Black Jasmine (2012) by Toby Neal

chose tempura and teriyaki beef, and when the waitress left, Lei bounced and wiggled a bit in her seat.
    “Got a good lead. The name of a guy who hired a company that provided the girls. Our Jane Doe was one of them.”
    “I know. I was there for that part,” Stevens said dryly. “I like your bad cop. Nicely done. The smacks on the photo were a tad theatrical, but they worked.”
    “I shouldn’t enjoy it so much, but damn, that guy was so gross. I mean, can you see him with some poor little teenage girl?” She shuddered. “I wanted to put the fear in him so bad he can’t get it up for a hooker ever again.”
    “That’s the world we live in. Nasty people doing nasty shit.” Stevens rubbed his eyes with his hand. She noticed for the first time they were even more deep-set than usual, ringed in shadows. She put her hand on his on the table; he turned it up and warm energy flowed between them. They laced their fingers together. Lei felt a rush of compassion for him.
    “What’s the matter?” She finally had the nerve to ask.
    “Nothing really. Just getting tired, I guess. Office politics.” He still wasn’t telling her.
    “Okay.” Lei couldn’t tell if the feeling she had was relief or disappointment.
    The food arrived, and Lei ate with her usual focus and enthusiasm, hungry from all the exercise. Between bites, she told him about the raid, making Stevens laugh with her rendering of the irate rooster owners tackling each other with their hands tied. It felt good to hear him laugh, see him relax, the darkness around his eyes pull back a bit.
    “Pono took it hard about the birds, though.” She finished the story. “He left work early—meaning on time for once. I’ve never seen him so upset. The Steel Butterfly finally got to him.”
    “Watch out for her,” Stevens said. “I hear she can be a bad enemy.”
    “I’m doing my best. I never speak unless spoken to. I can’t help that she thinks I’m a train wreck, though.” Lei took a sip of her beer, swallowing past the lump in her throat.
    “Hey.” She looked up. His penetrating blue eyes were on her, stripping her bare. He saw past her defenses—he’d always been able to. Then Stevens smiled, the crooked flash she loved so well.
    “You could take her. That’s a chick fight I wouldn’t mind seeing.”
    “I don’t know. I hear she has a black belt.”
    “Well, what are you up to in Tae Kwon Do? Red?”
    She ducked her head. “It’s going okay, yeah.” She’d joined a nearby dojo in Wailuku and took a class twice a week. “So what’s got you so bothered? I’ve been telling you a lot about my cases. I’m not hearing anything about yours.”
    “Not much to tell. They got me doing a lot of training with the new detectives. That’s not what’s on my mind, though.” He sighed. Uh-oh . Here it came—the problem he’d been holding on to.
    “I’m just…wondering where this is going.” He gestured back and forth between them. “This. Us.”
    “I don’t know. We’re living together and having some excellent sex? What more is there?” She tried a smile.
    He shook his head. “I just feel like we’re…not going in the same direction. Maybe it’s that I’m older, got this promotion, starting to build something here that I know I won’t want to leave. I don’t get that feeling from you. You’re still thinking about the FBI, aren’t you?”
    “Marcella keeps in touch, yeah. You know she thinks I’d be a good agent out here because of the multicultural thing.”
    “So I’m wondering, where does that leave me if you take off for the Academy?”
    “Well, it’s not forever, the Academy. I’d be back. Eventually. Marcella says they’ll want to post me some places after training, so I can get some seasoning.”
    “I’m not getting any younger. I can’t go with you.”
    “Thirty-four isn’t old.” She took his big, warm hand, bit his finger, and laid it against her cheek. “My biological clock’s not even wound yet.