fortifying breath, feeling better, but then I noticed the bruise on his left temple. I winced against my will. “Tell me what happened.”
“Go home, McMullen,” he said. “This isn’t your problem.”
“Not my problem? Are you kidding me?” The emotions were pouring in again though I tried to keep them wrangled up. “You’re rotting in here while—”
“Take it easy.”
I drew a deep breath, trying to do just that. “While the real perpetrator goes free.” I leaned forward, employing my very best self-control. “Who was it, Rivera? Another cop?
Was it someone you know?”
He jerked forward, all semblance of congeniality gone. “Don’t do this.”
“I can help,” I said. My brain was storming through a half-dozen other cases in which I had been involved. “Let me help. I know you didn’t—”
“I fucked her!”
I blinked. “What?”
“The woman you saw me with. It wasn’t the first time.” I sat absolutely still, mouth agape.
“I’ve known her for years.”
I could feel my heart beating a slow dirge in my chest, could feel the air passing into and out of my lungs. The world spun slowly on its axis.
Maybe I was vaguely aware of the fact that Rivera rose and left. And eventually, I’m pretty sure, I did, too.
“Mac?” Laney’s voice rang through the house as she slammed the front door. I intended to answer, but I had just thrust my head into the refrigerator for the eighty-ninth time that evening. “Mac!” There was already worry in her tone and fear in her eyes as she charged into the kitchen.
“What?” I sounded unsteady even to myself as I straightened from the bowels of the fridge.
She stopped in the doorway, brows furrowed then rising. “Have you been drinking?”
“Drinking? No,” I said and stumbled toward the kitchen table. Atop its modest expanse was a gallon-sized Häagen Dazs tub, a crushed bag of chocolate chips and four empty cartons of Chinese leftovers.
“Oh, no. Mac, tell me you didn’t eat all that.”
“Me? No.” I made a generous swipe in the general direction of the detritus on the table. “Don’t be ridiculous. The ice cream was already half-gone.” She lifted the empty bucket, then set it gingerly aside. I had licked the rim. “What happened?”
I would have answered immediately, but I was busy shoving potato chips into my mouth while simultaneously searching the cupboards. “Have you seen the salsa? I thought I bought—”
“Mac!” she said. Grabbing my arm, she pulled me over to the table and nudged me none too gently into the nearest chair. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m celebrating.”
“With potato chips and salsa?”
“Potatoes in honor of my Irish antecedents. And salsa in deference to Lieutenant Jack Rivera.” I made a saluting motion with my right hand, which still held a soggy trio of chips.
She blanched. “You went to see him?”
“I did.”
The room filled with quiet. My eyes filled with tears. I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. “Hot sauce always makes my eyes water,” I said.
Apparently the lie wasn’t even good enough to be offensive. Possibly because I hadn't located the hot sauce yet. She ignored my ludicrous explanation.
“He told you he slept with her,” she said. Her tone was flat and sure. I wasn’t even a little surprised at her knowledge.
“Yeah, he did.” I grinned, then shoved the three chips into my mouth and washed them down with a swig of milk. Beer would have probably been a more appropriate option, but I hate beer.
“Well…” She watched my face like another might study a hungry cougar, sensitive to any change. “I guess he’s on his own then, huh?”
“Damn straight.” I shoved in another couple of chips. “He can become Bubba’s bitch for all I care.”
“Bubba’s…” She gave me an uncertain look. “Oh, because he’ll go to prison.”
“That’s right.”
“And you don’t care.”
“I’d have to be an idiot,” I said, and filled
“Go home, McMullen,” he said. “This isn’t your problem.”
“Not my problem? Are you kidding me?” The emotions were pouring in again though I tried to keep them wrangled up. “You’re rotting in here while—”
“Take it easy.”
I drew a deep breath, trying to do just that. “While the real perpetrator goes free.” I leaned forward, employing my very best self-control. “Who was it, Rivera? Another cop?
Was it someone you know?”
He jerked forward, all semblance of congeniality gone. “Don’t do this.”
“I can help,” I said. My brain was storming through a half-dozen other cases in which I had been involved. “Let me help. I know you didn’t—”
“I fucked her!”
I blinked. “What?”
“The woman you saw me with. It wasn’t the first time.” I sat absolutely still, mouth agape.
“I’ve known her for years.”
I could feel my heart beating a slow dirge in my chest, could feel the air passing into and out of my lungs. The world spun slowly on its axis.
Maybe I was vaguely aware of the fact that Rivera rose and left. And eventually, I’m pretty sure, I did, too.
“Mac?” Laney’s voice rang through the house as she slammed the front door. I intended to answer, but I had just thrust my head into the refrigerator for the eighty-ninth time that evening. “Mac!” There was already worry in her tone and fear in her eyes as she charged into the kitchen.
“What?” I sounded unsteady even to myself as I straightened from the bowels of the fridge.
She stopped in the doorway, brows furrowed then rising. “Have you been drinking?”
“Drinking? No,” I said and stumbled toward the kitchen table. Atop its modest expanse was a gallon-sized Häagen Dazs tub, a crushed bag of chocolate chips and four empty cartons of Chinese leftovers.
“Oh, no. Mac, tell me you didn’t eat all that.”
“Me? No.” I made a generous swipe in the general direction of the detritus on the table. “Don’t be ridiculous. The ice cream was already half-gone.” She lifted the empty bucket, then set it gingerly aside. I had licked the rim. “What happened?”
I would have answered immediately, but I was busy shoving potato chips into my mouth while simultaneously searching the cupboards. “Have you seen the salsa? I thought I bought—”
“Mac!” she said. Grabbing my arm, she pulled me over to the table and nudged me none too gently into the nearest chair. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m celebrating.”
“With potato chips and salsa?”
“Potatoes in honor of my Irish antecedents. And salsa in deference to Lieutenant Jack Rivera.” I made a saluting motion with my right hand, which still held a soggy trio of chips.
She blanched. “You went to see him?”
“I did.”
The room filled with quiet. My eyes filled with tears. I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. “Hot sauce always makes my eyes water,” I said.
Apparently the lie wasn’t even good enough to be offensive. Possibly because I hadn't located the hot sauce yet. She ignored my ludicrous explanation.
“He told you he slept with her,” she said. Her tone was flat and sure. I wasn’t even a little surprised at her knowledge.
“Yeah, he did.” I grinned, then shoved the three chips into my mouth and washed them down with a swig of milk. Beer would have probably been a more appropriate option, but I hate beer.
“Well…” She watched my face like another might study a hungry cougar, sensitive to any change. “I guess he’s on his own then, huh?”
“Damn straight.” I shoved in another couple of chips. “He can become Bubba’s bitch for all I care.”
“Bubba’s…” She gave me an uncertain look. “Oh, because he’ll go to prison.”
“That’s right.”
“And you don’t care.”
“I’d have to be an idiot,” I said, and filled
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