She glanced across the table at Bennett who raised her juice glass in an air toast. Jazz finished breakfast quickly, pushed her chair back, and started for the stairs before turning back to the family. “I love you guys.”

  On the way to bed, she checked her phone for a message from the USAA counselor. Nothing. She’d locate the office and go by while she was on duty tonight. One way or the other she’d find out about Shea and, as a bonus, possibly see Emory again.

  Chapter Three

  Emory sat at the small kitchen table in her one-bedroom apartment and sipped tea while reading the morning paper. She enjoyed feeling the medium in her hands, whether newspaper, magazine, or book, and liked the sharp smell of ink on paper. She lifted her teacup with the other and took a long sip. Her favorite Twinings wasn’t producing the needed boost to begin her day. Her eyelids flagged from spending most of the night cleaning and doing laundry. She ignored the internal voice suggesting a future visit from Jazz Perry might’ve been her incentive.

  She gave her open-plan space a critical once-over. Would Jazz like the place? The mishmash décor didn’t really suit her palate, but she’d taken the first furnished apartment she found in a decent neighborhood close to work when she moved back to Greensboro. Her priority had been getting away from Jean quickly. One day she’d find a real home, not her parents’ or brother’s, not a lover’s, but hers, and possibly a cat. If Jazz ever visited, maybe she’d understand that the jumble of styles was temporary and not reflective of her tastes…if she ever visited.

  The turn her conversation with Jazz had taken still didn’t seem real. Jazz found her attractive and interesting enough to want to spend more time with her. A brief flutter of excitement quickly vanished. Jean had once thought she was attractive and interesting too, and that had ended badly. She wasn’t about to set herself up for more heartbreak. The first time around had almost killed her. She tossed the paper aside and collected her briefcase.

  On her way to the front door, she plucked her keys from the hall table and gave herself a rare appraisal in the mirror. Her cheeks flushed with a healthy glow, her eyes sparkled, the blouse exposed a hint of cleavage, and her lips were almost too red for lipstick. From the waist up, she wasn’t bad. Below the waist, not so healthy or tempting. Fortunately, this mirror was too short for the big picture. She closed the door behind her, refusing to consider how Jazz Perry might view her ample hips and rounded backside.

  Jazz could have any woman she wanted, and Emory had more important things to do than fret over an invitation that might or might not have been an actual date and one that Jazz would probably never repeat. She was anxious to get to the hospital and inquire about the latest scuttlebutt surrounding privatization. She wanted to ferret out fact from fiction. If the department was changing, she had decisions to make about her future. And if her job was in jeopardy, she needed to know sooner rather than later. Her personal life was in shambles. She couldn’t afford for her professional life to follow the same path.

  * * *

  Jazz pulled into the Fairview Station lot after night shift and parked beside Bennett’s vehicle. She’d started arriving later and leaving earlier since her marriage, which made perfect sense, but why even earlier today? As Jazz keyed in the pass code to the side door, she remembered her admission at brunch yesterday. Ben wouldn’t let that go.

  She waved to the records staff as she passed through the public space and punched the code into the secure police area. Bennett was at her desk, feet resting on the edge, talking in soft tones on the phone when Jazz entered.

  “Okay, babe, got to go. My lieutenant is here. Love you.”

  “You could’ve spent another thirty minutes with her this morning instead of coming in to harass me,” Jazz kidded her as she took a seat in front of the desk.

  “Yeah, but thirty minutes would’ve turned into sixty. We never seem to have enough time.” Jazz forced a smile, and Bennett’s expression said she knew the reason. “You’ll get your happy ever after, don’t worry. So, how was your shift?”

  “Slow. I could hardly keep my eyes open, but as usual, now I’m wide-awake.”

  “Well, you’re off for a few days. Make the most of them. Anything for the chief’s staff conference this morning?”

  “He should probably pass along to the mayor that some of the residents of Claremont Court are planning to attend the next council meeting. They’ve heard the city is considering reopening the landfill off Phillips Avenue.”

