Chapter Two
Two weeks later
Carlton Lassiter stopped just inside the lobby doors of the Santa Barbara police station, taking a moment to reorient himself to a place he hadn't been inside for nearly ten years. He breathed in deeply, taking in the combined scents of ink, gunpowder, and coffee that permeated every station he'd been in during his career, a scent that meant home to him.
Making his way up the hallway, he stopped at the main desk, where a uniformed officer was talking on the phone. He cleared his throat when she didn't acknowledge him, and got an upraised finger for his trouble. She didn't even bother to look at him.
"I have a meeting with Interim Police Chief Vick," he told the woman, impatiently, and she pointed over his shoulder.
Craning his head around, he followed the direction of her finger, raising an eyebrow at the bench she was indicating. He took in the angry convict chained to the bench, and the implication that he was supposed to wait there, with what he considered remarkable patience, turning back to the still-chatting officer with a tight, forced smile.
"I have a meeting with Chief Vick," he repeated, tersely. "I'm Detective Carlton Lassiter."
The officer gestured to the bench again, imperiously, and Carlton let out a short laugh.
"You've got to be kidding me," he said, shortly. "If you think for one second think that I'm sitting there-"
"Um, Detective Lassiter?" A hesitant voice broke into his incipient tirade, and Carlton spun on the intruder, ready to rip into him.
"Detective Lassiter, I'm here to show you to Chief Vick's office," the young man stammered.
Carlton raked the young cop with his gaze, and it was obvious from the way he was holding himself, nervous as hell and shifting from foot to foot, that he'd only come over to try and keep the peace between him and the obviously-insolent desk clerk. But, Carlton decided that he didn't care why the kid was there, so long as he actually made his meeting with Chief Vick.
The officer, who introduced himself as McNabb, showed him to Chief Vick's office, and Carlton nodded a perfunctory thanks before going inside and shutting the door. Crossing the room, he offered his hand to the woman sitting behind the desk, blinking in surprise at her very pregnant belly.
"Problem, Detective?" she asked, eyeing him as she shook his hand.
"Not – not at all," Carlton said, quickly.
He sat down in the chair across the desk that she'd indicated, quickly deciding that saying anything else on the subject wasn't a prudent move. He hadn't grown up with two sisters without becoming a cautious man.
"So, Detective Lassiter," Vick started, opening a file that sat in front of her on her desk. "I see you've been with the Seattle PD for the last nine years."
"That's right," Carlton told her. "I was the head detective of the Ninth Precinct," he added, after a moment.
"Why'd you leave?" Vick asked, glancing down at his file.
"Personal reasons," Carlton said, shortly, and then he sighed when he saw her expression indicating that it wasn't a sufficient answer. "My brother was having some problems with his marriage, and I moved up north to help him with his kids."
"And now you've decided to come back to Santa Barbara," Vick prompted, when he fell silent.
"Seattle's wet," Carlton told her, and Vick's lips quirked in a smile at the grumpy tone in his voice.
"Missed the California sunshine?" she asked, lightly.
"Something like that," he replied, and then the rest of his words were cut off by an impatient voice from the bullpen.
Spinning around, he saw a young man standing in the center of the room, toe to toe with a woman who was glaring at him, disgust on her face.
"I do not need your help with my case," the woman snapped, irritation dripping from her tone at the words.
"Just take a look at the store manager," the man insisted, not backing down an inch. "I'm telling you, he's the one who's been robbing the stores."
"And how do you know that?" the woman asked, mockingly. "Did you have another one of your psychic visions?"
"What is your evidence, Detective?" came a quiet voice from his shoulder, and Carlton moved aside quickly as Vick stepped into the doorway of her office.
"The manager did an interview with Channel Eight News," the man told her, turning to face Vick. "I caught a replay of it this morning before I came in. He kept twitching his hands, a nervous tic. And he wouldn't look the cameraman in the eye. Kept looking everywhere else, could barely sit still during the interview."
"You can read guilt from a tv interview?" the woman asked, sneeringly.
"Can't you?" the man retorted, smirking.
"Enough!" Vick barked, before they could start bickering again. "Detective Barry," she continued, and the woman looked over, sharply, "Investigate the store manager."
Barry spluttered, but a hard look from Vick quelled any protest she might have made. She gave a short nod, stalking back to her desk without another word.
