Page 8 of The Broken Places

The thing was, shewantedto transfer to a smaller department where the crime rate wasn’t dialed up to eleven, day in and day out. She wanted to be able to take a full breath during her shift; she wanted to close her eyes and sleep all the way through the night. But she couldn’t. Shecouldn’tbecause doing so would feel like giving up in a way she would not allow. “I’ll take it under consideration,” she told Sam.

“Okay, good. How’s it riding with Penny so far?”

“Penny’s packing for Sacramento.”

Sam groaned. “God, how many is that who’ve left so far this year? They’ll be promoting someone new then, right?”

“If someone applies. In the meantime, I was partnered up with an FBI agent from a field office outside the city.”

“A fed? Why?”

“They’re interested in this slew of new cases involving a homemade drug. I’m not sure why.”

“Oh. Well, how do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’m not thrilled about any stranger tagging along after me. And I’m not sure about him. He’s hard to read.”

“Well, if anyone can figure him out, it’s you.”

Lennon let out a small grunt. But this was why she’d called Sam. She’d needed to hear a familiar, friendly voice, someone who knew how her brain worked.Someone who knows me well.“His position is temporary, so there’d be no point. Anyway, what are your plans for tomorrow? I hope someone is cooking that Thanksgiving turkey for you this year?”

“Iamthe Thanksgiving turkey this year.” Sam let out a groan that melted into a laugh.

“Stop. You do not resemble the shape of a turkey. A cute sweet potato, maybe. But not a turkey.”

Sam laughed. “Thanks. I’ll take it. But no, Tommy’s parents are hosting this year.” As Sam described a side dish she was making, Lennon’s gaze moved to the window of the station, where she could see a slip of gray sky. She had a brief out-of-body feeling, as though she should be the one talking about carpools and nesting and side dishes, and instead she’d woken up from a strange dream and found herself living someone else’s life. “You’re going to your folks’ house, I’m assuming?” Sam asked, bringing her back to the metal desk in the police department, where she’d drifted from for just a moment.

“Yeah.”

“Tell them we said hi. And hey, I’m sure it’s going to be just fine with this temporary agent.”

“It will. Call me with any baby updates.”

Lennon heard the smile in Sam’s voice when she said, “You’re one of the first on our list.”

The diner near the precinct, where Mars told her he was when she texted him, had several empty tables, the breakfast crowd dwindling now that it was midmorning. Lennon spotted him immediately. She supposed he was hard to miss. Tall and dark, with broad shoulders and that come-hither stare. She pressed her lips together, disturbed by the fact that she kept thinking of Mars’s visible attributes.Highly inappropriate, Gray.As it turned out, she was as much of a middle schooler as the rest of them.

She also couldn’t help noticing the way the server’s gaze hung on him as she passed by the table he was sitting at. Apparently, she wasn’t the only woman who noticed his physical appeal. Which, strangely, made her feel much better. Mars didn’t seem to notice the server’s heated glance, however, his attention focused solely on his plate of food as he carefully speared a piece of cantaloupe from the fruit cup next to his eggs.

She slid into the chair across from him, and he looked up. “You’re not very observant for an agent of the law,” she said.

He tilted his head and considered her.

“You didn’t even notice me come in the door until I was right in front of you.”

He slid the piece of fruit in his mouth and chewed for a moment, appearing to intensely consider what he was eating as though he might deem it unsatisfactory and spit it out. “I didn’t think I needed to be on high alert sitting in this diner eating my breakfast. And I did notice you.”

“So you say,” she mumbled. She had a feeling he was telling the truth, however. He’d noticed her enter. He just hadn’t reacted.

“Are you always on high alert?”

She sighed. “Not always, but probably too often. A hazard of the job.” And the fact that her nervous system was apparently hyperactive. The server stopped by and held up the coffee carafe in her hand inquestion. Lennon nodded and scooted her mug across the table so the server could more easily fill it. “Thanks,” she said as the young woman moved away.

“Well. Now that we’re going to be working together, do you have any questions for me?” she asked.

“What’s your opinion on mandarin oranges in a fruit cup?”

She ripped open a tiny cup of creamer and poured it into her coffee. “Generally speaking, mandarin oranges can work with the right combination of fruit. Unfortunately, there are far too many crimes committed on the fruit salad scene. Syrupy canned fruit isn’t the worst offense.”

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