Chapter 8

The team from the crime lab was still hard at work when Michelle got back to the victim's apartment. They, for the most part, ignored her as she stood in the doorway watching them work. Pictures were being taken, evidence cataloged, fingerprint powder spread over every conceivable surface. The victim's bedroom was dark except for a bright blue spotlight that was slowly going over the surface of the bed.

It was amazing to watch. Each member of the team seemed to know exactly what their job was without being given any instruction from the primary criminologist. Evidence bags were stacking up quickly. One technician was taking fingerprints, dusting and tape lifting then cataloging as to where the print was taken from.

She was fascinated.

A hand touched her shoulder making her jump. She turned to see Jimmy Benitti standing grinning down at her.

"Dammit Jimmy, you enjoy doing that too much." She sounded more pissed than she was. He was always trying to scare people and she had secretly nicknamed him 'ghost'.

"Only to you kid, I like to watch your boobs flop."

She poked him in the arm with her fist hard enough to make him flinch. "My boobs don't flop. They bounce, and they do that firmly."

"Yeah, tell that to gravity." He rubbed his arm. "Where's your keeper? I don't see the leash today."

"He went to the lab to check out that note, I got off the leash for a couple of hours. But I tell you, I'm getting withdrawal."

"Yeah, he sure does like to keep you close," he said, hidden meaning evident in the sarcastic tone of voice.

"Watch it, Benitti, or I'll rat you out to Tankless about those three hour lunches at the strip club in Capac." She smirked as he flinched again.

"Ouch, how'd you find out about those."

She smiled coyly. "A good cop and a good reporter never, ever tell their sources."

They were quiet for a moment, watching the mountain of evidence grow.

"So what happened with the Sheriff?" Jimmy finally asked.

"The usual. He blew a ton of smoke and now I get to act as liaison between Nick and the Sheriff. I get to play go between and keep him informed on the case." Bitterness seeped into her tone.

"I don't envy you that job, kid." He patted her on the back, hand creeping downward towards her butt until she glared at him and grabbed it.

"Jimmy you are a pig."

"That's why I became a cop, kid. I was already half way there." He laughed as she rolled her eyes at the poor attempt at humor. "If you're sticking around kid, I'll take off. I missed out on lunch today." He pulled out his wallet and showed her a whole handful of dollar bills.

"Jeez, Jimmy. I was just kidding about the strip club," she said rolling her eyes at him again.

He laughed and took off, leaving her in charge of the crime scene. It wasn't the best job for her since they had uniformed officers downstairs keeping the press back. If Jimmy left, Michelle would be the one to give them orders. The uniforms would really love that, half of them had been giving her shit about working with the detectives anyways. She had even heard rumors spreading that the only reason Nick was letting her work the case was to get her in bed.

In bed with Nick. The thought brought a rosy glow to her cheeks. She could imagine that only too well, how he would taste, how he would feel under her hands.

The scene in his office shouldn't have happened. You never get involved with anyone where you worked. It was too messy and too complicated after it was done. It would be especially so with someone like Nick. She could imagine white picket fences and two point five kids with him if she really let herself. And she wouldn't let herself.

But damn could he kiss. She could still taste him on her lips when she licked them. It was a distraction she couldn't afford, especially now.

Lisha stepped into her range of view.

"Well, hey sugar." Her voice was syrupy with false friendship. "Where's Nicky at? He get kicked off the case?"

You'd like that wouldn't you, Lisha, she thought, trying to get the image of ripping the woman's expertly styled hair out. "No, he's at the lab with the letter."

God, the woman was annoying. She was dressed in tight black jeans and a black tank top that clung like a second skin. Her hair was loose around her head in clouds of red waves that fell to her mid back. She had a walk like a jungle cat in heat. And if that accent wasn't fake, Michelle was a brunette.

"And here I thought Tanner was going to take the two of you off the case." Lisha checked her carefully manicured fingernails for chips as she kept her voice light and friendly in her search for gossip.

