The waitress didn’t like being yelled at from across the room. Ginny didn’t like it either. Dart felt like shit.
“So?” she asked, her patience wearing thin, the conversation running out of easy topics.
“I feel a little foolish asking this,” he admitted.
A patronizing grin.
He wished there were a way to start all over. This conversation, this relationship-everything.
“I need your help,” he told her.
This seemed a great relief to her. Perhaps she had feared another reconciliation attempt, the tears, the pain, the impossibility. She sampled the Scotch, smacked her lips, and set down the glass carefully onto the coaster.
“Professional?” She gloated. Her work had, in large part, been responsible for the demise of their relationship, and here was Dart on bended knee asking for her talents. The irony was not lost on either of them.
He nodded. Where was that vodka? “Yes. Information,” he said.
She waited him out. He didn’t like that.
“Insurance records. Medical insurance,” he said softly. “Do you have access to that?”
“You know better than that, Dartelli.”
Her job, which lacked a specific title but fell vaguely under computer programming, gave her access to everything to do with the major insurance companies, and what she didn’t have legally, she had anyway-at her probation hearing the judge had called her “a wizard.” The paper had called her “a hacker.” Dart had called her “Babe,” but usually only after making love, and certainly never around friends. Had she not repeatedly broken the law, he realized that they still might be together. Or was it that she was caught at it? Dart wondered. The department forbade an officer from consorting with a convicted felon, although they had once discussed how there were ways around such restrictions. He knew that even now she spent her evenings behind that screen invading networks, accessing files to which she had no legal right. With her it was an addiction-it rated right up there with sex. She was good at both.
She was the only person he knew that had been offered more jobs, more money, after being busted and placed on probation. The calls had flooded in. It was as if, by being caught, she had earned her degree. The FBI had been quoted saying, “She knows more about computers than Bill Gates.” It had ended up an endorsement of sorts. She was earning three or four times Dart’s paycheck. Fine with him if she paid. She got four weeks’ vacation and an expense account. He had heard that she was driving a Lexus. He wondered what the judge would think of that.
She asked, “What specifically do you need?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Well, that clarifies it.” One of her complaints with him had been what she perceived as his reluctance to state his position-she had called him wishy-washy, slippery, and dishonest. It brought back bad memories.
Bad idea, he thought for the second time.
“I’ve lost track of a possible witness-the girlfriend of our suicide, our jumper. She lived with him, we think. But we can’t pick up a paper trail-an address, a phone number. Insurance records were suggested as a way of tracking her down.” He paused, studying her. “And while you’re at it …,” he added, awaiting a grin from her, “I thought I might try the suicide too-see if he was facing a fatal disease, or something like that, some reason to explain the jump.”
“The almighty Bud Gorman let you down?” she sniped. Over the course of their relationship, Ginny had repeatedly offered to supply the financial information that Gorman provided Dart, but the detective had steadfastly refused because technically it fell under criminal activity. His willingness to break the law using Gorman but not her had been a perpetual sore spot.
He shrugged. “The guy’s name is David Stapleton. If we’ve got it right, his woman is called Priscilla Cole.” He passed her the names on a blank piece of notepaper.
She didn’t so much as glance at the names; her eyes were locked onto his. She held the gaze for an interminable amount of time. Without looking, she reached out, found the Scotch, and drained it. He refused to break eye contact; he could be as obstinate as she. He had spent years lost in those eyes. He felt a little drunk.
“I miss you,” she said softly. Was she making it up?
“Yeah,” he answered.
“It’s not serious … What I’m in now … It’s a filler, something to take up the time, warm up the nights, give the weekends meaning.” She reached for the drink again but realized it was empty. He felt like offering her his. “You could use someone,” she encouraged.
“That’s the thing,” Dart offered. “It would be using, I think.”
“That’s okay, as long as it’s clear.”
“No. Not for me it isn’t.”
Her eyes grew sad, but she never broke their eye contact.
“Want another?” she asked. He wasn’t sure what she meant-another chance, another drink? He nodded.
She raised her hand, flexed her wrist, and pointed at the table. She never took her eyes off him. Never confirmed that the order had been received. But the drinks arrived minutes later, and Dart thought how typical this was of her. In control. In command. He started feeling angry with her; he wasn’t sure where that came from.
He touched the notepaper again, breaking eye contact.
She scooped up the names, neatly folded the piece of paper, and slipped it into her shirt pocket, impatient with him.
“It’s true about missing you,” she told him.
“I don’t want you breaking any laws.” He wasn’t sure what to say, so he said this, and then wondered why. Of course he wanted her breaking laws.
“Heaven forbid,” she mocked. “It might reflect on you.”
More salt.
She picked up her glass-it seemed a familiar movement to her-and she said, “Let’s see how far I get.”
“Yeah … okay,” Dart said, not entirely sure if she were talking about insurance records, or their relationship. As much as he felt drawn to her, torn by their breakup, he understood that his tendency was to be attracted to women who needed him to save them. His relationship with his mother had established this, and he had continued it through several relationships and into the romance with Ginny. He had repeatedly rescued her when she had been busted for her computer hacking-there were times he felt it was his only purpose in the relationship. He knew he needed to break that cycle. If he were to go back with her, no matter how tempting, he’d simply start it all again-he felt clear on this. Even so, the heartstrings tugged.
When she swallowed, her throat moved sensuously. His visceral attraction pulled at him, despite his reasoning. But his reasoning won out, and not long after, she stood and left.
So, why, he wondered, drinking alone once again, did it hurt so deeply to see her go?
CHAPTER 7
Four days later, Dart found himself standing out on the sidewalk in front of the Jennings Road headquarters alongside a restless Ted Bragg. He could hear the sound of boat traffic out on the Connecticut River. The late August air was like a cocoon, smothering every living creature that ventured outside. Dart would have preferred to have remained inside with the less than exceptional air-conditioning, but Bragg had insisted they meet out here so that he could smoke. Dart toed the sidewalk restlessly, waiting for Bragg to say something. Patrol cars came and went.
“I ran the Ice Man stats into the animation software, like I said.”
“You said a week or two, Buzz,” Dart reminded, surprised at how quickly the man was getting back to him.