Chapter 9
Haven pulled in, and Marcus pulled in behind her. She was already out of her car by the time he killed the engine.
“Lou's,” he said, looking up at the sign.
Inside, a woman with gray hair and the attitude of someone who’d seen everything and been impressed by none of it pointed them at a corner booth without talking. Haven slid in like she'd done it a hundred times.
“You've been here before,” he said.
“I worked a case two blocks over for six weeks. I ate here almost every night. Connie knows my order.”
He looked at the menu anyway. It was laminated and had been wiped down so many times that the edges had gone soft. Meatloaf. Chicken and dumplings. Something called the Double Stack that didn't specify what was being stacked but implied confidence about it being the best. He put the menu down.
“What do you usually get?”
“Chicken and dumplings. Cornbread on the side. Veggie of the day is usually fresh and good.”
“I'll get that.”
She looked at him and frowned. “You didn't even read the menu.”
“I read enough.” He leaned back against the booth. “You've eaten here forty times. I'll take your word for it.” He’d done the math in his head. Six weeks, almost every day … forty times.
Connie materialized with two waters and a look that said she wasn't writing anything down because she didn't have to. “The usual?”
“Two,” Haven said.
Connie left.
Marcus watched her go, then looked at Haven.
Her hair was still in the braid, but she’d let it down from the bun it had been wound into at work.
Her hair had to be to the middle of her back.
He wondered what she looked like with it loose.
He blinked and literally shook his head.
Wrong time and wrong place for those thoughts.
He scrambled for safer ground. “How long have you been a cop?” he asked.
“Six years in robbery. Four years patrol before that.” She turned her water glass in a slow circle. “Ten total.”
“Nashville the whole time?”
She nodded. “Nashville the whole time. I grew up here. I know every street, which is useful. Also, I know everyone's business, which is less useful.” She looked at him. “What about you?”
“Arlington, Virginia, technically. Born there. My dad has worked for Guardian Security for over thirty years.”
“That'll do it.”
“Yeah.” He smiled a little. The honest kind that he saved for when he wasn’t on duty. “I watched him work a case when I was nine. He was sick with the flu, but he had everything spread out at the kitchen table. My poppa, on the other hand, was not thrilled. I was completely riveted.”
“Wait?” Her brow furrowed. “But you said …”
He chuckled. “My fathers. Dual.”
“Oh.” Haven got the idea. Her brow furrowed again.
“No, I’m not gay.”
She shot him a look. “Did I ask that?”
“No, but you probably thought it.”
She crossed her arms and lifted an eyebrow. “Please give me the decency of not assuming to know what I think. My concern was how they dealt with a same-sex marriage thirty-some-odd years ago.”
“I apologize, and for the record, they handled it about as well as anyone could.”
“Apology accepted. What kind of case did he bring home?”
“Child trafficking.” He paused. “They got the ring leader.”
“How?” She took a sip of water.
“He has a method. He'd strip everything back to zero. Start over.” Marcus chuckled. “He’s brilliant. Poppa says he can see case details without a microscope but misses anything that has to do with relationships.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“Oh, it’s great actually. They’re the most committed people I’ve ever met. The teasing is good-natured and never-ending in that house. It was a great way to grow up.”
“So, he was the reason you became a cop?”
“God, yeah. Since I can remember, Dad would ask me to describe what I’d seen. He’d ask me questions that were critical thinking exercises, but he made it fun. He never told you the answer. He just kept asking questions until you found it yourself.”
“Doesn’t that drive you insane?”
“Sometimes. Mostly, I'm grateful.” He looked at her. “You didn't grow up wanting to be a cop.”
It wasn't a question. She tilted her head slightly, asking, “How do you figure?”
“You said you became one. You didn't say you always wanted to be one.”
She considered that. “My college roommate was assaulted. Campus parking lot. They never caught the guy.” She spoke about it as a matter of fact. Clean. No waver. “I was pre-law. I switched tracks.”
“Robbery specifically?”
“Robbery fits me. I’m good at the financial puzzle of it. The pattern, the MO, tracking the money. Homicide wanted me twice. I said no twice.” She looked at him with humor in her eyes as she deadpanned, “Apparently, the universe had opinions about my career path.”
He laughed. Actually laughed. “Apparently.”
Connie set down two bowls of chicken and dumplings, large enough to be considered a trough.
The cornbread came in a small cast-iron skillet, and the green beans were fresh and crisp to the bite, covered in garlic and butter.
Neither of them said anything for a moment because there was nothing to say.
It smelled like someone's grandmother had made it.
Assuming your grandmother was gifted and generous, which he was fortunate enough to have.
Haven lifted her spoon.
“Your partner,” Marcus said. “Delvecchio.”
“Del.” She pointed at him with the spoon. “Whatever he told you, half of it’s accurate, and the other half is self-preservation.”
“He told me you were the best detective in the division and that he was going to develop an ulcer.”
She shrugged and then winced. “Keep forgetting about that rib, but he was right on both counts. He’s a by-the-numbers kind of guy.
” She ate. “He's good. He's careful. He's got a wife, two kids, and an appropriate sense of self-preservation, which I have never been accused of having.” She broke off a piece of cornbread. “He didn’t want to pull those incident reports for me.”
