She didn’t understand. She didn’t usually say such stupid things. The fact that he was the most attractive man she’d spent time with in far too long shouldn’t make any difference.
Well, not much anyway.
She was grateful that, when he finally spoke, he seemed to have put the awkward scene behind him.
“Where do you want to go? Luciano’s maybe? Or Sullivan’s?” he asked, naming a couple of popular restaurants on the Magnificent Mile.
“To tell you the truth, I’m dying for a Gold Coast Dog.”
He laughed. She let out a silent sigh of relief; he wasn’t mad. “That’s one I haven’t indulged in for at least a week.”
She widened her eyes. “You’ve gone a whole week? You poor man, we must remedy that immediately!”
“I appreciate that.”
“Drive on, James,” she said, so relieved that he wasn’t angry-or at least wasn’t showing it-that she was able to carry off the breezy tone.
He chuckled, and in moments they were heading toward Hubbard and the nearest Gold Coast Dog franchise.
When they had eaten enough of their hot dogs laden with onions, tomatoes and hot peppers to quiet growling stomachs, he took a long draw on his soda-caffeinated, he said, in anticipation of another long night-and leaned back.
“You think there’s really something there on that computer hard drive?”
“Just some space that I can’t account for. There’s data there, in some form. It may be nothing, old files that weren’t erased or overwritten, but…” She shrugged, not wanting to try and explain the suspicion that had so little basis in hard fact.
“But what?”
“It’s just a feeling. I know that’s not much to go on.”
To her surprise, he nodded. “Sometimes it’s all you have.”
She was used to the computer world, which had little room for things as ethereal as gut feelings. “No cracks about intuition versus hard data?”
“I never underestimate intuition because I don’t think it’s intuition at all.”
That caught her attention. “You don’t?”
“No. I think it’s more a finely honed perceptive ability that leads to valid deductions, but it goes through the middle steps so fast it seems like wild jumps.”
She’d never thought of it that way, but the explanation made sense to her. “You mean it’s like that sense you get just looking at some person, that they’re up to something?”
“Exactly. Maybe it’s only that they have a heavy coat on when it’s seventy degrees out, or that they’re carrying an umbrella when it hasn’t rained in days. Something you don’t really consciously think about, but it registers and you…wonder.” He took another sip of soda, then gestured at her with the paper cup. “Like your unaccounted for space.”
His assessment was so logical that it relieved her own uneasiness about the instincts that occasionally prodded her and that she couldn’t explain to her hard data-minded colleagues.
They finished and drove back to the station. Without discussion, Darien realized; she’d always intended to return to continue working on the computer, but she’d never said so. She decided she was pleased that he had made the assumption. It meant that he was taking her dedication to the work seriously, despite the others who seemed to think she was playing at this.
Hours later, her back aching from being hunched over the laptop’s small keyboard, she could have told them all how wrong they were. There was nothing about this that was anything like playing.
Chapter 5
C olin was exhausted. While his new partner had been hacking away at the victim’s computer, he’d done the rest without even taking a break on Saturday or Sunday. He’d fielded calls coming in, including one from District Attorney Evan Stone, who was well aware this case would be headed his way as soon as they made an arrest. He made interview calls following up on the initial canvas until 9:00 p.m. every day, knowing that after that he took the chance of really irritating the citizens he was asking for help. He’d taken repeated calls from both the district commander and the deputy superintendent of the Investigative Services Bureau. He assured them all possible progress was being made, and that he would personally contact them when there was anything to report.
After that he finished the reports from those calls and interviews, then reread the case reports Sutter and Benton had filed. He mentally crossed the maid off his suspect list when he’d learned she had had a gentleman caller herself the evening before the murder; no wonder she’d been a bit edgy.
He mentioned it to Wilson. She nodded, but didn’t look away from her screen. He tossed down his pen, closed the computer file, and sat for a moment rubbing at gritty eyes. Just another in the string of long nights.
He glanced over at his partner. He didn’t know how she did it, sat and stared for so long at a computer screen day after day. His eyes started to scream back at him after a few hours. But she was just as intent as she had been when she’d started, clearly with no thought of quitting. She had the drive, he had to admit that. And she’d made some good observations. Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as he’d feared.
At that moment she leaned back at last, arching her back in a slow, graceful move. She shoved one hand through her hair. He’d never thought of short hair as particularly sexy before, but he just might change his mind. The blond cap fell back in a tousle that looked as if she’d just run her fingers through it after getting out of bed.
Shock jolted through him as his body clenched. For a moment he refused to believe what he was feeling, but the rush of heat that followed, pooling low and deep inside him, made it impossible to deny.
Are you nuts? he asked himself. Isn’t it bad enough she’s the epitome of everything you’ve proven you can’t handle, a woman made for a marriage that would last a lifetime, with kids gathered round? Add the fact that she’s a colleague, and your partner to boot, and you’re not playing with fire, you’re tossing around napalm.
“Gotcha!”
He nearly jumped, wondering how on earth she’d guessed his reckless thoughts. It took him a moment to realize her exclamation was directed at the laptop she was working on. He stood up.
“Go-” He cleared his throat and tried again. “Got what?”
She looked up at him, satisfaction warming her blue eyes. “The files. I found the files. They were buried a bit, but they’re there, right where I thought.”
“Can you get them open?”
“I think so. I’ve got this program that’s designed to do just that.” She looked up at him again. “I’m going to have to do it on this machine, or risk corrupting the files trying to copy them. Is that going to be a problem, evidence wise?”
“Worth it, if it works. We’ll just have to log every step. Go for it.”
She nodded, then turned and pulled a jewel case out of her purse and removed a CD-ROM. She inserted the disk into the laptop’s drive.
“Hang on,” she said.
He waited while she opened a software program with what looked to him like a very rudimentary interface. He decided not to ask what it was or where she’d gotten it. After a moment she typed a series of commands, then leaned back and waited, her eyes fastened on the screen. Several minutes passed, during which she assured him the wait was not unusual.
Then the computer let out a high beep, the screen flashed and changed, and row after row of jumbled characters raced across and down the screen.
She let out a low, hissed breath.
“What is it?”
She sat back and rubbed at her face in obvious weariness. Then she looked at him.