rolling down her window, Pescoli repeated Alvarez’s request and added a decaf latte for herself.
As the barista turned away, Alvarez asked, “What happened to black coffee?”
“I’m hungry this morning. Thought a latte would take care of it.”
“A decaf latte,” Alvarez reminded her. “Aren’t you the same woman who drinks yesterday’s Diet Coke when you find it in your Jeep’s cup holder and orders double or triple espresso shots if your morning gears aren’t revved?”
“Sometimes.”
“All times. ‘Coffee and a cigarette—a working woman’s breakfast,’ to quote you not so long ago.”
“A loooong time ago,” Pescoli disagreed as cash and cups were exchanged. “I’m jazzed enough today, okay?” She handed Alvarez her cup and placed her latte into the drink holder of the console.
Alvarez took an experimental sip. “Just wondered if you were feeling okay. Or coming down with something, considering that you lost your lunch.”
“Weird that, huh? Guess all the changes in the department have gotten to me.” Pescoli cringed inwardly, uncomfortable using Grayson’s death as an excuse. But it was true enough, and she wasn’t willing to admit to Alvarez just yet that she was pregnant. First, she told herself, I have to give Santana the news. She owed him that much. Then, when she felt the time was right, she’d explain it all to her partner.
But not now.
Though the snow was still coming down, it seemed lighter, the windshield wipers keeping up with the flakes. The interior of the Jeep smelled of coffee, the police band crackled.
“The department’s never going to be the same,” Pescoli observed, keeping emotion out of her voice with an effort as they drove past snow-crusted fields. “I mean, without Grayson.”
Alvarez sighed, frowning into her cup as she obviously struggled with a wave of grief. Then, as if she’d convinced herself that she had to face the inevitable, she took a deep breath and said, “We’ll all just have to adjust. It’ll be difficult, but that’s the way it is.”
“It sucks.”
“Amen.”
Pescoli drove onto a curving bridge, a semi heading in the opposite direction. “I was thinking about cutting back on my hours anyway and since we’ve got Grayson’s killer in custody, I’ll probably put in a request. See what happens.”
“Today?”
“Probably in the summer,” she said.
Alvarez was looking through the passenger window. She nodded as if she’d expected this conversation. “You sure that’s what you want?”
“My kids need me.”
“Okay, but they’re nearly grown.”
“Then there’s Santana.”
“You’re marrying him. Is that a reason to be semiretired? You’re not even forty, for God’s sake.”
“I’m not talking retirement. Just cutting back a little.”
“What’re you going to do? Take up knitting? Join a wine club? Try out new Crock-Pot recipes?”
“Give me a break.”
“Then what? Racquetball? Save mankind by joining some cause for world peace?”
Pescoli actually laughed. “Yeah, that’s it.”
“You’d miss it. Whether you know it or not, Pescoli, you live for this. Being a cop’s in your blood.”
“Now you sound like some B movie from the seventies.”
“I’m serious, damn it.”
“So that’s it? You think we’re destined to be together, riding in these Jeeps in the snow and ice, chasing bad guys, risking our lives and bowing to the likes of Hooper Blackwater?” She finally took a sip of her latte and scowled. “Jesus! People really drink this stuff?” The milky-sweet coffee hit her stomach and seemed to curdle. Dropping the cup back into its holder she added, “I don’t need working eighty hours plus some weeks in my life.”
Alvarez sent her a sharp look. “This is all about Blackwater and we both know it.” When Pescoli didn’t respond, she added tautly, “I don’t like the new sheriff either, but he’s what we’re stuck with. For now. You’re not the only one missing Dan
As the barista turned away, Alvarez asked, “What happened to black coffee?”
“I’m hungry this morning. Thought a latte would take care of it.”
“A decaf latte,” Alvarez reminded her. “Aren’t you the same woman who drinks yesterday’s Diet Coke when you find it in your Jeep’s cup holder and orders double or triple espresso shots if your morning gears aren’t revved?”
“Sometimes.”
“All times. ‘Coffee and a cigarette—a working woman’s breakfast,’ to quote you not so long ago.”
“A loooong time ago,” Pescoli disagreed as cash and cups were exchanged. “I’m jazzed enough today, okay?” She handed Alvarez her cup and placed her latte into the drink holder of the console.
Alvarez took an experimental sip. “Just wondered if you were feeling okay. Or coming down with something, considering that you lost your lunch.”
“Weird that, huh? Guess all the changes in the department have gotten to me.” Pescoli cringed inwardly, uncomfortable using Grayson’s death as an excuse. But it was true enough, and she wasn’t willing to admit to Alvarez just yet that she was pregnant. First, she told herself, I have to give Santana the news. She owed him that much. Then, when she felt the time was right, she’d explain it all to her partner.
But not now.
Though the snow was still coming down, it seemed lighter, the windshield wipers keeping up with the flakes. The interior of the Jeep smelled of coffee, the police band crackled.
“The department’s never going to be the same,” Pescoli observed, keeping emotion out of her voice with an effort as they drove past snow-crusted fields. “I mean, without Grayson.”
Alvarez sighed, frowning into her cup as she obviously struggled with a wave of grief. Then, as if she’d convinced herself that she had to face the inevitable, she took a deep breath and said, “We’ll all just have to adjust. It’ll be difficult, but that’s the way it is.”
“It sucks.”
“Amen.”
Pescoli drove onto a curving bridge, a semi heading in the opposite direction. “I was thinking about cutting back on my hours anyway and since we’ve got Grayson’s killer in custody, I’ll probably put in a request. See what happens.”
“Today?”
“Probably in the summer,” she said.
Alvarez was looking through the passenger window. She nodded as if she’d expected this conversation. “You sure that’s what you want?”
“My kids need me.”
“Okay, but they’re nearly grown.”
“Then there’s Santana.”
“You’re marrying him. Is that a reason to be semiretired? You’re not even forty, for God’s sake.”
“I’m not talking retirement. Just cutting back a little.”
“What’re you going to do? Take up knitting? Join a wine club? Try out new Crock-Pot recipes?”
“Give me a break.”
“Then what? Racquetball? Save mankind by joining some cause for world peace?”
Pescoli actually laughed. “Yeah, that’s it.”
“You’d miss it. Whether you know it or not, Pescoli, you live for this. Being a cop’s in your blood.”
“Now you sound like some B movie from the seventies.”
“I’m serious, damn it.”
“So that’s it? You think we’re destined to be together, riding in these Jeeps in the snow and ice, chasing bad guys, risking our lives and bowing to the likes of Hooper Blackwater?” She finally took a sip of her latte and scowled. “Jesus! People really drink this stuff?” The milky-sweet coffee hit her stomach and seemed to curdle. Dropping the cup back into its holder she added, “I don’t need working eighty hours plus some weeks in my life.”
Alvarez sent her a sharp look. “This is all about Blackwater and we both know it.” When Pescoli didn’t respond, she added tautly, “I don’t like the new sheriff either, but he’s what we’re stuck with. For now. You’re not the only one missing Dan
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