Every Move She Makes (45 page)

"I'll be right back," he told me.

He moved past Iron Nurse into the hallway. She came in, picked up the
chart, consulted her watch, wrote something down. "You should be out of
here soon," she said, replacing the chart.

I closed my eyes. Maybe I'd dream something better this time.

"Kate? You awake?" Sam entered and stood next to my bed. The nurse
wrapped a blood-pressure cuff around my arm. I said. Actually, "croaked"

would be a more apt description. My throat felt dry, swollen.

He took my bandaged hand. Held it a little too tight.

"We have to stop meeting like this." "How'd you get here?" I asked, then
coughed at the effort of talking. Sam poured me some water from a small
plastic pink pitcher into a matching cup.

"Everything's cleared," he said while I drank.

"Almost."

"Almost?"

"We'll talk later." He nodded toward the nurse and started to pull away.

"No," I said, grasping at his fingers. "I want to know." I shifted in my
bed, trying to sit up, but stopped at the intense pain on my right
ankle. I wore a hospital gown and was covered with a light blanket.

Lifting it, I saw my leg was bandaged clear up the calf. "Great." "You
were lucky you were wearing boots," the nurse said efficiently. She
removed the blood pressure cuff. "Otherwise the burn would be much worse.

A year, maybe two, you probably won't even see the scar."

"You okay?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Fine. I'll live," I said, the pain already subsiding.

"Rocky got it worse," Sam said.

"What happened?"

"Broke his leg on the way down."

"Josephine?" His face darkened, and I wished I'd kept my mouth shut.

"She's fine. A little smoke inhalation, nothing serious. DA's going to
file on her. Once they figure out exactly what charges."

"Arson?" I suggested.

"Maybe. Conspiracy and fraud, definitely. Hilliard was DOA."

"Dex?"

"I.C.U. You saved his life." I took another drink, wetting my dry
throat, then let out a sigh. "And what about you?" "Me?" He shrugged. "I
have a feeling the DA's gonna drop everything. It doesn't matter. I'm
pulling out anyway." "What do you mean?" I asked, alarmed. I couldn't
imagine Homicide without Sam. He'd always been there, as constant as the
points on our gold stars.

"Retire."

"But-" "Too much happened, Kate. I need a break. Figured I'd go into the
detective business." "PI? You?" I didn't know a private investigator in
the city that Sam respected. Which is not to say there weren't any good
ones. That was just Sam's opinion.

"Didn't do half-bad looking for the Slasher."

"You broke the law." He grinned. "That's the beauty of it. What are they
gonna do? Put me on midnights?"

"They'll throw your sorry butt in jail.'?

"You worry too much. It'll be perfect. I can make my own hours and smoke
in the car if I want to." He leaned down, kissed my cheek. "You did
good, Kate. Better than any partner I've ever had." Rocky Markowski
hobbled in on crutches, a sheepish look on his face as he held out a
pen. "Sorry I screwed up on the computer, Kate. I've had my mind on
other stuff. My wife and I, well, she wanted me to move back in, then
she didn't. The stress is getting' to me."

"Don't worry about it," I said.

"Put something nice on my cast?"

"See ya next fall?"

"Funny. Don't forget I know things about you." I took the pen. Rocky sat
on the side of the bed, lifting his casted leg up. I signed my name,
then drew a heart around it. "That'll start some rumors," he said,
smiling. He reached over and tousled my hair. "I'm proud of you."

"Thanks." Rocky slid off, gathering his crutches. "Scolari's gonna drive
me home. I'll see you at work." Sam kissed my forehead. "Wash your face
before you leave. You got black smudges all over it." He indicated for
Rocky to exit. "Come on, Gimpy," he said as they stepped through the
door.

"You shoulda seen Torrance giving her mouth-to-mouth."

"Shut up, Markowski," Sam said.

Mouth-to-mouth? "What are you talking about, Rocky?" I asked.

"You were out cold. Smoke inhalation. He dragged you out, gave you
mouth-to-mouth." He smiled. "You and me got to ride to the hospital
together. Same ambulance. You don't remember?" I shook my head as Sam
nudged him from the room. I watched them head past the nurses' station,
thinking about Torrance. He'd saved my life. -Again. But now it was
over. It occurred to me that Torrance and I had reached a turning point
in our relationship. The case was finished, and once our wounds were
licked we could all return to our regular duties. I would go back to
investigating homicides, and Torrance would go back to investigating
cops.

The stigma of his job still weighed on me.

We'd weathered the storm in Sam's case, but what was next? Would I be
able to take the pressure from those of my peers who looked down on
Torrance for what he

did? Was I strong enough?

Throwing back the covers, I sat up and eyed the bandage on my right leg.

