hat. Not a cap advertising some team or local business, but a narrow-brimmed summer cotton hat. It gave him a sophisticated look at odds with the atmosphere of Murphy, Kentucky. You could always tell the university faculty, no matter how many years they lived here.
“You know,” Dan said as they went out to his car, “when I said I wanted to see you again, I didn't mean just to help with computer stuff. How about dinner tomorrow night?"
“I'd like that,” said Brandy, “but I'm a police officer. If I get caught up in a case like today—"
“I understand,” he told her.” I'll call first."
As before, he walked her to her door, and kissed her. There was that same wonderful excitement she had felt the first time. “Thanks for your help,” she said, reluctant to part even though she had no energy even to talk, let alone do anything more strenuous.
What would it be like to sleep in his strong arms?
“I'm glad to help,” Dan said. “Let me know what else you find out about Rett. And I didn't mean I wouldn't help with more computer searches. It is fascinating."
“Okay,” she replied, lingering in his embrace.
His warm chuckle vibrated in his chest. “Go to bed, Brandy. Tomorrow night we'll try a more conventional date.” He brushed her lips again, then turned her to the door.
Her answering machine was blinking. Carrie had left a message; “If it's before eleven pm, call me when you get home.” As it was only 10:23, she dialed Carrie's number.
“You gonna be able to sleep?” Carrie asked.
It took Brandy a moment to remember. Then she said, “Yeah, I'm okay. I've been working on another case."
“You mean you were at work all this time?” Carrie asked. “Honey, you'll burn yourself out. Do you want to talk about the Perkins case?"
Another time, Brandy would have confessed to her best friend how she had frozen on the scene—but that was after the shooting, when the horrified helplessness descended.
Moments when people, especially children, lay suddenly, unexpectedly dead, brought back that day when she was ten years old and had seen her brother lying still and pale in the street, blood running from beneath him like red paint.
“I—handled it,” Brandy said, realizing the last thing she wanted was to relive the scene she had managed to forget for a few hours.
“They were my clients,” said Carrie. “I've been rereading my notes, wondering if there was something I could have done to prevent what happened today."
For once it was Carrie who needed to talk. “Listen—why don't you grab what you need for tomorrow and come over here for the night? You can give me a lift to the station in the morning. I left my car there."
Both women were tired, and both had to be alert in the morning, so Brandy didn't suggest the few beers they might have drowned their sorrows in on another night.
She let Carrie talk. She had been sent twice in the past three months to check on the welfare of the Perkins children.
“I could see fear in their eyes,” she told Brandy, “but until Matt Perkins broke the girl's wrist, they made excuses. Lily had a black eye one time, and the night she got up the courage to leave him she told me Matt raped her every time he got angry. God, why won't these women press charges?"
“Because they think they need a man to take care of them, even a vicious brute of a man. They don't think they can make it on their own."
Brandy had seen it as often as Carrie had. Even when the wives pressed charges, they were dropped before the husband came to trial.
Carrie sighed. “It's enough to make me appreciate George. He cheated on me, but at least he never abused me."
“Not physically,” said Brandy. She knew how badly Carrie's ex-husband had hurt her friend.
“Yeah.” Carrie raised her cup of herb tea in a toast. “Here's to taking care of ourselves!"
“With a little help from our friends,” Brandy amended.
Carrie took a sip of the steaming brew. “You know,” she said,
“You know,” Dan said as they went out to his car, “when I said I wanted to see you again, I didn't mean just to help with computer stuff. How about dinner tomorrow night?"
“I'd like that,” said Brandy, “but I'm a police officer. If I get caught up in a case like today—"
“I understand,” he told her.” I'll call first."
As before, he walked her to her door, and kissed her. There was that same wonderful excitement she had felt the first time. “Thanks for your help,” she said, reluctant to part even though she had no energy even to talk, let alone do anything more strenuous.
What would it be like to sleep in his strong arms?
“I'm glad to help,” Dan said. “Let me know what else you find out about Rett. And I didn't mean I wouldn't help with more computer searches. It is fascinating."
“Okay,” she replied, lingering in his embrace.
His warm chuckle vibrated in his chest. “Go to bed, Brandy. Tomorrow night we'll try a more conventional date.” He brushed her lips again, then turned her to the door.
Her answering machine was blinking. Carrie had left a message; “If it's before eleven pm, call me when you get home.” As it was only 10:23, she dialed Carrie's number.
“You gonna be able to sleep?” Carrie asked.
It took Brandy a moment to remember. Then she said, “Yeah, I'm okay. I've been working on another case."
“You mean you were at work all this time?” Carrie asked. “Honey, you'll burn yourself out. Do you want to talk about the Perkins case?"
Another time, Brandy would have confessed to her best friend how she had frozen on the scene—but that was after the shooting, when the horrified helplessness descended.
Moments when people, especially children, lay suddenly, unexpectedly dead, brought back that day when she was ten years old and had seen her brother lying still and pale in the street, blood running from beneath him like red paint.
“I—handled it,” Brandy said, realizing the last thing she wanted was to relive the scene she had managed to forget for a few hours.
“They were my clients,” said Carrie. “I've been rereading my notes, wondering if there was something I could have done to prevent what happened today."
For once it was Carrie who needed to talk. “Listen—why don't you grab what you need for tomorrow and come over here for the night? You can give me a lift to the station in the morning. I left my car there."
Both women were tired, and both had to be alert in the morning, so Brandy didn't suggest the few beers they might have drowned their sorrows in on another night.
She let Carrie talk. She had been sent twice in the past three months to check on the welfare of the Perkins children.
“I could see fear in their eyes,” she told Brandy, “but until Matt Perkins broke the girl's wrist, they made excuses. Lily had a black eye one time, and the night she got up the courage to leave him she told me Matt raped her every time he got angry. God, why won't these women press charges?"
“Because they think they need a man to take care of them, even a vicious brute of a man. They don't think they can make it on their own."
Brandy had seen it as often as Carrie had. Even when the wives pressed charges, they were dropped before the husband came to trial.
Carrie sighed. “It's enough to make me appreciate George. He cheated on me, but at least he never abused me."
“Not physically,” said Brandy. She knew how badly Carrie's ex-husband had hurt her friend.
“Yeah.” Carrie raised her cup of herb tea in a toast. “Here's to taking care of ourselves!"
“With a little help from our friends,” Brandy amended.
Carrie took a sip of the steaming brew. “You know,” she said,
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