Quintic (8 page)

“
She’ll be
fine. Let her sleep it off.” He held his smile as he noticed she
had mapped the phone keyboard with names and instructions. “Since
you’re playing the receptionist here, could you call the team in
for the meeting? I want them all in the conference room in five.”
He grinned. “Please.”

Since he had
not called
a meeting yesterday, the team
would be expecting one today. The mandatory Monday morning meeting
held on a Tuesday was unusual but not unheard of. The meeting could
occur tomorrow or the day after, or until he fucking chose to have
one. He liked to keep the team on their toes, and the meetings were
only one of the many ways he employed. The team’s training was a
continuous process, as was hers. He could have motioned the guys to
the conference room, but it was much more fun to watch her
work.

His
turn to park his butt on Bridget’s desk and
watched as she phoned the guys one by one, either on their cell or
their desk phone depending on where his men were standing. She used
the console’s preprogrammed buttons without making one mistake. She
smiled and looked straight at him during each call. A little more
and she would have pulled her tongue at him.
Point taken, Angel
.
The upcoming three days were going to be entertaining.

Ten minutes
later, a very relaxed team was sitting in the conference
room.

His
new sexy receptionist came to the door. “Is
anyone waiting for an urgent call? If not, I’m going to hold all
calls.”

“
Thank you,
Patricia,” LeRoy said, playing second-in-command.

Then
Hamilton stole Chris’s thunder by asking
her, “Hey, Pussycat, we need coffee here. Be a good girl,
and get some for everybody. And bring me a snack too.” Ham could
always be counted on to do the macho thing. Second
nature.

Patricia
stared at Ham, then at
him. He looked straight back without showing any reaction. Eyebrows
arched, she gave them that icy smile, the one that preceded her
snapping an insult. She took a sharp breath, but no invective came
out. She nodded curtly, and out the door she went.

Hamilton and
DesForges
howled in laughers, LeRoy
smiled, Shapiro made
tsk-tsk
sounds, disapproving and
smiling at the same time, Frankke did not react in any way, Reid
got up and slapped Hamilton in the back of the head angrily.
Typical reactions all around. As soon as she was out the door, Fred
had lost interest. The kid was playing with some computer gizmo, a
tablet this time. Time to get back in charge.

Chris had
them talking in turn about the cases they were working on. The guys
knew the drill, and thus, meetings ran smoothly. Each had cases,
old and new, of which they were in charge. During the period the
team referred to as the off-season, the couple of months when the
body count was lowest due to colder weather, seniors like Shapiro
and LeRoy worked six or seven cases at a time. Less experienced
officers like Reid and DesForges took on two or three max. The
other two, Frankke and Hamilton, had around four or five. Those
numbers might double or even triple during the murder
season.

During his
murder accusation, he had depleted t
he
quartet, thankfuckinggod, and he dispensed with the two leftover
quarts. Hell, they weren’t even in the precinct for he had them
doing research on cold cases at Central (his only goal was to keep
them out of his breathing space). It was either that or make the
two quarts disappeared (something Central should arrange as a
suck-up present instead of sending him on fucking business trips.
Jerks). As for the team’s two odd ducks, Fredrick and Patricia,
naturally, he did not assign them any current case. None, zilch,
nada.

Chris wanted
the team to learn from each case and had made it clear the guys had
to be on their death bed to be excused from the meeting. Having the
entire team up to date had the added benefit of making them more
flexible.

S
ince Chris rarely led cases
himself these days, he worked with all of his guys and followed
each case closely. He read every and all reports, transcripts,
interviews, entries and pieces of information put in the log file;
however seemingly unimportant the info, he still knew about. As a
result, Chris always had around twenty cases to overlook, twenty
cases in his head, twenty puzzles to jiggle. He liked. He found the
work kept him measured and focused. Controlled. Some might say cold
and hard, and so he was, most of the time. Some thought his family
had raised him that way, but he knew better; he was born that
way.

Half an hour
later, as they had gone through a third of the caseload, Patricia
strolled back, pushing a cart holding a large coffee pot and a
plate of donuts.

“
Sorry for
the interruption. Y
our coffee, as
requested.” She had on her professional smile, as Chris liked to
call it. Never a good sign. She wasn’t a bitch even on her worst
days, but when she put her mind to it, she was a queen. She put the
coffee pot on the table, the tray with milk, sugar, donuts and
napkins next to it, and added without looking at anybody,
“Enjoy.”

The
team
stared at the pot except for Chris,
Ham and Fred, who were staring at her, Chris trying to guess what
she was up to, Fredrick and Ham, merely admiring. As
usual.

Fredrick
slowed her exit with civilities. Who knew the kid had it in
him
? “Thanks for the coffee,” he drawled
without a trace of irony. “That is very thoughtful of you.”
Clueless kid.

Since she
smiled at the kid before leaving, Chris figured she had not
poisoned the coffee. But, no big surprise there, the java turned
out to be tepid and infect, worse than vending machine
coffee.
Childish, Princess,
but well-deserved
. Chris was glad he
drank his coffee black. From the sound the milk made when Ham
poured, or more accurately dropped some in his cup, the milk wasn’t
milk. As for the donuts, Des tried one, bravado surely, and put it
back after one bite.
Point
taken, Darling of mine
. Not that he was
above ordering coffee from her once again later. Macho Ham drank
his cup to the bottom, but he didn’t seem to enjoy it.

Meeting
done, everyone busied themselves returning phone calls and doing
paperwork. Patricia was slaving over the phones and doing research
and secretarial work for the guys: looking up phone numbers and
addresses, making appointments, sorting files and such.