  Bennett made a note in her phone. “Thanks. Anything else?”

  Jazz shook her head. “Things are running smoothly at Fairview Station, boss.”

  “Cut the boss crap.” Bennett put her feet on the floor and leaned across the desk. “How are things with my sister? Also running smoothly?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.” Jazz fidgeted with her car keys.

  “Jazz, look at me.”

  She glanced up but quickly looked away. “I told you, I’m fine.”

  “But you haven’t convinced me. Want to talk about your new woman?”

  Jazz concentrated on counting the keys in her hand. “She’s not my woman. I asked her to breakfast yesterday, and she turned me down. Ran like I was contagious. I’m losing my touch.”

  “I seriously doubt that. Look at yourself, dude. Wait. You asked her out?”

  She’d said too much. Bennett read her actions, expressions, and even the words she didn’t say too well and often came up with the right conclusions. “Yeah.”

  “So, you like her enough to put yourself out there.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re killing me, Jazz. We talk about everything except…you really like her, but you just met her, right?”

  Jazz nodded and finally connected with Bennett’s concerned stare. She loved being so well known by another person, most of the time. “Sort of just met. It’s complicated.”

  “How can you sort of just meet someone?”

  “Come on, Ben. It’s probably just a case of third shift hornies, but I didn’t get that got-to-jump-your-bones-right-now feeling. With her it’s more like a spark.” Jazz twisted the coarse strands of hair over her ear. “I sound like an idiot. I’m blaming it on lack of sleep.”

  Bennett came around the desk and sat beside her. Bennett had a knack for knowing when she needed distance and when a bit less space made her more comfortable. “You have good instincts. Follow them.”

  Maybe her earlier assessment had been on point. Emory had seemed scared when she asked her out. What if she’d been hurt and was still healing, or didn’t want to get involved, or already was? Jazz winced at the possibility of Emory being unavailable. “Nothing ventured?”

  “Exactly.” Bennett leaned back.

  Jazz breathed deeply and stood to leave. She’d dodged the other question she could almost see in Bennett’s eyes. “Think I’ll shower and change clothes before finishing my shift summary. Then I might have lunch.”

  “You don’t want to tell me who she is, do you?”

  Bennett’s respect for Jazz’s privacy gave her room to define what she’d found however she chose in her own time. “Not just yet. Okay?”

  “Absolutely. Do you remember the advice you gave me about Kerstin?”

  “Not specifically, but I’m sure it was brilliant.”

  Bennett laughed. “It kind of was. You told me to follow her lead. Maybe you should do the same. Keep asking so she knows you’re interested but not in a stalkerish way. And don’t give up too easily if she plays hard to get. This is new territory for you.” Bennett gave her shoulder a squeeze before grabbing her briefcase. “I should get to the chief’s staff conference.”

  “Thanks, sis.” She walked toward the locker room already imagining how to ask Emory to join her for lunch without spooking her.

  * * *

  Emory closed the computer program she’d been working on and glanced at the cold cup of tea beside the keyboard. Her plan to troll the hospital halls for outsourcing rumors had blown up with the stack of reports in her inbox. Three hours later, she dug her small shoulder bag from her briefcase, slipped her feet back into her heels, and headed toward the door. Lunch and then information.

  She turned automatically through the maze of hallways toward the exit while checking her phone for messages and friends’ latest Facebook posts. The doors swished open ahead of her, and she tucked her phone into the side of her purse. A group of young children headed toward the entrance as she came out, and she sidestepped to avoid a collision, bumping into someone else instead. “I’m sorry.”

  “We have to stop meeting like this.”

  Jazz’s deep, teasing tone rippled through Emory, and she fumbled for a clever response. “I…yes…sorry.”

  “Are you okay? We banged into each other pretty good.” Jazz scanned her up and down before settling on her mouth and rekindling the heat from yesterday. “I’m pretty solid.”

  Emory’s mind was stuck on the banging into each other image and spoke before censoring. “I’ll say.”

  “So, you’re okay?” Jazz cupped Emory’s elbow and guided her away from the entrance.

