Chapter 3
Steve was prompt, I can say that for him. It was 10:30 on
the dot when the phone rang Friday night.
"Hello," I said sleepily.
"Oh God, did I wake you? You said to call late--"
"Who is this?"
"Steve Sloan...the guy from Bar B Q Bob's....you said to
call..."
"Oh Steve, I'm sorry. It's okay. It's been a long week. I
must have dozed off in front of the television. We have a date
tomorrow, right?"
"If you're up to it."
"After a good night's sleep, I'll be fine. Let's just not
start too early in the morning."
"How's ten? We could have brunch at this place I know."
"I thought this was going to be a sight seeing trip."
"Whatever you want. I was just offering a suggestion if you
wanted to sleep til the last minute."
He sounded contrite and apologetic.
"If I sounded snappish, I apologize. It takes me a few
minutes to get readjusted when I wake up suddenly."
"Maybe I should call back in the morning. Or better yet,
you call me."
"No, now is fine. Ten is fine. I'm not much on brunches
though. So why don't we just head out then?"
"You're the boss. I need directions to your place."
No, he wasn't going to get it that easy.
"You know, I just realized I have a couple errands to run in
the morning. Why don't I meet you somewhere? Like the parking
lot of Bar B Q Bob's. That way at the end of the tour if we're
hungry, I know the owner and I'm sure I can get us a table, even
on a busy Saturday night."
That drew a hearty laugh from the other end of the telephone
wires.
"Ten o'clock at Bob's then."
I went to bed with a satisfied smile on my face.
I was about fifteen minutes late the following morning.
Steve was leaning against the front grill of a white Ford F250
truck. As I climbed out of my rented Geo Prism, I looked him and
the truck over.
He straightened up as I approached. Letting out a heavy
sigh and shaking my head I said, "I don't know."
Steve looked baffled. "Don't know what?"
"What is it about men and trucks? Big trucks." I stood
in
front of the truck with my hands on my hips. "I am five feet
tall, most of that torso, not leg. How the hell am I supposed to
get into this monstrosity?" I looked at Steve. "Maybe
we should
take my car."
His response was a giant "Ha! That thing? I don't think I
could fit in it with the front seat taken out!"
I nodded. "You see my point, exactly."
"Oh come on, once you're in, you'll be perfectly
comfortable. You just need a hand up."
He sauntered over to the passenger door and opened it, then
he stood aside and held out his hand. I looked at him for a long
minute then gave a heavy sigh and went to the door of the truck.
"You're lucky I'm not wearing a skirt," I told him
taking
his hand and stretching one foot up into the cab. I put all my
weight on his hand, gave a little jump with my left foot and
managed to hop into the cab.
"See?" He smiled, preparing to close the door.
"That wasn't
bad at all."
"I still think you should get one of those running boards or
whatever they call them."
He gave me a placating smile, closed the door and walked
around to his side of the truck. He stepped in with ease and
grace, like he were stepping onto a curb.
Before starting the engine, he told me the proper name for
the part of the truck I had referred to, which I promptly forgot.
It was irrelevant after all.
Steve had a full itinerary planned for us and seemed quite
excited about the entire day. Since we were in the general
vicinity, in LA terms, he took me to the Santa Monica pier first.
The next stop was to have been Venice Beach, which I politely
declined.
"I don't get a thrill out of watching a bunch of freaks
wandering up and down a boardwalk," I admitted to him.
Although I told him I'd already "done" Hollywood, he
drove
through there anyhow, on the way, he said, to Griffith Park. I
had to admit the view was spectacular, and it was a strange
sensation being in a spot I'd actually seen on television and in
movies.
From there we travelled east to San Marino, going part of
the way along Colorado Boulevard, the passage of the Rose Parade.
Our goal was Huntington Gardens. I could have spent all day
there if I'd been alone. As it was, we spent several hours
wandering through the gardens and enjoying the museum.
The last leg of our journey was southwest back into downtown
LA. Steve gave me quite a history lesson as we approached El
Pueblo de Los Angeles Historic Park. The main tourist attraction
here was all the shops along Olvera Street. To my surprise, I
was enthralled with the small mission chapel across the street.
I could have sat in the courtyard watching people the entire day.
We wound up the history lesson with a quick walk through the
Train Station, which for a train station, was quite impressive.
By then it was dusk and my stomach growled rather loudly.
"Not much of a tour guide, am I? Forgot the food
breaks!"
Even though we were still just across from Olvera, we agreed
that Mexican wasn't what we were craving.
"I know a terrific Italian place not too far from here. You
up for that?"
I gave it a brief moment's thought then nodded.
Though it was impossible to miss, Steve never pointed out or
mentioned the tall building that was police headquarters. But,
to his credit, there were a lot of places we passed he didn't
point out. I guess he was giving me credit for being able to
read the signs.
