Corpse Suzette by G. A. McKevett Page B

major traffic rules to beat her to the pier. Dirk was just... such a
guy. He couldn’t help himself.
    Savannah had worked on him
for years, trying to smooth out the rough spots. And she had succeeded in a few
instances. He no longer propped his feet on her coffee table without first
removing his sneakers, and he remembered to lower the toilet seat at her house
at least fifty percent of the time. That was about as civilized as Dirk Coulter
was ever likely to get.
    But Savannah loved him
anyway. When she wasn’t plotting creative ways to murder him and dispose of the
body, she appreciated the fact that his bravado, bordering on aggression,
masked a heart that was remarkably soft toward the half a dozen people Dirk
loved in the world.
    He was as loyal as they
came.
    She and Dirk had known each
other since way back when. “Back when,” for her, meant “fifteen years and
thirty pounds ago.” For him, it meant a bit more hair and less around his
middle.
    But one of Dirk’s sweetest
qualities, the one that endeared him most to Savannah, was the fact that he
hadn’t really noticed those years or pounds. She was pretty sure that, at least
in his eyes, she was still that feisty, sexy young cop who had been assigned to
work with him... and had agreed to, although everyone else in the department
had refused.
    Dirk had always been
difficult, rebellious, a pain in the neck... the proverbial loose cannon that
everyone wanted to throw overboard. Other men on the force couldn’t stand him.
The females had the hots for him, responding to that tough-guy-with-street-smarts
appeal, not to mention more than his share of brawn. But none had lasted longer
than a couple of days in the field with him... until Savannah.
    She didn’t care if he broke
a few rules. She bent plenty herself... especially those she considered stupid.
And so what if he leaned a little hard on a particularly unsavory suspect to
get to the truth? He had good instincts and didn’t “lean” unless he was sure
the guy was a bad one.
    Together they had taken a
lot of dangerous criminals off the streets and just as importantly, they had
brought justice and closure to a lot of victims. Savannah had decided long ago
that was a good way to spend a life. And she had also decided she could put up
with most of Dirk’s less pleasant habits to achieve that.
    She reminded herself of
that when she pulled into the pier parking lot and saw him sitting there in his
Buick, a nasty little smirk on his face.
    He had beaten her there.
    Big whoopty-do.
    The fact that she had lost
the unofficial race meant that she would have to join him, rather than vice
versa. Sitting in his grubby Buick was the price to pay for law-abiding
driving.
    But he had chosen the
parking space nearest the beach and the view today was great, so she didn’t
mind too much.
    The midmorning sun had
broken through the haze and Southern California’s idea of a winter day was
simply magnificent.
    She got into his car,
rolled down her window, turned her face toward the sun and closed her eyes,
letting it warm her soul. Palm trees rustled overhead in the onshore breeze. A
few seagulls cawed, some children laughed further down the beach, someone’s
boom box was playing “California Girls.” All was well with the world and—
    “Did you get a load of that
dumb broad back there? Boy, was she a piece of work or what?”
    Savannah tried not to let
his words or the grating tone of his voice pollute the purity of her perfect
California-Zen moment. “I beg your pardon?” she asked with all the tranquility
she could muster.
    “That stupid broad back at
Emerge. Talk about a brainless twit! Why she—”
    “Do you know,” she said,
eyes still closed, her voice a monotone, “that you are the only man left in the
world who still calls women ‘broads’?”
    “So, what’s your point?” he
snapped.
    “Point? My point?” Eyes still
closed. Still tranquil. Still in the serene consciousness of the moment. “No
point. I