"Spencer, my office," Vick added, and the young man crossed the room to enter the office, leaning against the door after he'd shut it behind him.
"The store manager?" Vick asked, after she'd retaken her seat and from the tone of her voice, this was the sort of discussion they'd had often.
"The store manager," Spencer confirmed, with a grin. "He had to have had a partner, of course; there's no way one man could hit six stores simultaneously."
"But two men can?" Carlton asked, skeptically, before he thought about what he was saying.
"They can if they reset the time codes of the surveillance tapes," Spencer told him, turning to face him.
"Spencer, meet Detective Carlton Lassiter," Vick introduced them. "Lassiter, this is Detective Shawn Spencer."
"Nice to see you again," Spencer said, holding out a hand.
"Oh, good, you two know each other already," Vick said, and both men looked at her in surprise.
"Why is that good?" Carlton asked, suspiciously.
"Because the two of you are going to be working very closely for a while," Vick told him. "You, gentlemen, are going to be partners."
"I hardly think I need someone holding my hand," Carlton said, scoffing.
"Chief, I don't work with a partner," Spencer broke in at the same time.
"You do if you expect to ever get out from behind that desk," Vick said, a hard look on her face. "Because I'll be damned if I have a repeat of an enraged Henry Spencer storming in here because his only son got hurt on the job."
"I'm a cop," Spencer muttered under his breath. "Getting hurt is a risk I take. He knows that."
"But it doesn't mean that he has to accept it," Vick told him, having heard his mutter. "Especially when you didn't bother to call in for backup."
From the way Spencer was keeping suspiciously quiet, Carlton figured the accusation held weight.
"As for you, Detective," Vick continued, turning to face him, "Don't consider this hand-holding. Consider it a chance for you and Spencer to learn from each other."
She turned back to the pile of paperwork on her desk waiting for her attention, then looked back up at the men when she realized that neither of them had left.
"You can go now," she prompted, nodding at the door.
Carlton broke for the door, with Spencer a step behind him, and then the younger man stopped before leaving the office.
"Oh, yeah," he said, as if it had just occurred to him, "the guy you've got in Detention Room Two?"
"What about him?" Vick asked, warily.
"I'm guessing he's in for some kind of vandalism charge?" Spencer asked. "A car, from the looks of it."
"From the looks of what?" Vick asked, with considerable patience. Carlton had a feeling his own would be severely tested when dealing with the other detective.
"Just the shards of taillight on his sleeve that I saw him brushing off as I walked through the lobby," Spencer said, grinning. "Pieces fell into his left shoe."
"Didn't the guy find it strange that you were standing there staring at him?" Carlton asked, curious despite himself.
"I didn't say I was standing there," Spencer retorted, slipping past Carlton and out the door.
"Good luck," Vick told him, as he watched Spencer walk across the bullpen. "You're going to need it."
As he left the office, he heard the Chief call out to another officer, presumably telling him to check the shoes of the man detained in Two.
"Spencer!" Carlton barked out, in a tone that made most people freeze in their tracks. Spencer barely broke his stride.
Instead, he stopped by the desk of the officer who'd shown Carlton to the Chief's office, leaning against the desk as the young man looked up at him.
"Hey, Detective," McNabb said, a smile breaking out over his face.
"Ready for the big day?" Spencer asked, picking up a framed photo of McNabb with his arms around a woman with long, dark hair.
"I don't know who's more nervous, me or Sophie," McNabb admitted.
"Spencer, I'm talking to you," Carlton snapped as he reached the other man.
"Catch up with you later, McNabb," Spencer said, as he straightened. As he and Carlton walked over to the younger man's desk, he confided, "McNabb's getting married in a month."
"And I would care why?" Lassiter asked, and Spencer shook his head in exasperation.
"Never mind," he said.
"What did Detective Barry mean when she asked if you'd had one of your psychic visions?" Lassiter asked, trying to change the subject.
"Exactly what she said," Spencer told him. "I'm psychic."
Lassiter snorted out a disbelieving laugh. "There's no such thing," he scoffed.
"Two weeks ago," Spencer said, "I would have agreed with you." Reaching his desk, he added, "I'm working on a missing person's case right now. You ever hear of the McCallum family?"