Chapter Ten
Jim reached up and put his folded cane on Karen's dashboard.
"You're not bringing that?" she asked awkwardly.
He pulled off his sunglasses and set them next to the cane. "I'm not blind tonight, remember?" He turned and smiled at her.
"Right." She got out of the car.
Jim did likewise. He got out and stretched, taking deep breaths of cold air, resituating his black leather jacket. He put his hands in his pockets and leaned nonchalantly up against the side of the car, getting into character, waiting for Karen to join him.
"Where's the bar?"
She stepped up next to him. "A couple blocks down. I didn't think driving right up to it would be the best thing. Not if we want to be inconspicuous."
Jim nodded. He pushed out the sides of his jacket, hands still in the pockets. "I don't think this guy would ever let you drive, anyway."
"Sexist, nice touch," she said blandly. "What should I call you? We never talked about that."
"Anything but Ted." His hands clenched in his pockets.
"We're just asking questions tonight. No drug deals."
"Good." Jim straightened up and reached over for her. He stopped just short of her and left his arm there. "You know this is just business, right? Anything that happens, I'm sorry, I don't mean it."
"Right. We already agreed, you and I are an item, we stick close so no one will notice you can't see."
She sounded a little nervous. Jim tentatively finished his reach, bypassing her arm to put his arm around her waist. He moved carefully, keeping his face averted, feeling himself start to blush, barely brushing her clothes as his hand came to rest on the side of her stomach opposite him. Despite the fact that he was barely touching her, he could still feel her muscles tighten, hear a slight intake of breath.
"Okay?" he asked. He didn't pull her any closer.
She relaxed a little. "Okay." She started walking down the quiet street, picking up her pace, probably from cold and nerves.
Jim listened to the traffic, but was relieved to find almost no other foot traffic yet. Karen hurried on and Jim's hand slipped, he nearly lost his grip. He let his hand slide into place at her elbow.
"You okay?" she asked.
"We're going a little fast."
She slowed.
"Nah, it's okay. Just lemme know when we get closer, we'll resituate. It's easier to walk this way, anyway."
"Okay."
They quickly covered the distance, then Karen stopped. "I can see it."
Karen watched Jim's face as he slipped his arm around her waist. His jaw was set, he wouldn't look at her, barely touched her. Again, she felt her muscles tense against her will and hoped he didn't notice. This was just Jim, and it wasn't real. Despite what he'd done in the past, he wasn't the type of guy to make the same mistake twice. His fingers splayed at her side, settling on her stomach.
"You know, if my wife saw me right now, she'd kill me." He smiled down at her.
"I thought you told her?"
"I did. She'd kill me anyway."
Karen nodded, figuring he was close enough to feel the movement, her head at his shoulder. His gaze was lowered, embarrassment etched on his face, but the way his head was tilted it was almost like he was staring down her leather jacket and through her flimsy shirt. She glanced down to make sure no one else would be able to see anything. She felt sluttish enough in her tight leather pants.
"Should we go in?" he asked. "Marty's probably already here."
"Yeah." She pushed a little closer to him and he stepped back, probably thinking she needed space. "Hey, Cujo, you can't be so nervous around a broad or someone's gonna notice."
Jim laughed. "Cujo?"
"In honor of Hank. Sometimes I think that's who he wants to be."
"You think?"
"You should see this look he gets in his eyes, sometimes, like at a crime scene."
Jim squeezed her with a smile. "I bet he's at home bored, wishing he was here getting some action. Christie ignores him."
"We'll have to make it up to him." She cleared her throat. "I mean, like take him out for lunch or something."
Jim nodded. "Just friends."
"Just friends."
"Come on, Betty."
"Betty?"
"Boop."
"You think I look like Betty Boop?" she asked, offended.
Jim laughed. "I really have no idea what you look like. Not really. I just thought it would be a good personality match. Betty and Cujo."
She laughed, then tried to giggle. "I'm not much of one for giggling, but I'll try the airhead thing."