The restaurant was small, probably held no more than fifty
customers at a time. The host seemed to know Steve and gave us a
table off in a corner, away from the traffic.
The menu, in contrast to the restaurant itself, was
extensive. It made choosing difficult, even for someone as
decisive as me. I looked up from the pages before me, at my
companion.
"Any recommendations?"
Steve was leaning back against the leather banquette staring
at the menu. He turned the corners of his mouth down and stuck
out his lower lip.
"Everything's good here. I forget how hard it is to
decide." He looked over his menu at me.
His blue eyes sparkled in the flickering light from the
candle on the table. I marvelled that a man as ruggedly handsome
and fit as Steve Sloan was still unattached.
"Do you like Calamari?" He raised a quizzicle eyebrow,
and
received a prompt negative shake of my head.
"Okay." The waiter approached. Steve ordered an
antipasto
appetizer and looked at me.
"I was going to have some wine. Shall I order a
bottle?"
I let out a satisfied sigh. "That sounds perfect."
He gave the waiter the name of some burgundy or other. I
returned to looking at the menu.
We decided, eventually, to order the lasagna and the
eggplant and share.
I managed to keep Steve talking through out most of the
meal, though once in a while he prodded for details of my life.
I managed to remain sufficiently vague while still admitting that
I spent most of my childhood in foster homes.
"You should spend some time with Amanda."
Seeing my confused look, he elaborated. "You met her the
other night at Bob's. With Dad. The Assistant Medical
Examiner."
"The pretty African American."
He nodded, chewing a mouthful of lasagna.
"What does she have to do with anything?"
Still chewing, he pointed his fork at me. When he swallowed
he took a sip of wine then said, "She grew up in a foster
home."
"One? Lucky girl."
Steve shrugged. "I don't know, she doesn't talk about it too
much. She's a foster mother too."
I managed to move the conversation onto something less
personal for me.
Just as I was pushing my plate away a man in his late
twenties, very early thirties approached the table. He was huge.
Broad shoulders, thick neck which was only emphasized by his
military cut dark brown hair. He could have been a full back on
a professional football team, but he didn't have the weight, only
the formidable size and structure.
"Hey Lieutenant." He extended a hand out to Steve.
"I
guess it shouldn't be such a surprise to see you here. I reckon
everyone at the precinct has discovered Emilios."
Steve glanced at me, ever so briefly before connecting gazes
with the visitor.
"They've got about the best food around," he agreed.
"Well, I know you've been pretty busy with the Hollinger
case and the Merced trial coming up, so I haven't wanted to
bother you. But when I saw you sitting over here, I thought I'd
stop by and let you know I made it onto the detective list last
month. I hope if an opening comes up, you'll keep me in
mind."
Steve nodded and smiled warmly.
"Glad to hear it Tyler. You know I will." Then he shook
his
head with a slightly forlorn look on his face. "Might be a
while
before anyone moves along though, you know. Take what you can
get."
"Yes, sir. I know. Just putting the word out, like I
said."
"I'll remember."
"Great. Good night Lieutenant."
All during this conversation I was trying to decide whether
I was angry, or shocked. I think what my face read when Steve
finally returned his attention to the table was a cross between
surprise and befuddlement.
I sat back against cushions and stared at him. After a long
silence in which I had hoped he would say something, I finally
managed to get out: "You're a cop."
"Yeah. Look, Sarah-"
"Why didn't you tell me? It's like you've been hiding it
all this time. You would have let me think you were a doctor if
I hadn't cornered you about it."
"That's not true. I told you almost right away."
"But you never told me what you really do for a
living."
"Does it make a difference?" His voice was a cross of
anxious hope and a bit of anger.
I looked at him a long time before answering.
"Yes it does. I think it makes a big difference."
He let out a lungful of air in a disgusted sigh and shook
his head. "It usually does."
I leaned one elbow on the table and rubbed my eyes.
"Look, Steve, I'm sorry, but this is a pretty big surprise
to me. Maybe I'm not handling it as best I could."
"Well, you haven't run screaming from the room like some
other women I've known."
I looked up with a soft chuckle. "Not really."
Regret filled his face as he nodded. "God's honest
truth."
We sat in silence for several minutes. The waiter brought
the check, Steve sent him away with a credit card. The waiter
came back, Steve signed the slip, handed back the pen and the
waiter left.
"Look, Sarah, yes, I am a cop. I'm a detective in
Homicide." He shrugged. "I'm a Lieutenant, it's mostly
desk work
these days. It's not that dangerous."
I held his gaze, those blue eyes boring pleadingly into
mine.
I pursed my lips trying to think of a good question. What
came out was, "How many scars do you have?"
Shocked, Steve sat back against the bench and stared at me
for a moment. I don't know if he was counting or trying to
figure out the reasoning behind my question.
