Page 68 of The Morning After (Savannah 2)

She paused for a minute, then put her spoon down. “I know, but we’ve been over this before. It would be messy. Emotionally, way too messy.”

His lips tightened. “It already is.”

“Not if you don’t let it.”

He took a long sip of his drink and eyed her over the rim of his glasses. Through those gray lenses his eyes seemed colder, more distant than she’d ever noticed before. “What’s in this for me?”

Here we go again. “You get to unload your conscience.”

“My conscience is clear.”

“Then, as you said, you get to blow off steam.”

“Maybe that’s not enough.”

“Okay, so what is it you want?”

His eyes darkened for a second and she braced herself, but whatever was on his mind didn’t make it to his lips. At times he was unreadable, as if he could erect a wall between them at will.

Dishes rattled on the other side of the door as she tasted her coffee. “What’s going on?”

He hesitated, but only a second. “Reed’s off the case.”

“What?” Surely she hadn’t heard right. “But I saw him this morning at the cemetery.”

Cliff lifted a shoulder. “Okano gave him the boot. He knew one of the victims.”

“Jesus. Who?”

“Bobbi Jean Marx.”

In her mind, she conjured up a mental image of the woman. “How did he know her?”

“Figure it out,” he said, and drained his drink.

Reed and Bobbi Jean? Lovers? And Bobbi Jean might have been pregnant? Nikki could barely remain seated. This was news. Big news. No wonder Reed had been avoiding her calls and had appeared distant, nearly haunted this morning at the cemetery.

The waitress, whose name tag indicated she was Toni, placed Cliff’s order in front of him. The French fries glistened and the steak couldn’t breathe because of the creamy gravy that spilled onto a bed of mixed vegetables. The peas and carrots looked suspiciously as if they’d come from a can. “Anything else?” Toni offered.

“This should do it.” Cliff looked over the platter at Nikki. “Sure you don’t want anything?”

“Nah, thanks. I’m fine,” Nikki said even though she was anything but fine. Bobbi Jean and Reed? What a story! Just the angle she was looking for. And yet…she felt a few qualms about going public with Reed’s private life and a part of her balked at the thought of Reed with the victim, of him being involved with a woman…a married woman. It didn’t seem his style. Or, that stupid, romantic part of her she tried so vainly to repress hoped it wasn’t. As the waitress left, Nikki leaned across the table. She kept her voice hushed and calm even though adrenaline was jetting through her bloodstream. This was it. Another page one story. Ignoring the twinge of guilt she felt that she was capitalizing on someone else’s pain, she said, “You think Reed was romantically involved with Bobbi Jean?” She conjured up a mental image of Barbara Jean Marx and Pierce Reed and felt an unlikely jab of jealousy. Which was ridiculous. She didn’t even know Reed, not really, though she’d been trying to get close to the reticent cop for years. “That’s it, that’s what’s bugging you about this case, isn’t it?”

Cliff squirted ketchup all over his fries. “There’s a lot that bugs me about the case.”

Nikki leaned closer and whispered, “Was she pregnant?”

His head snapped up and behind the tinted glasses his eyes narrowed. “You know about that?”

“I talked to a friend of hers who thought she might be.”

Cliff, as if stabbed by a sudden shaft of conscience, didn’t answer.

“The baby could be Reed’s.”

“It could be anyone’s,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “We don’t know for sure. Not yet.”

“Maybe even the husband’s.”

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