Chapter 11
Los Angeles Police Headquarters was like everything else out here in the land of the beautiful: an award-winning building, new, slick, and shiny. And very large. Joe escorted Mae to the massive glass-fronted lobby and they went in the front door. He told the desk clerk they had an appointment with Detective Frank Harvey.
After checking their IDs, the young man gave them guest badges and directed them to the appropriate floor. They passed through the metal detector without incident. Joe had thought it wise to leave his gun back in the car. They went to the corridor of brushed aluminum elevators and he pressed theUpbutton.
Mae leaned into him and spoke under her breath. “Talk about a sterile environment. I’m half expecting the detective to be a robot.”
Joe smiled and took her arm as the elevator door slid open, then stepped on with her.
“I’m kind of intimidated by this place and I’m not even a criminal. Those poor slobs don’t have a chance.” She looked up at him in mock horror. He laughed. They were alone on the elevator, so it didn’t matter. There was no need for him to maintain a professional wall in this moment, but he felt the prickle of guilt anyway. It was too damn hard keeping her at arm’s distance let alone backing up once she was this close. But he did it anyway.
Joe literally took a step away from her as the doors slid open, depositing them on the floor where Detective Harvey and dozens of other detectives had their cubicles arranged along an expanse of windows on the perimeter of the building. The uniformed receptionist in front of them spoke.
“You must be Joseph Temple and Mary Ann Monday. Follow me.”
“Guess it’s back to being formal, then.” Mae glanced up at him as she said the words and he wasn’t sure if she was talking about his step back or the receptionist’s use of their full names.
Hell, it hardly mattered, did it? It was true either way.
The Sargent deposited them at the top of a row of uniform gray cubicles, some manned by men and women in plainclothes, on phones, talking with clients or tapping away at computer keyboards. He noted that the third cubicle on the right against the window wall held the name plate of Detective Frank Harvey. He was on his phone.
Joe half expected Harvey to keep them waiting in a typical power play move. He’d experienced the waiting game more than once in his army days at the hands of superior officers with something to prove. All they’d ever proved to him was that they were dicks.
Instead, Harvey hung up his phone, rose and walked to them. He was tall, accompanied by a cloud of cigarette aroma, too thin for his clothes, and had a surprising bush of red-gray hair. The hair was surprising because Joe guessed him to be north of fifty years old. Harvey put out a strong bony hand to shake and Joe took it.
“Temple.”
Joe didn’t bother responding. There was no smile on the detective’s face until he turned to Mae. Then the man’s sharp blue irises lit with the inevitable acknowledgment of a sensual beauty.
Joe figured Mae got this reaction from men of all ages and women and children too. The realization that she was a traffic-stopper hit him, making every hormone-regulated emotion in him screech with protest. Making him damn jealous. That rankled enough to make him start thinking more seriously, more professionally, to reassess his impressions of her because she was more than that. His first impression of her was that she was vulnerable, yet brave. And possessed of an innate sensuality that made her very, very sexy. But she was new to him. Every small impression or sensation left a big mark, and new data points seem to have an ever-shrinking impact.
His first impressions of her would be tough to erase, but he needed to keep his head on straight and open. Her safety depended on him getting things right.
“You must be Mary Ann Monday. A pleasure to meet you, though I’m sorry about the circumstances. Let’s see what we can do about getting Salvatore Vito and his friends off the street for you.” He took her hand and led her back to his gray upholstered cubicle with the new smell still wafting in the air.
Joe would have been amused at the transformation in this otherwise craggy man, but he was fresh out of good will. It was as if all the old detective’s cragginess had been dumped on Joe, leaving Harvey with all the charm. His only consolation was that he knew Mae would be immune, having been accustomed to this kind of treatment from men all her adult life, no doubt.
Joe and Mae took seats in fresh-looking gray upholstered chairs opposite Detective Harvey. LAPD had gone all out with their fairly recent renovations. Now even the police building had the stink and shine of Hollywood.
“Interesting digs,” Mae said, looking out the unavoidable window walls. “Not at all the way I pictured a police station. I have the Hollywood set version stuck in my head: a dirty linoleum floor, scuffed-up old desks set up back to back and littered with ashtrays and half-smoked cigarettes, stacks of paper everywhere.” She spread her arms as if setting the scene.
“Don’t worry, I escaped a place like that not long ago. There’s plenty still around. If you want I can show you later. For now, I’m interested in seeing those papers you have for me.”
Mae pulled the stack of love letters from her bag and set them on the desk between them.
“I’d really appreciate it if you could make copies for us before we leave them with you.” Mae all but batted her eyelashes. But the thing of it was, Joe knew she was only being herself.
“Of course.” Harvey rose from his seat with the papers in hand. “I’ll need to keep the originals to check for prints, you understand.” He hesitated, then said, “I’ll need to take prints from you and Temple here—to eliminate your prints from consideration on the papers. I hope that doesn’t disturb you.”
“Oh—no, of course not.” She was as disturbed as if he’d said he had to put down her puppy.
Joe reached over and put a hand on her arm. The gesture was automatic and he almost took it back immediately, except for the grateful look on her face. It had that adoring quality he’d seen in her look ever since the warehouse incident. Hero worship. Genuine, no-holds-barred hero worship. He hated that.Or he had until he met Mae Monday. Her brand of it had been enough to knock him from his steady orbit. Now he could barely tell night from day when she looked at him that way. Damn. He needed to get away from her.
Or to spend a day or two or ten in bed with her.
“I’ll be right back with our copies and then I’ll take you to fingerprinting.”
While Harvey was gone, Joe struggled with the sense of impending doom, knowing that the detective planned to coerce Mae into playing sitting duck for Vito so he could get the collar. He especially struggled with whether or not to tell her and advise her against it.