What a bitch. She was probably the one that spilled the information to the Sheriff in the first place. Michelle had a hard time smothering the urge to knock the redhead on her ass.

"Sheriff Williams just wanted an up date. Nick is still primary on the case." No thanks to you. She could be just as hypocritical as Lisha was, even if it did leave a bad taste in her mouth. She smiled back at her. "It was amazing how quickly he found out about the apartment, Lisha. I mean, we had barely gotten here before he showed up."

Lisha shrugged her tan shoulders, looking down at her manicure once more before snapping on another set of thin latex gloves. "He must have a pretty good network of ears in the department. You know, girl, he is the Sheriff." Lisha turned her back on Michelle, with a casual wave of gloved fingers, and strolled away, effectively dismissing her.

It's too bad she was so claustrophobic. Prison might be worth the satisfaction of putting an entire generation of men out of their misery and doing in the little cat. Her fingers were itching to wrap around the grip of her gun so she hurriedly turned her attention to something else.

The crime scene people were packing up their stuff, depositing latex gloves into evidence bags, dotting i's and crossing t's in case of trial. They gathered up the evidence to take back to the lab and left the apartment, Michelle coming up behind them. She locked the door with the key that Jimmy had left her, smoothed on the crime scene--do not pass--notice so that it covered the crack in the door and walked down the stairs to assign one lucky deputy watch duty.

As luck would have it, every officer there had at least five years seniority in and didn't appreciate being given orders by the new kid. She finally had one officer take pity on her, an older guy that she had never met before who worked with the Imlay City Police. He didn't know who she was or that she was only a lowly deputy, low man on the totem pole and only in plain clothes because she was supposedly sleeping with the detective in charge.

Damn. She'd heard of bad hair days, this was the dozy of all time.

She glanced at her watch. She had been officially off duty for three hours. She had missed lunch, missed dinner and the sun was getting low over the trees. She hadn't heard from Nick since she had left him hours ago. He had never called about the letter or what it said.

She was upset, tired, hungry and cranky. She'd had about six hours of sleep this week and most of that had been at Nick's place on his lumpy couch. Michelle made up her mind, she was going to go home, forget about the case. She was going to climb into the huge claw foot tub full of hot, scented water and forget she had ever heard the name Nicholas Saint.

She climbed into her car and turned down the road that would take her to Interstate 69 the quickest way back to Lapeer. She drove home, stopping in Lapeer to pick up some drive through dinner and then went to her place.

Her apartment was dark and closed up, hot after the sun had baked in the drapes half of the day. She opened all the windows and turned on the two fans she had, one in her bedroom window, the other in the tiny living room. The people who had rented this place before her had owned cats, and from the smell left in the carpet, they hadn't been much on changing the litter box.

She sat her dinner on the kitchen counter and put on a kettle of hot water, taking down her favorite cup and a tea bag. Her body was craving a drink to help her relax from the day but she refused to give in to it. In one of the stress management classes that had been a requirement for a degree in law enforcement, the instructor had harped that drinking alcohol after a long day on the job could lead to performance problems. She might not automatically believe that but she wasn't taking a chance.

She took her tea and sandwich with her into the bathroom, opening the window above the toilet and pulling the blinds back. Her apartment looked out over her neighbor's dog pen. A beautiful sight, the big ugly dog, his toys, food and assorted messes.

The taps on the big tub were old and squeaked when she turned them, the water taking forever to get hot. Michelle waited patiently before shoving in the white rubber plug and adding her favorite scented oil. She took off her shoulder holster and wrapped it around her duty weapon. It went into the drawer next to her bed. Her 22 was taken was already out of her ankle holster and left in the kitchen cupboard that housed her cereal. She went back to the bathroom and finished undressing.

The water was hot and felt wonderful when she climbed in. She relaxed, leaning her head against the raised back of the tub. This luxury was worth every other hardship the rest of the apartment had, the terrible heating system, lack of air conditioning. She'd live through it all just for a soak in a deep tub. She turned the water off with her toes and closed her eyes, willing her brain to turn off.