Jim put on a stern face. "Let's go, Betty. Get a move on. The night is wasting."
He kept his head down as they walked into the bar. He leaned down to nuzzle her ear in the loud room and quietly said, "What's it look like?"
Karen almost pulled back when his lips touched her ear, his breath blew at her hair. You're Betty, she lectured herself. This means nothing.
She looked around in the dim light and smoke. Undesirables pressed around the bar. Broken windowpanes, holes in the walls, a few candles set out in case someone forgot a lighter. She leaned up. "Dark, lots of people. Scary people. We could probably arrest most of them if we had time."
Jim's mouth twitched. "Next time." He pulled her closer. "You sound too matter-of-fact for a Betty. Chill, kid." He closed his eyes. "It's all just for show." He pushed her hair away from her ear with his chin, moving around behind her, probably looking like he was really making out with the back of her neck as he stood behind her talking quietly. "Go to the bar. Which way?"
"Right," she said and forced a laugh, put on a plastic smile. She reached behind her to one of Jim's hands on her back and took it.
He carefully laced his fingers through hers and put his other hand on her shoulder.
She headed for the bar, but tilted her head back to look at him, his gaze looking at the top of her head. "You look like you're manhandling me," she said and laughed honestly.
He grinned. "That's 'cause you won't do what I say."
Karen stopped walking. Jim listened a moment, picking out sounds up and down the counter, laying it out in his mind. He put one hand to either side of Karen and reached out confidently. His hands latched onto the bar and he leaned forward, taking Karen with him.
"Lemme know when the bartender shows," he said, pressing her stomach against the bar.
She tugged his sleeve a second later, so unobtrusive Jim himself barely noticed. Her hand fluttered on top of his and a quick motion with her finger pointed a direction.
Jim looked up before the voice boomed, loud, the kind of voice belonging to an ex-linebacker, a huge guy. "What can I get you?"
Jim ordered a shot and a beer for himself. "And the lady'd like to have Sex on the Beach," he said and laughed bawdily.
He felt Karen's elbow come back lightly into his ribs. "Cool it, Cujo," she said in his ear. "I thought you didn't want to stand out."
He nuzzled her ear again with his eyes closed. "How's a drunk stand out in a bar?"
Two glasses and a bottle hit the counter and Jim pulled out a roll of singles, throwing several onto the counter. He reached forward, but Karen pulled his hand back before he could touch any of the drinks. He was so close he felt her reach out and pull one closer. He stretched with his opposite hand, running it down her arm until it touched the shot. He tipped it back quickly.
Karen picked up their drinks as Jim pretended to fondle her, wrapping his arms around her tightly. "Find a table, but one close."
He felt out of place, not just a cop in a bar full of criminals, but relying on Karen like this. Holding her close. She was the wrong size. She wasn't Christie by a long shot. But he couldn't pull back. He was afraid if he didn't stay close he'd make a mistake, give himself away.
Karen plunked the drinks down on a table. Jim finally disentangled himself. The bar was getting louder and he couldn't hear the next thing she said. He reached around her, letting her go, pulling out a chair for himself. She disappeared, but he heard her slide a chair around closer to his as he sat. She pushed the beer across the table until it touched the back of his hand. He grabbed it, then pulled his chair closer to hers. "I couldn't hear you," he said, leaning down.
"Marty's here. I saw him in back."
Jim shuddered as her lips touched his ear, brushed his hair. She was close enough he could feel lipstick on her lips. If just felt wrong, but he was glad his conscience was kicking in. He reached over to keep one hand on the back of her chair so he could feel every movement she made as she cased the bar.
They had decided Karen would be the one to start making inquiries and, if she caught anything, to send it Jim's way. She squeezed his hand before standing.
Jim slumped drunkenly over his beer, staring at the table, his eyes unfocused, a slight frown making the lines on his face stand out. Karen turned away. The sight of Jim like that made her want to stay, but she knew it was all part of the act.