"An even dozen, why?" There was a hardness in his voice
that surprised me.
"I don't know. Give me some idea of how careful you are,
how many close calls you've had. What kind of officer you've
been."
"I made Lieutenant. Doesn't that say something?"
"I think the twelve scars speak louder."
"I told you, it's mostly a desk job now." He took
several
deep swallows of wine, finishing his glass and pouring himself
more. His third glass.
"Which obviously doesn't supply you with the excitement and
activity you need, so you bought a restaurant."
"I thought you were a writer of some kind, not a
psychologist!" There was a pulse beating just below his ear,
his
jaw line had hardened. He could look pretty fierce when he was
angry. It was obvious to me that Steve Sloan was tired of being
dumped by women who didn't care for his profession.
I placed my hands, palm down on the table.
"Look, I just need some time to digest all this. The leap
from waiter to owner then to doctor and now to police officer...
it's just a lot to assimilate."
Steve nodded and rose to his feet.
I waited until we were out in the parking lot before I spoke
again.
"Steve?"
Key poised over the lock of the truck door he looked at me.
I walked up and covered his hand. For a brief instant he mistook
my gesture. But I slid the keys out of his hand.
"I think I should drive. You've had three glasses of
wine."
I unlocked the truck and opened the passenger door for him.
"I don't need help getting in--you do." He followed me
around the truck and practically shoved me into the driver's
seat.
Except to give directions, Steve didn't speak on the ride
back, just sat slumped in his corner of the cab. I wasn't sure
that he hadn't fallen asleep. As I pulled into the lot at Bar B
Q Bob's he finally drew in a deep breath and said, "Just
tell me
one thing."
I glanced across my shoulder at him. "What's that?"
"Did you have a good time today?"
I looked at him a long time, finally reaching out and giving
him a soft caress on the cheek.
"I had a very nice time."
He sat up and reached for the door handle. "Just keep that
in mind while you're pondering my choice of a career, will
you?"
Having jumped down out of the truck, I met him in front of
the vehicle.
"Of course I will." I nodded my head at Bob's.
"You going
in?"
"Yeah." He took the keys from me. "Dad's car is
over
there." He nodded down the aisle. "If he's ready to
leave I'll
ride home with him. Otherwise I'll just help Jess close up. By
then I'll be okay to drive." He paused a beat then added,
"That
is what you were worried about wasn't it?"
"Don't be mad at me for caring whether or not you're
safe."
He rubbed his forehead with two fingers.
"I'm not. You did the right thing, Sarah." He turned
and
headed for the restaurant, his disappointed "goodnight"
floating
in the air and almost disappearing before it reached my ears.
Chapter 4
The next day I got a quickie project to complete. I went
back east for a few days, got the job done and was back in LA by
the end of the week. I really should have called Steve, but I
just didn't think the timing was right. Besides, I wasn't sure
what I would say, yet. I wanted to get across my meaning without
hurting his feelings.
I didn't feel so bad about leaving the detective in limbo
when I turned on the local news and heard that the police were
all up in arms about a dead body in south Florida. Seems one of
their major witnesses in an upcoming trial had fled the
jurisdiction. According to all reports the witness had rented a
fishing boat for a day. A front moved in much quicker than
forecasters had predicted and the boat had overturned. The body
and boat washed ashore about three miles down the coast from the
boat launch.
Los Angeles police detectives were scrambling to reformulate
a case for the District Attorneys office. I didn't know if that
meant Steve or not, but I figured if he wasn't working on that,
he was probably picking up the - what did they call it? -
caseload of the detectives who were.
So it was the middle of the following week when I happen to
be driving by Bar B Q Bob's and saw Steve's truck in the parking
lot. It was late and the lot was almost empty. Bob's was the
only establishment in the shopping center still open, the
sidewalk and surrounding area aglow in the orange light of the
neon signs in the window.
I pulled in and parked next to the pickup. Entering the
restaurant cautiously, I discovered Jesse wiping down the
counter. He looked up when the bell over the door jingled. He
was about to speak, probably to say "sorry we're
closing," when
he recognized me. I was the recipient of one of his impish
smiles that lit up his entire face, making his blue eyes dance.
Still swirling his cloth on the counter, and keeping his
eyes on me, he called out, "Hey, Steve! Can you come here
for a
minute? I need a hand."
There was a thud followed by a crash in the kitchen, nothing
that sounded too serious. Then the door swung open.
"What is it Jess? I've got-" Steve's eyes landed on me.
He
took a deep breath and I watched as his face changed from a tired
but relaxed look of frustration to one of stiff caution.
Jesse slipped out through the open kitchen door, careful to
close it quietly behind him.
"Can we talk?" I gave Steve a pleading look.
He gave a grudging, acquiescent shrug and grimace.
"Yeah, sure. Want some coffee?"
I shook my head. "No thanks, but don't let that stop
you."
