Page 2 of Merrick

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“You are going to have to learn. Finish your report and get the hell out of here.”

He watched as she uncoiled herself from the chair, face carefully bland. “Sir.”

“Detective?” His voice stopped her at the door. “Good work.”

A nod was her only acknowledgement, but he suspected that she was steaming and not pleased with his order. Tough, he thought wryly as he pulled the folder towards him. Margo Sullivan was one of his best, but she was also the worst when it came to taking personal time.

Last year this time, he had to threaten to suspend her if she did not take some holiday days. She had gone down with the bug that was going around and instead of staying home, had crawled in, looking like death. And she had refused to go to the doctor’s. He had personally driven her there and sat until she was seen to.

Getting her to take the prescribed meds had been another warfare. The woman was a pain in the ass, but a damn fine cop. She carried the weight of the underdog and the helpless and oppressed with her, which made her exceptionally good at her job.

Shaking his head, he realized he was going to have to see for himself that she left the building before end of shift.

*****

“Don’t talk to me.”

“He asked and I could not lie!” Detective Michaelson wedged his foot inside the door before she could slam it in his face.

“I have work. Get the hell out.”

“Come on, Sullivan.” Instead of doing what he was told, he sat on her ratty chair and crossed his legs at the ankles. “You just finished a major bust. You should be out celebrating.

Getting laid…,” he grinned when she glared at him as she went to get coffee from her pot. “How about offering me…,” he held up a hand as she simply went back to her desk and gave him a cool look.

“Okay, fine. I am just looking out for you.”

“Who asked you to?”

“You sustained serious injuries…”

“I’m still standing, aren’t I?” She grouched but felt the heat cooling. She could not stay angry with him. Brad Michaelson was a friend, and she knew he genuinely cared about her. At one point - early in their careers, they had hooked up, but she decided that it was better to keep things platonic, much to his disappointment. “What do you want?”

He grinned, picking up on her change of mood.

“Just wanted to offer my personal congrats and invite you out for beer later. Just the two of us…,” he held up a hand when she started to decline. “I have something I want to discuss with you.”

She eyed him over the rim of her cup. “It better not be a ploy to get into my pants.”

“As if I could,” he murmured lightly. “I happen to have my pride, and you’ve turned me down enough times for it to take a beating.”

“Okay. Get lost so I can finish up my paperwork. We both know that the commander is going to present himself inside my office an hour from now to make sure I am gone.” The resentment was back and made Michael grin.

“You know, Sullivan. You are the only cop I know who does not like to take personal time. The rest of us humans cannot wait to get out of here and hunker down over a beer and watch the games.”

“Crime never takes a day off.”

He rose lithely, passing a hand over his well-cut slate gray jacket. His light blue eyes twinkled as he stared at her. She was fifty-two years old and looked twenty years younger. Her thick dark hair had threads of gray running through the strands and she never once thought of getting rid of them.

Her face was unlined, her complexion flawless and smooth. He knew from the brief fling they had and the fact that they usually paired up in the boxing ring, that she was tough and competitive and not an easy mark. Quite a few felons had learned that the hard way.

“We should use that as a slogan.”

“Bite me.”

“I would, but I’m afraid of getting my teeth kicked in. See you at seven.”

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