"How many's he had?" Marty asked near her ear.
"Just one."
Marty laughed.
She leaned closer to his ear so no one would be able to hear. "He thought he'd look less blind." Karen put on a ditsy pose and twirled her hair around a finger.
"He almost looks stoned."
Karen laughed back, but felt guilty as she looked over at Jim. She could have set him up at the bar to make inquiries of his own. "Anything?"
"Not yet."
She moved away, making new friends and getting a feel for the place. A couple times she felt close enough to broach the subject, just hinting there was someone she needed out of the way, but no mess, preferably untraceable.
She watched as Jim finished his beer and a waitress came up in tiny shorts and a shirt tied up to expose her midriff. Jim smiled at the waitress charmingly, made her laugh, kept gesturing with the beer bottle, keeping his gaze on it like he was flirting shyly. Karen had to admit for a minute he didn't look blind at all. Jim reached up and caressed the waitress, pulling her closer so he could talk quietly.
Karen turned away. Maybe Anne was right about that fatal Dunbar charm. The waitress seemed unable to resist him and it made Karen's blood boil momentarily for both her friend and his wife. Then she reminded herself she was looking for information and flirting with guys she'd normally stay away from. Jim was surely doing the same thing.
"Let's dance," Karen yelled in his ear.
Jim held a hand out to her, grateful he had to hold her close. She'd been gone an hour and he'd added three whiskeys to his first shot and beer.
"How's it going?" he yelled back.
"Kinda hard since the band started. I think a couple people are getting suspicious, since I haven't spent any time with you."
Jim pulled her close on the dance floor, both hands at the small of her back. "Sorry about manhandling you," he said.
"What?" she yelled.
"Nothing. How's Russo?"
"You mean Russ, Betty's ex-boyfriend?"
Jim blinked.
"I had some girl ask. She wanted to get it on with you if we weren't exclusive."
Jim laughed, turning his head up, standing straight for the first time that night. Karen's hand tilted his head back down to face her.
"That's better," she said.
Jim nodded, not moving his gaze from where he thought she was.
"You're a terrible dancer. I thought Christie made you take lessons."
Jim leaned down to hear her better. "Ballroom dancing, not hip hop. You want me to spin you out a few times?"
"I can't picture you ballroom dancing," she yelled.
"Me either!" He couldn't help but grin.
The band ended their set with a couple slower tunes. Jim held Karen close, resting his chin on her head, keeping his eyes closed but concentrating on what was going on around him.
The band stopped and in the sudden quiet it sounded like everyone was yelling. Jim winced and it got quiet a second as everyone lowered their voices, no longer having to shout.
"You wanna sit at the bar for a while?"
Jim shrugged. "Sure." It was getting louder again, smokier, but he could smell Karen's perfume above everything else. He swayed a little, then laughed as he used her for balance. "You know, if I hadn't gone blind, I probably would be putting the moves on you." He slung his arm around her shoulders comradely. "I'm glad I got over that, but I wanted to let you know… you smell good." He shook his head, trying to clear it. "I mean, you're attractive, you know? You deserve a good guy. I'll keep an eye out for you." He laughed at his own choice of words.
Karen put his hand on one of the barstools and he hopped up, kicking his feet in the air like a kid. He pulled her close again with one arm around her back. "Good luck out there." He gave her a hug. "This had been fun, thanks for being my partner."
Then he spun her away and turned toward the bar, pulling his feet up onto the rung of the stool. He ordered a beer.
Someone leaned up next to him. "Hey, Cujo, taking it easy?" Marty ordered a beer for himself.
"Yeah, Russ. Having fun?"
"A bit."
"We should set Tom up with the waitress here. She's really nice." He leaned closer to Russo. "Is she cute?"
"Which one?"
"The nice one."
"How are things with you and Betty?" Marty asked casually.
"Nice kid. We need to find her a nice guy, okay? She deserves it."
