Page 512 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

She glances at Ashley, gnawing on her chicken leg. “It’s nothing.”

Oh. It’s that kind of case.

I turn to Ashley, our talker. She can fill all the gaps between us and she tells me a story about her day that involves something on the playground I probably should be paying attention to, but my gaze is on Eve. And the way she just keeps pounding those mashed potatoes.

Her deep sighs.

The catch of her lower lip between her teeth when she thinks I’m not looking.

Every once in a while, she looks up and feigns a smile.

Something terrible happened.

“Can I be excused?” Little Miss Manners asks and I nearly shoo her away.

Eve has reason to look worried the moment Ashley leaves.

“What is it, babe?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Eve—”

“No, it’s…” She sighs again and shakes her head. “It’s not good timing.”

I frown.

“Another teenager was gunned down today, in the Phillips neighborhood.”

Oh no. When she meets my eyes, I see compassion. Okay, so the timing sucks and the Somali brotherhood was getting bolder by the day. “How old?”

“Fourteen.”

I bite back a swear word because Eve has rules, but yeah, there’s a darkness that stirs inside me when a kid gets killed.

She runs her hands down her face. “That’s the third girl in three weeks.”

I knew that, but hearing it from Eve, the fatigue in her voice, sets a fire deep inside.

Come back, and let’s solve them together.

“Listen, Batman, you’re off watch. I can handle it.” Eve says as she gets up. “I’m going for a run. Make sure Ash doesn’t watch any television. I don’t want her seeing the news.”

I carry my plate to the sink, run water. Dots bead up around the temporary patch I made in the seal around the faucet.

Ashley is sprawled on the sofa, playing some pony video game so I head into my office and sit down at the computer. What kind of idiot promises his agent he’ll have something decent in five days?

I pull out the watch, still in my jeans and set it on the desk, then open the screen, and stare at the words.

Nothing.

Eve’s footfalls land on the stairs and I hear the front door opening.

“Be careful!” I say, but it closes before I finish. It’s daylight, the sun up for at least another hour. And, if I know Eve, she has her phone, her pepper spray and like I said, she grew up with brothers. She knows how to handle herself.

Still, I watch her through my window, her lithe body running down the sidewalk until she disappears from view. Turning back to the computer, my gaze falls on the file box, the lid askew.

Even if I can’t go back and solve the cases, maybe they can give me writing inspiration. Yeah, I know, but desperate men reach for desperate options.

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