  “Fine. Should watch where I’m going. Lunch, actually. Thanks.” She blathered unrelated thoughts that made no sense. Why had seeing Jazz again, yesterday and today, reduced her to a puddle of nerves and excitement?

  “Lunch, huh?” Jazz stuffed her hands in her jeans pockets and rocked back and forth like a kid about to make a confession. “Mind if I join you?”

  God, she loved that shy streak of Jazz’s. “What?” Was Jazz asking her out again?

  “If you’re going to lunch, mind if I tag along? Remember I said I have questions about your work? Add the US Adoption Agency to the list.”

  So, not a date. Emory tried to relax and shift into work mode but couldn’t hide a twinge of disappointment. “I don’t have much time.”

  “I can be very succinct.” Jazz pointed toward a tiny bronze vehicle parked in the circular drive. “We can take my car and talk on the way. It’ll save time.”

  “Sports car.” Everything about Jazz pushed her fantasy buttons but also brought out her insecurities. Sports cars were too low to the ground, the seats too small, and she felt like Mrs. Jumbo hefting herself out of them. Still, she allowed Jazz to steer her toward the shiny vehicle shaped like a roller skate.

  “It’s a 1978 Datsun 280Z that belonged to my dad. I don’t really drive it much, but it’s paid for, so that works.” She opened the passenger door and held Emory’s hand while she struggled to settle gracefully. “Where would you like to go?”

  When Jazz closed the door, Emory tracked her past the long nose of the car. What was there about a handsome, androgynous woman in a white shirt, jeans, and a leather jacket that turned her to putty? The only thing missing—she stifled a gasp as Jazz slid behind the wheel and she caught a glimpse of her shiny black boots.

  “Well?”

  “Oh my…” Emory manually cranked down the window to get some fresh air and tried to focus on the question. She was an intelligent, mature woman. Time to act like one. “Oh yes, lunch. How about Iron Hen on Cridland? It’s close, and the food is always good.”

  “I love that place.” Jazz turned the key, and the engine rumbled to life. She gently shifted into gear and pulled out of the driveway.

  Emory twisted sideways to watch Jazz. No point pretending. She enjoyed looking at her, and if their time together was limited, she planned to make the most of it. “You have questions.” Jazz smiled as if Emory was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen, and her fingers steadily worked a few strands of hair into a tight twist. Jazz was nervous. Good, at least she wasn’t alone. “We’re wasting valuable time, Lieutenant?”

  With Jazz’s mind occupied forming questions, Emory was free to watch her movements and the nuances of her expressions. Jazz rested her hand atop the gearshift and drummed lean fingers to a silent beat. When she changed gears, those slender fingers came dangerously close to Emory’s thigh. Jazz guided the steering wheel with her left knee, and her thigh muscles bunched visibly beneath the stretchy jean fabric. Emory never wanted to touch a woman so badly but instead swiped at a strand of hair that had fallen from her French braid.

  Jazz tilted her head to the left and released the hair she’d worked into a tangle before asking, “Did CPS handle all Shea Spencer’s foster placements?”

  The pointed question shattered Emory’s visual caressing of Jazz’s body. “No.”

  “Did USAA?”

  “No.”

  “This is going to be a very long conversation if you keep giving one-word answers.”

  “Something wrong with long conversations?” Emory couldn’t stop flirting with Jazz, even though she had no chance of developing a relationship with her. A girl could dream.

  “I’m worried about Shea.”

  The sincerity in Jazz’s tone snapped Emory out of lust mind. “I’m sorry. I know you’re concerned, but as I told you, I can’t interfere with Sheri’s case. We do confer on difficult ones, but only when asked. And I haven’t been involved in any of Shea’s placements so far. All I know is that she bounces back and forth between her father and other accommodation. I’m not sure what the situation is with her father, but apparently, it’s not bad enough to warrant Shea’s removal. And if it did—”

  “You couldn’t tell me. I’m afraid her father might be into drugs. Something she said, but I respect your boundaries. So, what do you know about USAA?” Jazz parked in the lot beside Iron Hen and started to get out. “Hold that thought.” She came around to the passenger’s side, opened the door, and waited for Emory.