Jim looked down at his beer, imagining the bubbles, trying to think of the color. Amber. That's what they called beer. He wondered if the first girl named Amber had been named after a beer.
Marty slugged him lightly in the arm. "I'm gonna mingle."
Jim nodded. "You know, I have problems mingling. Not just in the bar here—thanks for letting me come, by the way, even if I'm not much help—but I have trouble with you guys, too. Sometimes it's hard for me to tell how you guys mean something and how you're reacting… But I think I'm getting more comfortable, you know? With you guys and—" He gestured at his eyes. "I'm getting better at compensating. I think we're all gonna come together."
"Last beer, Cujo."
Jim grabbed his arm and looked closely at him. "I think I can even still walk a straight line, Russ. I know what I'm saying."
"Do you?"
"Yeah. Christie has me on this honesty kick, sharing my feelings. I just wanted you to know. I think we all work pretty well together. I'm still figuring things out in my life, but… I'm getting there."
Jim let Marty go. He really was starting to accept it. So he couldn't see, so what? Marty'd invited him to come undercover. They were all more comfortable together. Things were falling into place.
And the case was finally turning in the right direction, even if they had lost two witnesses.
"You know someone named Rico Artez? Tall black man?" Jim asked the next person to lean up to the bar next to him. It wasn't looking like they were liable to find Pipsqueak, but maybe they'd be able to find Artez.
"No," the man next to him said, then walked away with a drink.
"Artez?" the bartender said. "He stopped coming in here a few weeks ago. Said he'd run into some kind of trouble with his girlfriend. Why?"
"He owes me," Jim said.
"He doesn't have any money," the guy said with a deep laugh.
"Information. He was looking into something for me."
"What kind of information?"
Jim shook his head.
"Look, his girlfriend was here, too. Bugging one of our waitresses."
"Which one?"
"You're not going to cause any problems, are you?"
"No."
"I'll send her over."
Jim nodded.
"Keep an eye on Cujo," Karen had said as she passed Marty on her way to the restroom.
Marty turned. He hadn't thought Jim was that drunk, but Karen would know, right?
Jim still didn't look drunk. He was talking to one of the waitresses, looking a little too serious for a Cujo. Marty knew Jim's looks and felt his heart start pounding. It looked like Jim had found something.
He shook his head and scanned the bar. There had to be something—his eyes settled on a guy he'd kept an eye on all night. He was an older man, but he fit Sonny's description of the guy he'd talked to about Pipsqueak. And he was finally alone. Marty glanced over at Jim, still looking okay, and headed over.
"I was told you might know someone who could supply me with a certain little deadly something."
The man didn't even blink. "That was a long time ago." He looked Marty up and down. "You're the second person to ask me about that certain little something." He gestured for Marty to sit across the booth and Marty slid in. "You're treading dangerous waters."
"You know Pipsqueak?"
"He doesn't even go by that name anymore. He's cleaned up his act."
"Where can I find him?"
The man just sat and watched Marty, so Marty watched back.
Karen had moved Jim back to a table and Jim had resumed his drunken stupor look, even though he was feeling more sober than he had an hour before.
"You like the waitresses, huh?" she'd asked as she'd clamped a hand on his arm.
She'd left him, saying she had a couple people who might know something.
A hand clamped the back of Jim's chair and its twin hit the table in front of him as a man leaned over behind Jim. Jim glanced up, then back down. "You girlfriend sent me to talk to you," a deep voice said. The voice sounded young, though it was already starting to be eroded by years of cigarette smoking. "I might be able to help, in more ways than one."
Jim was at attention. He gestured at an empty chair, but the guy didn't move from behind him. He flicked a card onto the table next to Jim's hand. Jim put his hand over the top of it, sliding it to the edge of the table and then tucking it into the inside pocket of his leather jacket.
"First, I thought you should know your girl's getting it on with some guy in back."
Jim's jaw clenched. Karen? With one of these creeps? Was it consensual? Karen could take care of herself, and if not, Marty'd see, or maybe she'd scream. "I know," he said, like he'd seen it himself. "We're just looking for some information."
