assault.”
She gave a little smile, like we were talking about the weather or something equally mundane. “Well, weren’t you?”
“If I had been, I wouldn’t be here right now. I was never charged. Just questioned and cut loose.” I skipped over the night in jail.
“Oh.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Sorry about that. I was going by what the detective said.”
And she hadn’t bothered to check her facts. That wasn’t very professional for a reporter.
“So,” she said. “What can you tell me about the, ah, incident that lead to that arrest?”
The coffee was good, much better than my usual instant, but there was a harsh taste in my mouth when I took a drink. “Not a damn thing.”
“Wasn’t the victim your girlfriend?”
I was beginning to get used to the stabbing pain that twisted my gut every time I thought about Kelly and the rape. “I know her. And I spent some time over her place. But no, she’s not my girlfriend .”
“That’s not what I heard.” She smiled and gave me that look out of the side of her eyes. “A big handsome man like you? Why not?”
I felt heat rise in my face, and I wondered if I was blushing. Was she flirting with me?
I didn’t do flirting. Neither did Kelly. Why would this woman be interested in me? Despite what she said, I was pretty damn sure I wasn’t her idea of a “big handsome man.” She was trying to soften me up and confuse me, so I’d blurt out uncensored answers to her probing and possibly personal questions. Although I had to admit her method was infinitely more pleasing that Belkins’ and Montgomery’s interrogation routines, I was familiar with the basic techniques. I wondered if Montgomery had ever considered bringing in a sexy female cop as his partner to help him ask questions when he needed answers. Sure would beat an alcoholic, burnt-out cop with a quick hands and a quicker temper.
She raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. “I’m waiting…”
I took a swallow of coffee. “Kelly and I work together. Sometimes we spend time together outside of work.”
Licking her lips, Carissa asked, “Have sex?” I looked at her. She looked like a model in a magazine cosmetics ad. Or a movie star on a poster. Not somebody I could relate to. “Sometimes. But I don’t see that it’s really anyone else’s business. We’re both adults, and we’re both single.”
“But she’s been raped. You can’t tell me most men don’t have a rape fantasy.”
I bent the thin coffee stirrer as I considered. Where was this going? The Rothsburg Register wasn’t one of those supermarket tabloids that traded on sex and scandals, mostly made up. I pulled my legs back under my seat.
“I don’t know about most men. I don’t.” I swallowed the last of the coffee, put down the cup and started to slide out of the booth.
“Why are you leaving?” she pouted. “Didn’t you know that some women have fantasies of being raped?”
“No, I didn’t.” I got to my feet. My first instinct had been right. I didn’t like where she was headed, and I didn’t like where it was ending up. And I didn’t like that I’d let myself be manipulated.
The catchall expression, “ain’t right in the head” came to mind. Her, definitely. Me, possibly. I had to get out of there.
“I think you’re putting me on. You can’t be as naïve as all that.”
“You’d be surprised,” I said, heading for the door.
“Do you mind if I contact you again?” she called after me.
I didn’t answer that.
Too bad about the breakfast burritos.
Chapter 7
T HE N EXT M ORNING the bikers were waiting for me when I got off work.
About ten of them lined the street. The headlamps glistened off the asphalt which was wet from an early morning rain, and the engines of the choppers growled. As usual, I was one of the last of my shift to leave. The few stragglers just ahead of me glanced quickly toward the bikers, then away, and hurried to the parking lot.
Old Buckles sat on his
She gave a little smile, like we were talking about the weather or something equally mundane. “Well, weren’t you?”
“If I had been, I wouldn’t be here right now. I was never charged. Just questioned and cut loose.” I skipped over the night in jail.
“Oh.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Sorry about that. I was going by what the detective said.”
And she hadn’t bothered to check her facts. That wasn’t very professional for a reporter.
“So,” she said. “What can you tell me about the, ah, incident that lead to that arrest?”
The coffee was good, much better than my usual instant, but there was a harsh taste in my mouth when I took a drink. “Not a damn thing.”
“Wasn’t the victim your girlfriend?”
I was beginning to get used to the stabbing pain that twisted my gut every time I thought about Kelly and the rape. “I know her. And I spent some time over her place. But no, she’s not my girlfriend .”
“That’s not what I heard.” She smiled and gave me that look out of the side of her eyes. “A big handsome man like you? Why not?”
I felt heat rise in my face, and I wondered if I was blushing. Was she flirting with me?
I didn’t do flirting. Neither did Kelly. Why would this woman be interested in me? Despite what she said, I was pretty damn sure I wasn’t her idea of a “big handsome man.” She was trying to soften me up and confuse me, so I’d blurt out uncensored answers to her probing and possibly personal questions. Although I had to admit her method was infinitely more pleasing that Belkins’ and Montgomery’s interrogation routines, I was familiar with the basic techniques. I wondered if Montgomery had ever considered bringing in a sexy female cop as his partner to help him ask questions when he needed answers. Sure would beat an alcoholic, burnt-out cop with a quick hands and a quicker temper.
She raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. “I’m waiting…”
I took a swallow of coffee. “Kelly and I work together. Sometimes we spend time together outside of work.”
Licking her lips, Carissa asked, “Have sex?” I looked at her. She looked like a model in a magazine cosmetics ad. Or a movie star on a poster. Not somebody I could relate to. “Sometimes. But I don’t see that it’s really anyone else’s business. We’re both adults, and we’re both single.”
“But she’s been raped. You can’t tell me most men don’t have a rape fantasy.”
I bent the thin coffee stirrer as I considered. Where was this going? The Rothsburg Register wasn’t one of those supermarket tabloids that traded on sex and scandals, mostly made up. I pulled my legs back under my seat.
“I don’t know about most men. I don’t.” I swallowed the last of the coffee, put down the cup and started to slide out of the booth.
“Why are you leaving?” she pouted. “Didn’t you know that some women have fantasies of being raped?”
“No, I didn’t.” I got to my feet. My first instinct had been right. I didn’t like where she was headed, and I didn’t like where it was ending up. And I didn’t like that I’d let myself be manipulated.
The catchall expression, “ain’t right in the head” came to mind. Her, definitely. Me, possibly. I had to get out of there.
“I think you’re putting me on. You can’t be as naïve as all that.”
“You’d be surprised,” I said, heading for the door.
“Do you mind if I contact you again?” she called after me.
I didn’t answer that.
Too bad about the breakfast burritos.
Chapter 7
T HE N EXT M ORNING the bikers were waiting for me when I got off work.
About ten of them lined the street. The headlamps glistened off the asphalt which was wet from an early morning rain, and the engines of the choppers growled. As usual, I was one of the last of my shift to leave. The few stragglers just ahead of me glanced quickly toward the bikers, then away, and hurried to the parking lot.
Old Buckles sat on his
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