The elevator bounced to a stop and the doors slid open.
Abby Lang stood facing him. Dart stepped out into the hall feeling vulnerable.
For a brief second, Dart felt caught off guard-his complaint waiting on his lips. He told her triumphantly, “Kowalski investigated Stapleton in a meth case.”
When she spoke, tension strangled her words. “A patrolman came by the office. They know there’s an extra cleaner in the building. He headed down the stairs. Told me they would work room by room, both floors. He’s young. New to the force. Bored, probably. Taking it very seriously,” she said. “Did you sign in?” she asked anxiously. During the night shift, all officers, regardless of rank, had to sign in and sign out; the desk sergeant tracked who was there.
“I used the back door,” he informed her. “And I didn’t call down.” He added, “There are worse offenses.” There would be no official record of his having entered the building. To him it was a minor offense, but the more he thought about it, one that might be associated with the imposter cleaner and end up a nightmare. The more he considered it, the worse it looked.
“Not good,” he admitted.
“We can try the stairs,” she suggested wearily, knowing it was a bust.
“The first thing we do is distance you from me,” he announced. “You use the stairs. I’ll figure something out.”
“No,” she objected. “I’m part of this.”
“You’re not.”
“I am.”
The elevator doors closed, indicating that it had been called.
Dart tried to think of any way out other than the elevator or stairs. It was a fairly large building, though only two stories. And in a room-to-room search he’d be trapped.
He thought about walking down the hall, around the corner, and into CAPers, but there would be a skeleton crew there who knew that this wasn’t his shift.
“What about the crib?” she asked.
Windowless, a glorified closet used for poker games and quick naps, the crib had been converted from unused storage space. If empty at the moment, Dart realized that he might be able to feign sleep there without raising too much suspicion-although questions would still be asked.
“I’m official,” Abby reminded. She had signed in properly. “I have every right to be in this building. Stay here.” Dart watched her as she hurried down the hall, passed Narco, and threw open the door to the crib. She reached in and turned on the light.
“Clear,” she hissed down the hall at him.
Dart ran to catch up, and as he did a thought occurred to him-a way to avoid the questions-though the likelihood of her going along with it was slim.
They stepped inside and he shut the door and locked it. They were both breathing hard.
“Now what?” she asked. “A game of cards, I suppose?” she asked sarcastically, “at one-thirty in the morning? Oh Christ!”
“Take off your clothes,” Dart advised her, already working down his own shirt buttons.
“Yeah, right,” she snapped.
“Now!” he said strongly as he continued undressing. He glanced over at the sad excuse of a couch, and Abby Lang blushed, understanding him.
“Oh, shit,” she said.
“It’ll work,” he told her.
“Oh, shit,” she repeated.
He threw his shirt onto the back of a chair and unfastened his belt and unzipped his pants, adding, “But only with both of us.”
She hesitated, looking once to Dart, and then again at the sagging couch. Her fingers reluctantly found the buttons to her blouse and she began to undress herself. As her blouse hung open she suddenly moved more quickly. “I have to tell you,” she said apologetically, “that I’m not real comfortable with my body.” She mumbled something about having had children and being forty-six, and it was the first time that Dart knew her age.
“I would have guessed mid-to-late thirties,” Dart reported honestly, sitting down to pull off his socks.
“No, no, no,” she set straight, clearly uncomfortable with which piece of clothing to remove first. Her blouse hung open and her jeans were unbuttoned and unzipped. “How about the lights?” she asked, sitting down on the edge of the couch and waiting.
Dart tossed her one of the two blankets folded on the shelf. She caught it. He turned off the light and banged a shin coming over toward the sound of her jeans rubbing her skin as she slipped out of them.
A young patrolman would not pursue identifying two detectives sexually engaged in the crib. He would switch on the light, apologize, shut the door, and go tell stories. It might just work, he thought. It also occurred to him that it might get them both suspended, and he felt awful about that.
Sitting down on the couch, his shin throbbing, Dart felt embarrassed.
He heard the unmistakable snap of her bra coming off, and she whispered, “Underwear?”
“Let’s leave it on.” His skin prickled with heat.
“Agreed!” she replied.
“Sorry about this,” he said, groping in the dark for her.
They hugged awkwardly, clumsily, and lay down together. She pulled the blanket over them. “How weird,” she said. But then she wrapped her arms around him strongly and held to him tightly, and said, “This is not a pass, Joe. I’m frightened.”
“You didn’t need to-”
“Sh!” She held him more tightly. “A little late at this point.”
As if to punish himself, Dart suddenly became aroused. He wanted to say something, to make some excuse, to apologize, but he said nothing, attempting to move away from her instead but finding the couch too narrow.
Abby said, “This definitely goes into the books as the strangest first date.” She chuckled; Dart laughed, and then they shushed each other, which only served to make them laugh all the harder. Their chests bounced together with the nervous laughter and it fed on itself until it was uncontrollable. Trying to suppress it only made it worse.
Rubbing herself against his erection, still laughing, she said, “Maybe someday we can make the most of that.”
“I’ve got one for you,” she added, the both of them tight with laughter. “What if they give up the search?”
Dart buried his face into her shoulder and muffled his laughter. “We could be here all night,” he said. He felt her nodding along with him.
When she placed her open hand on his head and held him to her skin, their laughter stopped, running down like a windup clock. The mood changed in this instant. Dart felt his arousal even more substantial. She stroked his back.
“Abby?” he said.
“I know,” she answered in a whisper, while her hands kept petting him. “No harm in hugging, is there?”
And so they hugged each other intimately, warmly, affectionately-the kind of hug that can take the place of breathing, he thought. It can take the place of food, and confuse time, and stop all thought.
“Maybe they won’t come,” she said, kissing his cheek and moving toward his lips. All humor associated with that thought had passed.
He kissed her, tentatively at first, and then with the passion that consumed him. She returned the kiss, parting her lips and opening her mouth to him.
When the door opened a few minutes later, Dart failed to look up. He had planned to say Get the fuck out of here, because he enjoyed the irony of the statement. But he just kept kissing her instead, oblivious to the intrusion.
The voice of the young cop said hastily, “Sorry, sir,” and the door bumped shut.
Abby Lang began to laugh. She held Dart close and whispered, “I’d forgotten all about that.”
“Yeah, me too,” said Joe Dart.
CHAPTER 10
Knowing what had to be done, and doing it, were two different things, especially given the consequences: death. Contemplating another man’s death was a power all its own. As much as this man wanted to believe otherwise, to ignore the palpable high coursing in his veins was nearly impossible. Tonight, his was the power of God, there was no denying it. He felt drawn toward intoxication, but he resisted this. He felt like humming, and so he did, though out of tune-he had never held a tune in his life.