The guy laughed perversely. "If that's the case, maybe I'll give her that info myself." He turned.
Jim reached back and grabbed him. "She told you to give that information to me. Touch her and I'll bash in your skull."
He let go and faced straight ahead again. The man laughed a little, more nervously.
"Word is you're looking for someone to be put out."
"Maybe."
"Is it a good cause?"
"Yup."
"Call my uncle." He tapped the table where he'd set the card. "He deals in all sorts of nasty chemicals."
"Is it untraceable? I'd hate to have it come back to me, you know."
The man leaned down to speak lowly right behind him. "Once it's in the blood, no one will ever know."
Then the man disappeared into the crowd.
Karen watched Marty walk away. They'd just finished a little rendezvous in the coat closet, so to speak, but it was more like a tryst in the hallway by the bathrooms, smelling of vomit and urine and other unsavory bodily malfunctions. She was glad the bulbs were burned out back there, but she stayed away from the walls nonetheless.
Next to an old payphone with the cord cut and the handset missing, she'd leaned close to Marty to keep from being overheard. A guy had walked past and stood outside the lady's room, so Karen had to lean closer to Marty while the man watched them, finally draping her arm around Marty's neck, snaking one leg around the back of his, pulling him so close it wouldn't be possible to tell just what they were doing. Maybe this was why so many female spies were actually prostitutes in history; the only way to share information in public was to look really cozy.
She'd finally sent Marty away, looking out the hallway to take a quick check on Jim, then as soon as she turned around she found herself face to face with a man. A flannel shirt and jeans too tight, hadn't shaved in a couple days, that depraved look of a stalker in his eyes, she'd seen him watching her a couple times that night. He ran a hand down her arm and Karen couldn't restrain the look of disgust that washed over her features.
"Hey, pretty lady, you've been awfully cozy with a couple guys tonight. Don't turn your back on one more," he said.
"Not interested."
He followed her closely as she tried to leave, rubbing up against her rear, then reaching one hand around to pull her back by the stomach. Karen turned to hit him, but he restrained her other arm before she could get it up. Karen yelled out, pushed the guy away as he bent to kiss her, kicked out one leg, sweeping his feet to off-balance him, then pulling him toward her, side-stepping in time so he'd fall.
Marty was standing in the hall already. He shrugged and almost smiled. "Not bad." He held a hand out to help extract her from the man's grabby hands as he tried to raise up. "I'll keep him busy, let's just go. Give you a call in a few minutes."
Karen ran to where Jim was standing, looking confused and outraged and lost at the same time, pushing through people who were pushing back to see what the commotion was and if they could get a piece of the action.
Jim heard Karen cry out. He pushed back his chair and was on his feet, spinning, then unsure what to do. He didn't know where she was, just that there were a lot of tables between them. All he could do was stand there, waiting for her to cry out again, the wait killing him as his chest contracted. He felt like he had in that restaurant with Christie, standing there, waiting for someone to speak up, at their mercy until they did. He wasn't on equal footing until he knew for sure where someone was.
He shouldn't have suggested to Marty that he and Karen could handle coming. He'd told Christie no woman could protect herself from being attacked, and he finally realized he'd have to put Karen in that category, too. Where the hell was she and was she okay? She was a cop, his rational side said, she could take care of herself. But the rest of him was saying Karen was in trouble, something was happening, and he had no idea what, where, or how to help.
He tuned all his senses, waiting, prepared. He heard a thump, hoped it wasn't Karen. She'd been hurt, though not badly, on their first case when Lyman had thrown her against the wall. She'd never admitted to him how badly, but he'd heard other officers asking her about it at the house, taking her statement. She was a tough kid, wouldn't complain, even if she had been knocked unconscious.
Five seconds, maybe ten, and Jim couldn't handle the wait any longer. He took a few steps forward, his hands just in front of him to catch a chair or a table. Jim turned his head to the side, listening as other people got up to check, nosy, getting in his way.
