Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set) Blake Banner (love books to read .TXT) 📖

She waited. I wasn’t sure what else to say. “To you, John. What happened to you?”

For a moment I wasn’t sure what she meant. Then I said, “Oh! Well, like I said, I started shaking and sweating. Luckily my partner was there, and she was able to catch the guy and make the arrest.”

“And since then?”

“Nothing really.”

“This is a new partner?”

“Yeah. She was assigned to me for the cold cases.”

“You get on well?” She looked up and smiled as she asked it. I smiled back.

“Yeah. Nobody else can stand her, but we get on really well.”

She grinned and pointed at me with her pen. “I can see it on your face. You really light up when you think of her.”

I waved a hand at her. “Nah! She’s a smart cookie. An intelligent woman. I know she’s got my back.”

She grinned and made a few notes.

“How long have you had feelings for her?”

“Come on!” I laughed. “She’s my partner. She’s like a pal. Could be a guy. Got a mouth on her you could grow mushrooms in. No way.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? It’s an issue you should address, John.”

I made a “Pfff!” sound.

“So there have been no other violent incidents?”

“Well, just the one. We made an arrest. It was a drugs bust at… Well, doesn’t matter where. It was a drugs bust. Two Mexican guys got shot. We arrested another two…” The memory was coming back real vivid. “I saw Carlitos was aiming his gun right at her. And his pal was aiming at me. And it was weird because I disarmed Carlitos, and she kind of dodged behind my back and disarmed the guy who was going to shoot me…”

She was staring hard at me. Again she had no expression at all on her face. After a moment she said, “And how did that affect you?”

For a moment, I faltered. “I…uh… It shook me up.”

“Thinking that she risked her life for you?”

“I guess…”

“Or thinking that you risked your life for her?”

“Um, I hadn’t thought about it.”

“I’m aware of that, John. That’s why I am suggesting you should think about it.” She checked her notes. “So, in the last two weeks these are the only times when you have confronted violence. How long ago were they?”

“They were both within a day of each other, right back in the beginning.”

She nodded a while, then said, “So, what I’m a bit confused about, John, is how do you know you are having these bad reactions, if those are the only times you have been exposed to violence?”

I made a mental note. Next time I was going to bullshit a psychologist, I should prepare my story. I made up something about my dreams, and she wanted to know if I had been dreaming about Dehan. I told her I hadn’t. The hour was really dragging. In the end I said to her, “You know, Doc, for cops it’s really important to be able to rely on your partner without having weird, romantic, sexual kind of shit going on.”

“Why do you call it shit? Is that how you see it?” I was spared having to answer because she looked at the clock on the wall and said, “It is also very important for human being to be able to acknowledge their true feelings.”

On my way out, I asked Marylyn the receptionist, for future reference, what their latest slot was. She said it was from five to six p.m.

I drove back to the hotel, had some lunch, and threw myself on my bed to stare at the ceiling for a while. I had four hours to kill. My phone pinged. It was a WhatsApp message from Dehan.

How’s it hangin’ partner?

I typed,

I just told a psychoanalyst I am in love with you.

Fuck you

Thank you. I hoped you would say that

At five thirty I went down, drove back to Market Street, and parked once more outside Westfield. I put the soft top up, closed the windows, and waited.

Twenty-SEVEN

She came out at about six fifteen and stood on the sidewalk, peering up to her right, like she was waiting for somebody. I watched her for about five minutes, wondering if it was her, if she was that Maria Garcia that Nelson and Mick and Sam had all fallen for in their own, peculiar ways. If she was, I could see why. She wasn’t my style, but there was something enchanting and captivating about her—a mix of vulnerability, intelligence and strength that was rare and beautiful.

I saw her smile, and a moment later a burgundy Range Rover pulled up with its hazards on. She skipped around to the passenger door and climbed in, saying something and laughing. I caught a glimpse of the driver, but it was hard to make anything out.

They pulled away. I let them get ahead of me and began to follow. Whoever it was drove assertively, bordering on aggressive. He weaved his way through the traffic, not so much settling into its flow as driving through it to get where he wanted to be. He led me back to the Dwight Eisenhower Highway and across the bay again. I followed him onto the I-80 along the coast, then onto Ashby Avenue and into South Berkeley. Next thing we were driving down quiet, leafy streets among cute, detached houses with front and back gardens that probably came with a price tag of between one and a half and two million bucks.

They turned into Blake Street, and I slowed right down to give them a chance to park and get out. After thirty seconds or a minute, I turned in after them and drove slowly past. It was a double-fronted, gabled affair that looked as though it might have been built