He snorted. "I've had so much caffeine the last week, I
think I could stay awake until Easter."
I walked over to a corner booth and slid into it. There was
no one else in the place except Jesse, but I felt like we needed
the privacy the booth and corner would provide.
Although I'd asked for this little tete a tete, I stared
down at my hands in my lap, running one long fingernail under the
nails of the other hand. Steve waited in silence, elbows and
forearms resting one the table, his fingers interlocked.
"I guess," I still kept my gaze downward. "I guess
I sort
of jumped the gun the other night. I was so surprised, I didn't
know what to think or how to react." I finally looked up at
him.
"Does that make sense?"
He shrugged. "I guess."
I frowned down at my hands a moment then looked at him
again. I studied that rugged face: such a strong jawline, the
cleft in his chin, blue eyes that could pierce right through to
one's soul it seemed. And the crease-like dimples that appeared
when he smiled.
"I've never met a police officer before, but you just don't
fit the image of what I imagined one would look like." I
felt my
cheeks redden and looked down, unable to suppress an embarrassed
smile as I said, "You're too handsome."
Steve remained silent. I took a deep breath and looked up.
"But that's not the point." I regained control.
"The point
is I like what I know of you so far. I wouldn't mind getting to
know you better."
It was like I'd let the air out of a balloon. Steve let out
a deep sigh and leaned back, still keeping his hands on the
table.
"But." I didn't want him to relax too quickly.
He didn't actually stiffen up again, but I sensed the
wariness come back immediately. Didn't it always when there was
a "but."
"You have to realize, Steve, that I'm not permanent. I
mean, I'm just here to do a job. Then I'll move on. Why should
I have any problem spending time with a police detective? I meet
and spend time with people everywhere I go, Los Angeles is no
different. I could use the companionship." I looked straight
at
him. "That is, if you can accept the fact that I won't be
around
forever."
He had to think about that for awhile. I could tell the
thought had never crossed his mind, and he was kicking himself
for not thinking of it first. He'd known all along why I was in
LA.
"Just friends, huh?" He looked up from his
contemplation of
his folded hands.
"I believe the term I used was companionship. To me it
bears a totally different connotation."
He grinned and looked at me, lifting one eyebrow. "Oh
really?"
I wagged my head from side to side. "Let's just says it
leaves a few more doors open to the possibilities."
"I see."
The restaurant was quiet all around us. Jesse must have
slipped out the back door, no sounds came from the kitchen or
anywhere else. I wasn't quite sure if it was my turn to leave
and give Steve a chance to think, or what I should do.
Suddenly, Steve spoke. "Have you ever been tested for
AIDS?"
I couldn't contain the shocked gasp followed by the laughter
that burst from me. When I had myself under control again, I
looked at him.
"You don't waste any time do you?"
He straightened up a bit, preparing to defend his question.
"I believe that these things should be discussed when people
are rational and not under any pressure to give whatever answer
seems convenient at the time. If the occasion doesn't arise, it
doesn't. But if it should, I'd rather have details like that out
of the way in advance."
A smirk crossed my face. "Always the cop, huh? Got to have
all your bases covered." Before he could respond, I
continued.
"Actually I have, and it was clean. Almost two years ago
while I
was on a job - I won't go into details, but I came in contact
with infected blood. I was monitored carefully until the doctors
were sure I was out of danger. And to answer your next question,
yes I do take birth control pills. Do you want to know what
kind?"
It was Steve's turn to burst into laughter. He held up a
hand.
"No, I don't think we need go that far." The hand
dropped
back to the table. "Turn about's fair play, of course. I get
tested regularly because of my job. Never even a close call or a
false positive."
"Should we bring each other our latest test results the next
time we see each other?" I grinned at him and he smiled in
return, shaking his head.
Through most of this conversation, I'd been studying Steve's
hands on the table. Long slender fingers and a scar on the back
of the left, his dominant, hand. Now, I ran two fingers gently
across the white line that streaked from the knuckle of his index
finger to his wrist.
"What's this one from?" My voice came out a soft,
almost
seductive if I say so myself, whisper.
"Fellah tried to shoot the gun out of my hand. He
missed."
I looked Steve in the eyes and he saw the question in mine.
"I didn't."
I looked back down at his hand, he turned it over and
clasped mine, bringing it up to his lips. The soft, damp heat of
his mouth sent a warm shiver through my body. I quickly
extracted my hand and rose to my feet.
"It's late. I should be going."
Steve hopped to his feet, hurrying to catch up and hold the
door open for me.
"I have Sunday off, can I call you?"
Standing beneath him, that's the only term for it as he
towered over me, I looked up and smiled. "I thought we'd
worked
that all out."
He smiled. "I guess we did."
I stood on tip toe and kissed the cleft in his chin and
darted out to my car before he could respond.
Go To
Part Three