Someone grabbed his hand.
"Let's go," Karen said.
"You okay?" But he was already moving with her. He put his hand on her arm so they could move quicker through the crowd.
"Yeah. Wasn't much." She pushed the door open and they hurried down the street. "Like I told you, I attract the wrong kinds of guys."
She stepped off the curb and Jim didn't have time to react, stumbled to regain his footing as his feet hit the street. She slowed her pace a little without asking if he was okay and Jim was grateful.
"Marty was going to keep an eye on the guy, then slip out the back."
The were both breathing hard when they made it to the car. Jim reached out and grabbed the door handle, sliding easily into the seat as Karen hurried to her side, started the engine.
"No one's following."
Jim turned to her and grinned as she pulled out into traffic. "I'm proud of you, Karen, starting bar fights with such panache."
She laughed.
Karen glanced over at Jim. He was looking out the window—or whatever it was he did. Probably just thinking, but he looked more relaxed than she'd ever seen him.
He turned back toward her after a minute and she watched his face alternate between light and shadow as they drove between streetlights. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a card.
"I hope it's useful," he said as he turned it over in his hands. He finally held it up to her and she reached for it. "Is it blank?" he asked with a grin.
Karen glanced down in the dark. "Nope. I can't read it, but it's not blank."
"I talked to someone about Artez and Samantha, too."
"So you think, since they went to the same bar as this infamous Pipsqueak, there might be a connection?"
"Maybe. I didn't find anything out about Pipsqueak, though."
"Me either. But Marty said he found the guy Sonny talked to." Her cell phone rang and she slipped the card into her pocket and checked the readout. "Speak of the devil," she muttered and flipped the phone open. "Hey."
Jim shifted in his seat and Karen saw a look that might have been jealousy, but it was gone by the time they got under the next streetlight.
Was he jealous because Marty'd been there, keeping an eye on that guy while they got away? Or because Marty'd been able to find the guy Sonny'd told them about? Or had she read him wrong?
Karen listened as Marty filled her in on how the guy'd tried to go after her, but he'd tripped him, almost starting a bar fight as the guy fell into the crowd, and how outraged drinkers grabbed him up. Marty'd slipped out the back in the confusion. Then he started teasing her about putting the moves on both him and Jim.
"You know, tonight, this date with Jim, that's what it's supposed to be like, Karen," Marty said. "Not like those guys you've been dating."
Karen glanced quickly at Jim, obliviously staring out the window again, his expression blank, his blue eyes upturned toward the stars no one could see in the city. She'd felt that side of him that Anne had known, laidback, holding her closely, and she almost wretched at how easy it had seemed for him to forget his wife and hold her. "Uh, right. Yeah."
"We'll talk in the morning," Marty said.
She snapped the phone shut.
Jim turned back and smiled. "What did Marty have to say?"
Karen shook her head. "He said I should date guys more like you," she said wryly.
Jim turned away. Karen thought he looked pained, his reflection in the window clearly showing his lips pressed together. She saw him clench one of his hands, unclench, clench, work his jaw. He finally shook his head. "Sorry."
"Hey, it's not your fault you're a jerk." She patted his hand quickly and he relaxed. "Or maybe it is. Just one more thing for me to make sure I don't get in a relationship."
Jim was silent a minute and Karen concentrated on driving.
"You know, tonight… was really… awkward," he finally got out. "You're not my wife."
"What about Anne?" she asked quietly.
"Now see, that's where I'm a jerk. She wasn't my wife, either, it just took me longer to see it."
Jim unfurled his cane as he unfolded himself from the car and stood on the curb. He leaned back in the open door and smiled. "This was fun, we should do it again sometime, Betty."
Karen laughed. "Take care, Cujo."
Jim reached for the top of the door. "Goodnight."
"Hey, Jim," Karen called.
He grabbed the door he'd been closing.
