Page 4 of Remember Her Name

“What did Mrs. Bonitz say?” Josie asked innocently.

“You don’t give two shits what Mrs. Bonitz said.”

“Now that’s not true?—”

Turner thrust a finger in her face again. “Listen, sweetheart?—”

A slow grin spread across Josie’s face when he froze. She reached up and pushed his arm down. Then she held out a palm. “Come on, Turner.”

From her periphery she saw Drake arch a brow.

Shaking his head, Turner jammed his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket. “This is bullshit.”

“You agreed to this so hand it over. It’s only Monday. At this rate, by the end of the week I’ll have enough money to buy the entire department a round of drinks.”

Mumbling even more curses, Turner started searching his pants pockets instead. Finally, he came up with a crumpled dollar bill and deposited it into Josie’s hand.

“You could make an effort to look a little less smug,” he told her.

“Fuck that.” She did make an effort not to wrinkle her nose when she closed her fist around the dollar to find that it was damp. Stuffing it into the pocket of her khakis, she slugged down the rest of her latte.

Turner’s head swiveled toward Drake, giving him a slow appraisal. Both men were over six feet. Seeing them face to face, Josie would venture to guess they were exactly the same height. Turner said, “Who the hell is this? He looks like a Fed.”

Drake stroked his goatee and glanced over at Josie. “Does he always talk about people like they’re not standing right in front of him?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

Turner rolled his eyes and extended his hand to Drake. “Detective Kyle Turner.”

Drake accepted the offering. “Special Agent Drake Nally.”

“You are a Fed. I knew it. What are you doing here? Don’t tell me Mrs. Bonitz has a direct line to you, too. I don’t think we need the FBI to figure out which neighbor keeps putting their garbage in her cans.”

“He’s here for me,” Josie said.

One of Turner’s brows quirked. “Really? Does your husband know?”

Drake sidled over to Josie and slid an arm around her shoulders. Deadpan, he said, “I just told him. We’re going to fight to the death later to see who gets to stay.”

Josie could see the momentary confusion flash through Turner’s eyes. Then he returned Drake’s deadpan tone. “May the best man win.”

Josie sniffed the air. “You smell like piss.”

“Thanks to you, sweet—” He broke off and quickly corrected himself. “Quinn.”

“That still counts,” Josie said. “Half a ‘sweetheart’ is fifty cents.”

“I’ll put it in the jar at the stationhouse later,” he grumbled. “I gotta go home and change my pants. Let me know if any other old ladies need help with their chores.”

Drake released Josie as they watched Turner walk away, phone back in his hand. “Wow. He’s a ray of sunshine, isn’t he?”

Josie turned to face him, surprised at just how nervous she felt. A bead of sweat rolled down her spine. “Never mind him. What’s going on? Why all the secrecy?”

Drake took off his glasses and grinned. “Relax. It’s good news. I’m going to ask Trinity to marry me.”

Josie’s worry quickly transformed into excitement. She rocked up onto her toes and threw an arm around his neck, squeezing him in a half-hug. “Drake! That’s amazing!”

He patted her back. There was an edge of apprehension when he said, “She’ll say yes, won’t she?”

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