffer his presence for the sake of the power tools, and in the meantime, maybe some of Wyatt’s laid-back New Hampshire charm will work its magic. They’ll bond.”
“Pretty good for a woman with a little boy.”
“As a detective you have to be prepared for all kinds of evil. Even nine-year-old girls.”
D.D. picked up her menu. Tessa followed suit. The waitress came; they placed their orders. Shrimp for Tessa, clam chowder and baked cod for D.D. They both drank water. Then it was time to get down to business.
“Heard about your arm,” Tessa said, gesturing to D.D.’s stiff posture. The detective had recently suffered an on-the-job injury to her left arm. Rumor mill was it was serious and ongoing. As in she might never again be fit for duty. The department had a heart about such things. Most likely, the detective would be offered a desk. Except D.D., like Tessa, wasn’t a woman meant for sitting.
“Figured as much.” D.D. eyed her sharply. “Here to talk to me about my future employment opportunities?”
“Never hurts to know,” Tessa responded mildly. “And it must not hurt to listen, given that you agreed to lunch.”
D.D. gave a single-shouldered shrug, maybe not totally convinced, but not arguing either. “Do you like what you do?” she asked, clearly curious.
“More than I thought I would. For example, working the Denbe case . . . an entire family gone missing, racing against all odds to find them. You and I, we do best in situations that provide a challenge, as well as a sense of purpose.”
“Kind of an extreme case. Where you got a lot of help from the BPD, I might add.”
“You’d be amazed how many extreme cases exist in corporate America. You have money, egos, and world domination at stake. People can get a little nuts.”
“You like it.”
“I do. Which, I’ll be the first to say, surprised me. And to be honest, the hours are better. My daughter knows that nine times out of ten, I’m coming home for dinner. And watching her game on the weekend. And getting four weeks’ paid vacation a year, while earning a salary that lets us spend that time someplace sunny.”
“Now you’re just being mean.”
“It’s true. My job is superior to yours in every way.”
“Not every way.”
“Highly challenging, incredibly lucrative, and family friendly. Tell me what working for a corporate security firm can’t offer you.”
“Phil,” D.D. said simply. “And Neil. My squad mates. You’ve always been a lone wolf, Tessa. Whereas I’ve always loved my team.”
* * *
THEIR LUNCHES ARRIVED shortly. They made small talk, caught up on mutual acquaintances. Bobby Dodge, a state police detective, was doing well. Still married to Annabelle, now had three kids, just bought a fixer-upper out in the burbs. Big yard, D.D. reported. Kind of place perfect for a swimming pool, trampoline and summer barbecues. Oh, and they’d gotten a puppy, an Australian cattle dog. Most likely to herd the kids.
Around and around she and D.D. went, exchanged stories on people they knew, cases they’d worked. Until lunch was done, Tessa had charged it to her corporate card and they were back to the matter at hand.
“You’ll think about it?” Tessa said at last. “Maybe come in for a sit-down interview? Never hurts to know what’s out there.”
D.D. nodded. Her love of her team aside, if she couldn’t pass the fitness-for-duty test, she was done as a cop. Tessa was offering her a lifeline by even considering her for Northledge Investigations, and they both knew it.
“Speaking of dogs, state has a new development on an old case,” D.D. said as they rose to standing.
“Oh yeah?”
“Guy was out playing with his dog,” D.D. said, “tossing a stick for him in a nearby stream, when he happened to notice a small black handgun beneath the water. He turned it in to the police; the lab matched the pistol to the bullet used to kill John Stephen Purcell. You know, that hit man murdered three years ago.”
Tessa didn’t say anything.
“Just got me thinking,” D.D. said casually. “There are still a lot of unanswered questions from that night—”
“My daughter’s doing just fine,” Tessa interjected curtly.
“I don’t begrudge that. I don’t.” D.D. shook her head. “But, Tessa, you and I . . . You’re right. We’re meant to be doing things. Hell, we’re meant to be wearing badges. And the kind of people who wear the shield are supposed to uphold the system, honor the law. There are lines that shouldn’t be crossed. And you—”
D.D. broke off. What she suspected, she could never prove, and they both knew it. While Tessa remained silent, because what she had done she was never going to say, and they both knew it.
“I’m not trying to threaten you,” D.D. said at last.
“Then what are you trying to do?”
“Give you a heads-up. Rumor is, lab geeks recovered a print. No statute of limitations on homicide, right? Meaning if new evidence is recovered . . .”
She didn’t have to say the rest. Tessa understood.
D.D. stepped away from the table. “The Purcell case isn’t the BPD’s,” she remarked, as they headed through the restaurant, toward the front doors. “State assigned it to a new guy, Detective Rick Stein. Word on the street is he’s a supercop, the kind of guy who hates open cases and unanswered questions. I’m sure you’ll be hearing from him soon enough.”
“Fair enough,” Tessa said.
“You could come forward, volunteer information now,” the detective suggested.
Tessa merely shot her a look.
“You’re still a lone wolf, Tessa,” D.D. remarked softly, as they pushed through the doors.
“I never got to work with your squad mates,” Tessa answered.
D.D. merely smiled. “Thanks for lunch. I’ll think about it.”
They went their separate ways.