  She swung her legs out of the vehicle and tugged at her tight skirt that had ridden to mid-thigh. Her knees were above the level of the seat, making a graceful exit unlikely. She grabbed the doorframe to pull herself out, but Jazz offered her hand instead.

  “Let me,” Jazz said.

  When Emory smiled her thanks, she caught Jazz gazing at her exposed thigh. She liked Jazz looking at her and the pink tinge it brought to her cheeks. And Jazz helping her out of the vehicle was a simple gesture, but Emory enjoyed the physical contact and the intimacy it implied. “Up, Mrs. Jumbo,” Emory said as she pushed with her legs.

  “Why did you say that?” Jazz asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious? I’m a little heavy in the caboose, like an elephant.”

  Jazz stared at her backside until Emory started to feel self-conscious. “You’re not heavy, Emory. You’re perfectly proportioned. Besides, Mrs. Jumbo was a loving mother, very sweet and caring, but if anybody teased or bullied Dumbo, she became a protective lioness. I can’t imagine anything more beautiful.”

  Jazz’s kind words were probably intended to make Emory feel better, but she laughed to deflect some of the energy sparking between them. “We’re still talking about an elephant, right?”

  “I don’t think so.” She guided Emory to a corner table in the restaurant and handed her a menu. “Lunch is on me since I sort of kidnapped you. And by the way, you look great.”

  Emory blushed and only managed to respond with a weak smile.

  “You don’t take compliments well, do you?”

  “This is just a business suit.” She focused on her clothes instead of her body.

  “It might be just a pin-striped business suit with just a scoop-neck blouse, but it’s how you wear them that make them special. You’re fashionable but not flashy. I get the feeling you dress to please yourself not anyone else.”

  “Are you a fashion critic in your spare time?” Emory tried to direct the conversation away from herself, uncomfortable with anyone’s prolonged appraisal, especially Jazz’s.

  “Hardly. I just know what I like.”

  “And you’ve had lots of experience with women? Women’s clothes, I mean.”

  “I enjoy looking at beautiful things, and you’re definit—”

  “Please stop.” Emory took a sip of water as her blush deepened.

  “Sorry, I embarrassed you. I’m only telling you what I see.”

  “Thanks.” Emory signaled the waiter to keep from meeting Jazz’s stare. She’d wandered off topic and into Emory’s vulnerability minefield. The last thing she wanted to talk about or have anyone else notice was her body.

  They ordered and ate while Emory answered Jazz’s basic questions about the adoption process. “That’s just a brief overview of what we do, but I’m afraid my information about USAA is limited to what I’ve read online or heard from Sheri. She handles the outside adoption cases.”

  “All of them?”

  “She was hired for the position so the current staff could focus on a backlog of abuse, neglect, and endangerment cases. The turnaround time on any child-related case is very short, so we needed help with adoptions, especially older children seeking permanent homes.”

  Jazz studied her across the table for several seconds before leaning forward. “Why social work, specifically children’s services, as a career?”

  Emory placed her fork across her plate and pushed the half-eaten pear salad aside. “Seemed like a good fit after caring for my younger brother while my mother worked two jobs. I learned children can be both vulnerable and manipulative while trying to cope with their circumstances. They’ll try your patience, push boundaries, and step on every nerve, but they all deserve a chance at a decent life. I found it challenging and rewarding. The college courses were easy, and I had essentially already done the practical work. The hard part is what I do now, fighting a constant battle with the administration, and sometimes lawmakers, for the resources to do the job properly.”

  “You’re passionate about your work.”

  Jazz’s sincerity filled Emory with the appreciation and understanding she seldom received from supervisors or parents. How could a woman she barely knew get how deeply she cared about her career when others she’d known longer couldn’t?

  “We both want the same thing, just go about it differently. I’ve been known to play fast and loose with the rules to help a child.”

 

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