Fred
disappeared for over half an hour only to return to Patricia’s
side
where he spent almost fifteen
minutes. It was a lot of talking for the kid even if he was
speaking to her. From his favourite observation post, his office
bay window, Chris had a good view of the homicide room, his guys at
their desks talking on the phones or tapping on their
computers.

He liked to
stand and pace when he was on the phone and observe his team. He
fucking loved his team. Talking on the phone wasn’t his thing,
especially when some big Brass was at the other end. Brass never
had anything real to say and took forever to say it, but he
listened patiently, standing watch at his window and eyeing his
team. Ogling her.

When
finally the kid left, it was Ham’s turn to
require her attention. She stood next to the guy’s desk, pointing
at the computer screen over Ham’s shoulder. With their backs to
him, Chris couldn’t see their faces, but he could read Ham’s
fucking body language easily enough. Ham’s infatuation was holding
steady. The guy’s body was leaning toward her, no doubt the jerk
was smelling her. Exactly like Fred had earlier. Fucking
shit.
I might have to do
something about it. About Ham.
Only when
she returned to Bridget’s desk did Chris notice she had a headset
on her head and a tablet in her hands. Damn Freddy had made her a
toy.

Between
calls and the guys taking
turns to visit his office to review their planning, Chris didn’t
get a chance to come out of his office all morning.

“
How about I
take you to lunch,
Patricia? I’m your new
boss, after all.”

“
Cute. But I
can’t. I have to stay by the phone. Why don’t you go with the
guys?”

“
They don’t
smell as sweet as you, Princess,” he whispered.

“
Officer
MacLaren, I’m trying to work here.”
So am I, Pussycat
.

U““

They went to the building’s
shitty cafeteria to get tasteless sandwiches. Separately.

The
afternoon started as busy as the morning. Fredrick showed up in his
office around two. At least once a week, Chris and Fred met to
discuss and prioritise, Chris doing most of the discussion and
prioritising, as the kid stood in the door frame, not quite in, not
quite out. Fred was gifted with computers, not so much with life
and the people in it. The process took over an hour. At intervals,
the phone rang, and while Chris took the call, Fred stayed waiting.
The kid didn’t seem to mind; he was good at waiting and
staring.

The kid
wasn’t listening in on his conversations
,
though, for Fredrick, as Chris noticed with amused annoyance, was
busy stealing peeks at Patricia. On the one occasion Patricia
caught Freddy looking, she waved with a smile, and the kid went
rigid. Fucking smitten.

She did have
a way with ge
eks, didn’t she? Experience.
Chris remained impassive listening to some Brass bullshit while
glaring at a kid ogling his girlfriend. Yes, he was a patient man,
he told himself. Yes, he trusted her. Absolutely. Despite her
acting and her damn pretending, she was very honest. Yes, she
excelled at omissions and half-truths, but she never lied about the
personal stuff. As for the kid, Chris trusted him too. In a way.
Too damn geeky, Fred was probably still a virgin.

“
I made a
phone system for Patricia,”
Fredrick
eventually remembered to inform him. “It is a gift for
Bridget.”

“
Yah right.”
Fred had set up the thing right after the meeting without clearing
it through him first. Hence, it might be a gift but clearly not for
Bridget. Not that Chris would have objected, they now could
receive, answer and transfer all calls with the pad and headset as
long as the equipment stayed close to the router.

She was a
fast learner, wasn’t she?
He studied her
through his window as she walked around answering calls, smiling,
chatting with the guys.

Chris sighed
and let Fred go
. After weeks of
tergiversation and delaying and making up excuses, she was finally
back at the office. Not sure if it was for the better or
worse.

PI Unlimited: The
Man

W
asn’t the man
lovely? Masculine and damn sexy. She had trouble thinking straight
around him. Maybe that was why she had agreed to this date? A date
she now somewhat anticipated. She hoped he would cancel or stand
her up. Frankly, she hoped not to see him again.

He had a way about him. Most
disturbing. She preferred jerks. Although preferred was not the
right word. Chose? She chose jerks because they were easier to
handle. Maybe he would turn out to be a jerk, and she would storm
out on him? Unfortunately, she did want to touch him. Perhaps she
could let him touch her before running out?

He smelled nice. How could such a jerk
smell this good? All male and damn sexy. She shouldn’t like the
man; she really shouldn’t. He was dangerous. Exciting, intriguing,
fascinating. Dangerous. All she wanted was a polite, sweet,
wholesome guy with a mom and pop, a college degree or a trade, a
white-picket fence around his front yard, and home-cooked meals. No
way was this guy ever going to have a white-picket fence around his
house, no way was he ever going to have a house to put the white
picket fence around.

She should have walked out instead of
listening to him talk. Smile. Laugh. Tell. Tease. The way he looked
at her disturbed her. She felt his gaze right down to her stomach.
Her thighs. Somewhere in-between.

“
I want to seduce you,” he had
announced from the start.

He was doing a damn good job. She
feared getting to know him would only make it more difficult and
yet, there she was, chatting with the enemy, and smiling, laughing,
confiding and teasing. She had decided to stay off of men but was
doing a lousy job at staying away from him.

She let him kiss her. OK, so he
didn’t exactly ask, but she could have pushed him away. She
should
have pushed him away. She
pretended to be angry. She
was
angry. And aroused. Angry because he aroused her. How she liked
the smell of him! How she liked the taste of him! She should never
have let him catch up with her. She could not,
would
not let it happen again.

Excerpt
from
PI
Unlimited
, by Trica C.
Line

O
fficer
Charles showed up around four. Chris had talked to the young cop a
couple of times since the motel murders. Keeping track of the
rookie’s first murder case was his good deed of the
month.