“But he did.”
“He did because he's a good partner. Even when he doesn't want to be.”
Marcus nodded. “I don't have one.”
“A partner?”
“Nope, not anymore.”
She looked at him over her water glass. “By choice or circumstance?”
“Choice, mostly. Guardian's structure doesn't require it on the domestic ops side.” He paused. “Also, I'm told I'm difficult to work with over extended periods.”
“Who told you that?”
“My last three partners.”
“Why would they say that?”
“It’s true,” he said without apparent distress. “I have high standards. I move fast, and I don't like explaining my reasoning to people who should already know it.”
“That's not being difficult,” she said. “That's just expecting people to keep up.”
“Their feedback suggested otherwise.” Marcus laughed. “My boss gave me the choice of trying another partner or working alone. I chose the solo route.”
“The feedback was wrong,” she said matter-of-factly. Like she was stating the weather. Then she looked sideways at him. “I've known you for a week. I already know for a fact they’re wrong. You’re driven. You’ve got a fire inside you. They have a job. You have a passion.”
Marcus didn’t know why the fact that she saw and understood him made him feel about ten feet tall and bulletproof, but it did.
They ate, and the diner moved around them.
Other tables held other people with other problems. Marcus did a double-take.
There was a guy at the counter reading an actual paper newspaper like it was 1987.
“The route,” Haven said.
Her words drew him back to the case, and he matched the shift without missing a beat.
“Still working the professional travel angle.
He's in these cities for a reason. He's not driving through.” He paused.
“He knows them. He knew the running trails, or he had time to learn them. The surveillance window on you was at least several days.” He watched her.
“He came back after the first attempt because he doesn't leave things unfinished.”
She lifted her water glass and mumbled, “Comforting.”
“He also failed.” He looked straight at her. “That's not nothing. No one else has gotten away.”
“Believe me, I know. I relive that moment a hundred times a day. Wondering why I didn’t go for my weapon sooner.
” She held up her hand. “I know I was fighting for my life, and I didn’t have time to do anything but react.
I understand that, but it doesn’t stop me from playing the what-if card.
If I’d arrested him, he wouldn’t be out there still killing women. ”
“No, that’s not true. He’d be out on bail.
Assault was the only charge you had. So your assumption is flawed, and your guilt is misplaced.
” He finished his last bite of chicken and dumplings.
She was quiet for a moment as she picked at her remaining cornbread.
“Not many people would understand the guilt.”
“Cops do.”
She nodded. “The good ones.”
“True.”
He reached for the salt at the same time as she did. He didn’t move his hand and neither did she. He lifted his eyes to hers and smiled at her. “Chemistry.”
A blush rose on her cheeks. “Yeah, there’s something there, it would seem.”
“I’m not upset about that.” He let her take the saltshaker.
“And I’m not upset that you're not upset.” She winked at him.
They sat quietly for a minute before she said, “The route bends northwest to southeast. It bends here to Nashville specifically.”
“Which means Nashville isn't just a stop along the corridor. It could be a destination.”
“Something brought him here.” She turned her water glass again. “Service calls, maybe. Medical equipment. Imaging centers all over that corridor.”
“On the list.” He paused. “Can I ask you something?”
“You can, but there’s no guarantee that I’ll answer it.”
“Today. Around lunchtime, again around two, and once right before we left.” He kept his voice level. “You were gone about thirty minutes each time. The custodian’s closet is down the hall and across from the conference room.”
She looked at him.
He waited.
She set her spoon down. “The headaches are still there. They're getting better.” She shrugged. “It's dark in there. Ten, twenty minutes flat on the floor, and they pass.”
“The floor.”
“The floor is cold. It helps.” She met his eyes without apology. “I'm functional and getting better.”
“I know you are. I'm not suggesting otherwise.” He meant it. “I just wanted to know if you needed anything. It matters to me, and not just because you’re on my team.”
She looked at him for a second like she was recalibrating something. Like that wasn't the answer she'd been prepared for. “No. I've got it managed.”
“Okay.” He picked up his cornbread. “The closet floor is a solid system.”
“It’s an excellent system. Delvecchio doesn't know about it. Mike doesn't know about it.” She looked at him. “Now, you know about it.”
“Huh …” He took a bite of his cornbread. “I don't know anything about it.”
“Good answer.”
They picked at their remaining food, waiting for Connie to bring them their ticket. The guy at the counter had moved on to the crossword. Connie slapped down a single ticket, which Marcus picked up. Outside, Gallatin Pike existed loudly and without apology.
“This was good,” Marcus said, meaning the food.
“Told you.”
“You did.” He looked at her and asked with no performance or speculation, “Here tomorrow? After the day?”
She looked back at him and nodded. “Yeah. That works.”
Then she picked up her cornbread and took a last bite.
He looked out the window at the parking lot and thought about cities and a man with pale eyes and a route that bent south for a reason. He'd find the reason. He always did.
But right now, there was a woman he truly liked and understood, which for him was a miracle. Most of the women he’d dated had hated his dedication to the job and his single-mindedness when working a case. It was the reason he didn’t date much. Meeting Haven had been … eye-opening.