"I thought the public university system was convoluted," Victor said.
"Why don't you tell me about that?" she suggested. "Trust me, office politics are much more interesting than police procedure."
He draped his arm over the back of her bar stool. She could feel the heat from his body through her thin cotton blouse. "Humor me," he said, or at least that's what Faith heard. Her hearing had faded out as soon as he'd touched her-maybe it was the angels playing harps or the exploding fireworks. Maybe her drink was too strong or her heart was too lonely. With some effort, she made herself lean forward, taking a healthy swig from her glass.
Victor stroked her back with his thumb, either a playful, flirting gesture or a nudge to keep her talking. "What would an arrest entail?"
She took a deep breath before listing it out, "Handcuffing him, driving him to the station, fingerprinting, photos, taking away his belt, his shoestrings, his personal belongings, putting him in a cell with the dregs of society." She leaned her chin in her hand, thinking about Gabe Cohen being locked up with the drunks and the dealers. "That late in the day, he would probably spend the night in jail, then be taken over to the courthouse in the morning, where he would wait three or four hours for his bail hearing, then he would have to wait to be processed out, then wait some more for his trial." Faith took a heftier sip of her drink, then leaned back into his arm. "And from then on, every time he got a speeding ticket or an employer did a background check or even if a crime happened in his neighborhood and his name came up, he would be subjected to the kind of scrutiny that would make a proctologist blush."
Victor put his thumb to work again, and again she didn't know if it was blanket encouragement or a more intimate gesture. "You did him a favor today."
"I don't know," she admitted. "It seems like I just pawned him off on you."
"I'm glad you did. We had a student last year who overdosed on oxycodone. She lived off campus. No one found her for a while."
Faith could all too easily imagine what the scene had looked like. "In my experience, the ones who talk about it don't usually do it. The quiet ones, the ones who just close in on themselves, are the ones you have to worry about."
"Gabe wasn't being quiet."
"No, but maybe he was getting there." She took another drink so she wouldn't fidget with her hands. "You never know."
Victor told her, "Gabe's father took him to a private hospital."
"Good."
He loosened his tie some more. "What else happened today? How is your case going?"
"I've already dominated the conversation too much," she realized, feeling slightly embarrassed. "Tell me about your day."
"My days are tedious, trust me. I solve squabbles between students, I rubber-stamp requests for kids to build lofts in their dorms, take endless meetings on the same, and if I'm lucky enough, I get to deal with spoiled little jerks like Tommy Albertson."
"How fascinating. Tell me more."
He smiled at her teasing, but asked a serious question. "Do you think you'll be able to find that girl?"
"I think that…" She felt the darkness come back, the deepening pull of the abyss. "I think I like me better when I'm not wearing my badge, too."
"Fair enough," he said. "Tell me about Jeremy."
Faith wondered if that was really what this date was about- idle curiosity. "We're just another Reagan-era statistic."
"That sounds like a stock answer."
"It is," she conceded. There wasn't really a way to describe what had happened. In the course of a month, she had gone from singing Duran Duran songs into a hairbrush in front of her bathroom mirror to worrying about hemorrhoids and gestational diabetes.
Victor gently pressed, "Tell me how it was."
"I don't know. It was how you would think. Horrible. I kept it from my parents as long as I could and then it was too late to do anything about it."
"Are your parents religious?"
She gathered he was asking about abortion. "Very," she answered. "But they're also realists. My mom in particular wanted me to go to college, to have a family when I was ready, to have choices in my life. My dad had some qualms, but he would've supported any decision I made. Basically, they both left it up to me."
"So what happened?"
Faith gave him the truth. "It was too late for a legal abortion, but there was always adoption. I hate to admit it, but I was selfish and rebellious. I didn't think about how hard it would be or how it would impact everyone in my family. Everything my parents told me to do, I did the exact opposite, damn the consequences." She laughed, saying, "Which might explain how I got pregnant in the first place."
He was staring at her again with the same intensity that had sent a jolt through her the first time they had met. "You're beautiful when you laugh."
She blushed, which was just as well because her first inclination had been to throw herself at his feet. The effect he had on her was both exciting and humiliating, mostly because she had no idea how he felt in turn. Was he asking all of these questions out of idle curiosity? Or was he really interested in something deeper? She was far too inexperienced to figure this out on her own, and much too old to be bothering.
Faith had actually brought her purse with her, a concession to femininity when her earlier dressing debacle had ended with her wearing her extremely unsexy but moderately clean work outfit. She dug around in the bag to give herself something to do other than stare like a lost puppy into the fathomless, deep black of his beautiful eyes.
Kleenex, her wallet, her badge, an extra pair of hose, a pack of gum. She had no idea what she was supposed to be looking for as she rummaged around in the bag. The back of her hand brushed against what she thought was one of those annoying little perfume samples they give you at the mall, but turned out to be the plastic vial of gray powder that Will Trent had given her. She had thrown it into the bag at the last minute, not really thinking about it. Now, she felt nauseated as she held the vial in her hand, considered the implications behind the theft.
Victor asked, "Is something wrong?"
She forced out the question before logic had time to stop her. "Does Tech have someone who specializes in…" She didn't know what to call it. "Dirt?"
He chuckled. "We're ranked the seventh best public university in the country. We've got a whole dirt department."
"I need to ask you a favor," she began, but didn't know where to go from there.
"Anything you want."
She realized that this was her last chance to change her mind, that she could always make up an excuse, change the subject, and be the kind of straight-arrow cop that her mother had taught her to be.
Faith was a mother too, though. How would she feel if some cop out there was playing it so close to the rulebook that Jeremy's life was lost?
Victor motioned over the bartender. "Maybe another drink will help loosen your lips."
Faith put her hand over her glass, surprised that it was empty. "I'm driving."
He took her hand away, holding on to it. She could feel his other hand wrap around her waist. There was no mistaking his meaning now. "Tell me your favor." He stroked her fingers, and she felt the warmth of his skin, the firm caress of his thumb. "I'll make sure you get home safe."
CHAPTER TWELVE
ABIGAIL SAT ON the couch as she watched her mother fuss around the room, straightening pillows, opening curtains. Beatrice had flown fourteen grueling hours to get here, but her makeup was neatly applied and her hair was tightly swept into a bun. When Abigail was growing up, her mother's unflappability had annoyed her to no end. She'd spent years trying to shock her with tight jeans and garish makeup and inappropriate boyfriends. Now she could only be grateful for the normalness the older woman brought to the situation. Emma may have been missing for three days and Abigail may have killed a man, but the bed would still be made and fresh hand towels would still be put out in the bathroom.