his chair and grabbed his cell phone and wallet out of his desk drawer. No one even looked his direction as he wove in between the desks and made his way out of the precinct.
It was too late for the work crowd and too early for the tourists, so he easily spotted Shaye at a table in the back corner, sipping on a latte. Only one other table was occupied—two old men arguing over gas prices and the best place to get a haircut. They barely nodded as he made his way past them. Shaye, however, was another story. Her gaze locked onto him as soon as he stepped in the café, and never wavered as he walked directly toward her. Her eyes widened for an instant as he stopped at her table, but she recovered quickly.
“Can I help you with something?” she asked.
“No. But I think I can help you.”
She gave him a disgusted look. “Take a hike, perv.”
Jackson let out a single laugh. “Shit. No, that’s not it.” He pulled out his ID and held it out for her to see. “I’m a detective.”
“That’s too bad.”
“There’s days I feel the same way. I heard your exchange with Vincent. Do you mind if I sit down?”
She studied him for a moment, then pointed to the chair. “Suit yourself.”
As Jackson pulled the chair out and sat, a waitress sauntered over and smiled at him. “Your usual, Detective?”
“That would be great,” he said. “Thanks, Christi.”
“First-name basis?” Shaye asked.
“Café…police station. Seems a natural progression.”
“I suppose so.”
Christi returned with a large mug of black coffee and sat it in front of him. He added a packet of the fake stuff and stirred. “About Vincent, I would apologize for his behavior, but I don’t figure you’d care, and he’s not my responsibility.”
Shaye raised one eyebrow. “Honest and direct. That’s something I don’t get often.”
“Yeah, well, I’m lazy and lying requires too much effort.”
Shaye’s lower lip trembled and he could tell she wanted to smile, but he hadn’t completely breached her defenses.
“I’m glad you stopped across the street,” he continued. “I probably wouldn’t have followed you more than a block. Maybe less.”
The smile finally crept through. “So why are you expending so much of your valuable energy pursuing me into coffee shops?”
“Emma Frederick hired you?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me why exactly?”
Normally, Shaye would never give out information about a case, but Detective Lamotte wasn’t just anyone, and given that he’d heard her conversation with Vincent, he already knew most of it. The case part, anyway.
“She’s being stalked.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because she said so. Look, Detective Lamotte—”
“Call me Jackson.”
“Okay, Jackson, I don’t know when the police department’s policy changed from helping victims to mocking them, but I don’t like it. Emma Frederick is a nice woman who is scared to death, and you guys are telling her she’s imagining things.”
He understood her anger, but he didn’t think she was right. Not completely. “In my job, I’m not allowed the luxury of what I believe to be the case. Only what I can prove.”
“Which is a great concept if I were gathering evidence for a murder trial, but my goal is to prevent her from being murdered. Consider my services a preemptive strike.”
“The implication being that the police arrive at the party after it’s already over.”
She held her hands up and tilted her head to the side. “You said it.”
And unfortunately, there was a huge element of truth in the statement. Cops rarely actively prevented crime. They investigated it. Past tense. But if someone had the means to hire a private investigator, they could go on the offensive. “I’ll be the first to agree that having someone check into things gives Ms. Frederick an advantage most don’t have. But I also know more about the situation than you do. You see, Detective Vincent is my partner.”
“And you’re
It was too late for the work crowd and too early for the tourists, so he easily spotted Shaye at a table in the back corner, sipping on a latte. Only one other table was occupied—two old men arguing over gas prices and the best place to get a haircut. They barely nodded as he made his way past them. Shaye, however, was another story. Her gaze locked onto him as soon as he stepped in the café, and never wavered as he walked directly toward her. Her eyes widened for an instant as he stopped at her table, but she recovered quickly.
“Can I help you with something?” she asked.
“No. But I think I can help you.”
She gave him a disgusted look. “Take a hike, perv.”
Jackson let out a single laugh. “Shit. No, that’s not it.” He pulled out his ID and held it out for her to see. “I’m a detective.”
“That’s too bad.”
“There’s days I feel the same way. I heard your exchange with Vincent. Do you mind if I sit down?”
She studied him for a moment, then pointed to the chair. “Suit yourself.”
As Jackson pulled the chair out and sat, a waitress sauntered over and smiled at him. “Your usual, Detective?”
“That would be great,” he said. “Thanks, Christi.”
“First-name basis?” Shaye asked.
“Café…police station. Seems a natural progression.”
“I suppose so.”
Christi returned with a large mug of black coffee and sat it in front of him. He added a packet of the fake stuff and stirred. “About Vincent, I would apologize for his behavior, but I don’t figure you’d care, and he’s not my responsibility.”
Shaye raised one eyebrow. “Honest and direct. That’s something I don’t get often.”
“Yeah, well, I’m lazy and lying requires too much effort.”
Shaye’s lower lip trembled and he could tell she wanted to smile, but he hadn’t completely breached her defenses.
“I’m glad you stopped across the street,” he continued. “I probably wouldn’t have followed you more than a block. Maybe less.”
The smile finally crept through. “So why are you expending so much of your valuable energy pursuing me into coffee shops?”
“Emma Frederick hired you?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me why exactly?”
Normally, Shaye would never give out information about a case, but Detective Lamotte wasn’t just anyone, and given that he’d heard her conversation with Vincent, he already knew most of it. The case part, anyway.
“She’s being stalked.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because she said so. Look, Detective Lamotte—”
“Call me Jackson.”
“Okay, Jackson, I don’t know when the police department’s policy changed from helping victims to mocking them, but I don’t like it. Emma Frederick is a nice woman who is scared to death, and you guys are telling her she’s imagining things.”
He understood her anger, but he didn’t think she was right. Not completely. “In my job, I’m not allowed the luxury of what I believe to be the case. Only what I can prove.”
“Which is a great concept if I were gathering evidence for a murder trial, but my goal is to prevent her from being murdered. Consider my services a preemptive strike.”
“The implication being that the police arrive at the party after it’s already over.”
She held her hands up and tilted her head to the side. “You said it.”
And unfortunately, there was a huge element of truth in the statement. Cops rarely actively prevented crime. They investigated it. Past tense. But if someone had the means to hire a private investigator, they could go on the offensive. “I’ll be the first to agree that having someone check into things gives Ms. Frederick an advantage most don’t have. But I also know more about the situation than you do. You see, Detective Vincent is my partner.”
“And you’re
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