Page 50 of Sinful Seduction
I glance her way. “Hmm?”
“Molly’s dad. Maybe he’s good at hiding his feelings, maybe he’s playing me.” She shrugs and looks up at the numbers above the doors. “We’re all thinking it, aren’t we? That maybe he wanted Ben out of her life, so he bought a gun and took care of things.”
“I mean…” I lift my chin and straighten my spine, so when the doors open on our floor, I emerge as the chief medical examiner. Formidable, unflappable, and definitely not limping. “Maybe he suspected Ben was dealing, too. Maybe he didn’t want her messed up in this stuff, so he offed the kid. It’s reasonable, and he lacks a credible alibi.”
“Exactly.” She follows me toward my office, with glass walls and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. “I think it’s an intelligent first question to ask. Daddy is protective, and he comes from a life where he not only knew those types, but he was one of those types.”
“He’s not a typical suit hanging out in a cushy office.” I push my door open and stride in, knowing my time is limited. Soon, my staff will know I’m here, and once they do…noise. So much noise. “He’s successful and comfortable now, but by his own admission, he knows that world, he knows those streets, and he’s done some of the same things Ben has done. If Archer and Fletcher hadn’t considered it yet, they wouldn’t be the detectives we know them to be.”
“Agreed.” She shadows me all the way to my desk, but while I keep going to the other side, pulling out my chair and tapping the button on my computer to power it up, she slumps onto my visitor chair with an unladylike harrumph. “So I touched him.” She lifts her hands, like I don’t know what she means. “I grabbed him and tried to… ya know.” She drops them again. “I tried to see. Either he’s good at hiding his truths, or he didn’t hurt Ben. And if he didn’t, then that brings us right back around to the start. Probably a supplier wanting payment. Or a user, or the family member of a user. Or it could have been any number of people who live by a different set of rules on the streets. Maybe he sneered at someone’s girl, or hedidn’tsay hello when he was supposed to. Hell knows, those teenage gangs run on ego and a lack of common sense.”
“So…” I wiggle my computer mouse and fire up the screen, and while the internet takes a moment to connect and my email inbox populates, I peek at my desk phone and the myriad lines flashing red. “Busy day already.”
“It’s actually almost time to go home.” She tips her head back, snickering. “Sleeping in till ten o’clock means four o’clock still feels early.”
“Part of me wonders why I haven’t been fired yet.” I lean to the side and drag my cell from my back pocket, my intuition niggling at me, only to discover a missed call from the mayor’s office. Just one. Which is good, I suppose. Ten missed calls mean he’s pissed. One means he just wanted to chat. “Am I being ridiculous, or is he allowing me to keep a job I probably don’t deserve? Turning up to the office late, taking off for a weekend away without notice, flying to New York without briefing my staff beforehand.”
“Working in the middle of the night,” she counters, lifting a finger. “Cracking unsolved cases Doctor Chant never could.” Two fingers. “Running a functional building on budget—to the dollar,” she smirks. “While paying your techs appropriately. You’re the chief, Chief, which means you could keep your butt here, in this office, and delegate bodies to the minions, but you never have. You never do.”
“Makes me an underperforming leader.”
“Makes you a leader worth following.” She sits up with a huff, straightening in her chair, then she hits me with a penetrating stare. “You work harder than anyone I know, you respect your team, which allows them space to respect you, and you give a shit—about those who work for you, and about those who end up on the cold steel tables in our autopsy suites. The city would be insane to fire you, and if they were to judge your value based on an outdated, dumb nine-to-five workday, then they’d lose the best chief M.E. they could ever know. You weren’t here before.” She slumps back again, rolling her head left, then right. “You weren’t here when Chant was the captain of this ship, which means you have nothing to compare it to. And you weren’t the chief at your old post either, so you’re flying blind. But I assure you, you’re doing just fine, and if you ever considered leaving, or if Lawrence had a stroke and considered tossing you, your entire team would riot.”
I scroll through my emails, a fauxawwbubbling along my throat. “For me, Doctor Emeri? Really?”
“At the risk of being saddled with another Doctor Chant?” She bounds up from her chair, turning toward my door. “Absolutely.”
“You making coffee?”
“No. I’m making green tea.” She snags my door handle and tugs it open. “I’ll get you one, too.”
“I’m good.” I wrinkle my nose, pre-disgusted. “I don’t want one.”
“I’ll make you one, anyway.”
“No, Aubree—” I swing my eyes away from my emails. “No!”
“Chief.” Doctor Raquel strides through my door in sexy black leather shorts and a sequin tank top. Lose the white lab coat, and she’d be ready to hit the clubs.
“Going out after work, Doctor Raquel?”
“Hmm?” She takes Aubree’s seat and extends her legs, studying the boots at the end. “No. I just like to look nice. Unlike…” She gestures my way. “Well…”
“Shut up. I look fine.” I shove up from my chair and cross to the rack by the door, whipping my white coat off the peg and stabbing my armsinto my sleeves. “Need something? I’m quite certain you have enough work to keep you in the basement for years.”
“I, too, am certain. Fortunately for me, there are labor laws saving me from that fate, and seeing the sun is my God-given right. Caught you on the news last night.”
“Yeah?” I head back to my desk. “How? You live down here with the peasants, don’t you? Was your apartment exempt from the blackout?”
“No, I am a peasant, after all. But I stayed at Taylor’s place last night, which is in the nicer part of town. Good sex, good company, air conditioning, and a flat-screen television, all so I could comfortably watch my boss try to resus a dead guy in the hundred-something degree heat… in a ballgown.”
“It wasn’t a ballgown! It was just a…” I drag my chair around and plop onto the cushioned seat. “A dress. A bridesmaid thing. And who the hell is Taylor?”
She rolls her eyes, but then she glances to the right, staring through my glass wall. “Which reminds me. I need to ask Aubs for a plus one for the wedding. Two plus ones, actually.”
“Two?” I open my emails from yesterday, reports sent upstairs from the very woman sitting in front of me, and when I deem them delegable, I forward them to the appropriate medical examiners and clear them from my to-do list. “Pretty sure you can’t ask foroneplus one this close to a wedding. Asking for two is akin to suicide.”
“Nah, Emeri’s cool. She’s not one of those uptight bridezillas who control everything. Case in point,” she gestures toward Aubree, who walks this way with two steaming mugs.Ew. “She’s supposed to be on leave, no? Final wedding preparations. Makeup trials. Salon days. All the fun things girls like to do. Instead, she’s here.”