"Your sunglasses."
"Oh, yeah." He bent down and reached for the dashboard.
"I have them," she said awkwardly.
Jim reached carefully into the open space. Her hand could have been anywhere, hovering, holding his glasses. He stopped his own searching hand and let her put the glasses in there. "Thanks."
"No prob. See you tomorrow."
"See you." He slammed the door and turned. She'd said she parked directly in front of the door, so he squared himself with the car and held his cane out. He listened as Karen drove away, apparently confident he could find his own way, even if he couldn't find his own sunglasses.
His hand safely on the outer door, Jim smiled. It really had been a nice night. Much less tense than the last time they'd done undercover work, but this time he'd had Karen and Marty right there.
"How'd it go?" Christie asked.
"Good," he replied.
"There's something I haven't seen in a while," she said as he shrugged out of his leather coat. He cocked his head to the side, waiting. "A smile."
Jim smiled broader. He stretched, releasing the rest of the tension from the evening, mostly little things that were easily dealt with. "It was good. Really."
He moved into the living room and nearly threw himself on the couch, stretching out, hands behind his head. "Really good," he mumbled, suddenly exhausted.
Hank padded over and Jim scratched behind his ears.
Christie sat on the edge of the couch by Jim's chest and he wrapped his arms around her middle, smiling contentedly. She reached out a hand and stroked his hair, then froze.
"Hmm?" he mumbled, his eyes half-closed.
"What's this?" She fingered his ear. "You have lipstick on your ear," she said icily. "Jim—" She pulled away and stood.
Jim laughed and sat up, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He laughed more. "It's okay. It's Karen's."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"Aww." Jim stood up. "Don't cry until you have the whole story." He took her in his arms briefly and squeezed, then went back to the table to grab his cell phone, carefully feeling the buttons and dialing. He held the phone out to Christie, who took it hesitantly. "Just Karen."
"Karen?" Christie said into the cell. "No… He's okay. Uh, Karen, what color's your lipstick?"
Jim shook his head, but he had to smile. Christie would make sure he couldn't lie, couldn't set up an alibi. She wouldn't just ask Karen if it was true she'd been whispering in his ear all night, she'd ask something Jim himself couldn't know.
Jim waited when Christie hung up, expecting her to immediately apologize. She touched his hand with the phone and he took it.
"She said she was keeping an eye on you to keep you honest, that I shouldn't worry," Christie said slowly, measuring the words out herself. "How does Karen know you had an affair? Why does Karen know?"
Jim grimaced and turned away to set his cell down. "She already knew," he said awkwardly. He hated to admit it, but Karen had probably known before even Christie herself. "It was her friend."
"And this is supposed to make me feel better?" Christie exploded.
"No." Jim reached out and took her hands before she could escape. "I didn't tell her. She knew when I started working with her."
"And she just got over it? Just like that?"
"Not really. I still don't think she trusts me completely, but she's had a bad history of guys herself. We're all the same."
Christie sighed. "You are all the same."
Jim tried to pull her closer. "Christie, please—"
"I can't get made because Karen already knew, right?"
"It was my mistake. I'm—"
"I know you're sorry, Jimmy! But when Karen sees me—"
"I'm sure she's not thinking of how I cheated on you." Christie sniffed. "I'll apologize for the rest of my life if I have to."
She snuggled up to him, still sniffling.
Jim shivered. He had to admit, this felt better, holding Christie close, not Karen. He didn't want to admit how close he'd had to get to Karen tonight, how her lipstick had got on his ear, probably in his hair. He probably smelled like her—
"I need a shower." He pulled away. "I stink."
"That you do, detective," Christie said. "Who were you tonight?" She followed him to the bedroom.
"Cujo," he said, pulling his shirt over his head.
Christie laughed. "How'd you come up with that one?"
"In honor of Hank."
"I never would have thought you'd turn out to be such a compassionate dog owner."
"You kidding? Most the time, I feel like Hank owns me."