After this last week, I'd proved myself strong enough for anything. At
the moment, however, I felt anything but brave. In fact, I deserved the
right to be chicken, and on that note I decided I was getting out of
there before Torrance returned. Swinging my legs over the side, I stood,
and holding the back of my gown closed, stepped into the rest room,
locking the door behind me. After using the head, then washing my
soot-covered face, I exited, looking around for my clothes. A wardrobe
stood to the left of the bed, and I opened it to find my belongings
stuffed in a plastic courtesy bag. I pulled open the strings, and my
nostrils flared at the distinct reek from my wet, smoky things, none of
them wearable. I tossed them back in the corner, then turned around,
only to find Torrance watching me from the doorway. His collar was open,
his tie missing. He regarded me with that closed look of his, while the
quiet of the room settled around me until all I heard was my own
breathing. I stared into his face, noting the smudges of soot I hadn't
seen earlier. I tried to picture him giving me mouth-to-mouth. All I
could think about was when he'd kissed me in my bathroom.

"Been to any good fires lately?" I asked.

"One." I wanted him to smile, frown, anything. Maybe I was worrying
about my peers for nothing. Maybe he was through with me. Maybe what
happened in my bathroom was already dismissed from his mind. A onetime
loss of sanity. A matter of convenience.

"I spoke with the doctor," he finally said.

"I'm going to live?" "Apparently." He strode in carrying a MacY's bag,
leaving me no choice but to face him and the future. "Figured you'd want
some clothes to go home in." "Thanks." I pulled out a pair of jeans,
soft, faded, size ten, the same brand I'd lost in the fire. There was
also a cotton sweater, as well as one smaller bag remaining. I reached
in to get it, but he put his hand on mine and stopped me.

"I know your aunt said makeup was the thing to have in the hospital."

"So you bought some?" I asked. He gave me that enigmatic stare I'd come
to love and hate. ANd when he removed his hand, I peeked into the bag,
finding silk panties and a matching bra. Emerald green. His dark eyes
held a questioning look, and for the moment, I was able to forget we had
separate lives.

A portion of the author's royalties will be donated to
COPS in memory of the men and women who have given their lives in the
line of duty. COPS provides resources to assist in the rebuilding of the
lives of surviving families of law enforcement officers killed in the
line of duty. A number of officers and investigators assisted with my
technical questions in my endeavor to make this an accurate yet
entertaining and purely fictional portrayal of police life. Any errors
are strictly mine. Thanks to: Lieutenant John R. Hennessey, SFPD;
Inspector Anthony J. Carnilleri Jr., SFPD; Inspector Bill Mdd, SFPD;
Assistant Chief Investigator Charles Lamorte, San Francisco Office of
the District Attorney; Graham A-Cowley, Investigator San Francisco
Medical Examiner's Office; Alan Pringle, Investigator San Francisco
Medical Examiner's Office. Special thanks to fellow hostage negotiator,
Inspector Peter R. Maloney, SFPD, for introducing me to all the right
people. When I started this manuscript, there were no female homicide
inspectors at SFPD, so I created Kate Gillespie, their first. Prior to
the publication of this book, Inspector Sergeant Holly C. Pera became
SFPD's first female homicide inspector, and according to those men that
she would soon be working with in the Homicide detail, she was well
deserving of the position. Any similarities Holly might bear to Kate,
including her wit, charm, and brains, are purely coincidental. Also on a
more local level, thanks to: Lieutenant Garold Murray, LPD; Lieutenant
David Main, LPD; Lieutenant Ron Tobeck, LPD; Sergeant Frank Grenko,

LPD; Officer Bobby Amin, LPD; Investigator John Bell, SJDNS office.

On the technical aspect of writing, I would like to thank Catherine
Coulter and her reference to Amadeus, which made it all clear for me.

And thank you to Georgia Bockoven for introducing me to Catherine and
for always saying "when" and not "if." Thanks to Susan Crosby for
reminding me that I could write. Thanks to Marcy Posner of William
Morris, Robin Stamm of Harper collins (who has a great first name), and
of course, Carolyn Marino, also of Harper collins. To the wonderful
people in my town who make sure my mochas are made to perfection
(without which I couldn't have worked the long hours on patrol and
stayed up to write this book): the staff at Cottage Bakery and Mocha My
Day. Thank you all. And to Evelyn Herring, and my husband, Gary, for
taking such wonderful care of my children so that I could finish this
book. ROBIN BURCELL has been a police officer since 1983. She has been
assigned to different details in the Investigations Division, working
Crimes Against Property, Persons, and Juvenile. She is a forensic
artist, trained by the FBI at Quantico, Virginia. Currently she works
Patrol, and is a member of the Hostage Negotiation Team. She lives in
Northern California with her husband and three children. You can visit
her web site at: www jps net/rburcell/