David Handler: The Cold Blue Blood

Mitch’s heart sank. I will die. I will not make it without this woman in my life. After a long moment he said, “I’m sorry to hear that, Lieutenant. For strictly selfish, personal reasons. But I’m happy for you that you’re making a positive move. And I hope we’ll be able to stay in touch.”

“So do I.”

“Do you have any idea where you’ll be heading?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Where?”

She turned to face him. “Here.”

Mitch stared at her, dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, I thought I just heard you say the word here.”

She looked back out at the sunset. “Um, okay, maybe I’d better explain…”

“Well, yeah.” Now his heart was racing. “Maybe you’d better.”

“I am no longer what you might call the state police’s equal opportunity poster child. Which is to say they did not exactly buy my version of how things went down that night.”

“They’ve canned you?”

“In their dreams. If they tried to put me out it would get very messy and very public and Superintendent Crowther does not want that. I know too much. So the Deacon and I have brokered a settlement that allows both sides to come away with something. I’ve agreed to accept a slight reduction in rank and pay in exchange for a new opportunity that will, I believe, allow me greater time and flexibility to pursue other interests that are more-”

“Okay, plain English would be a really good thing right now,” Mitch cut in impatiently.

She gave it to him in plain English: “I’m Dorset’s new resident trooper.”

“You’re what?”

“The village needs someone to fill Tal Bliss’s shoes,” she explained, the words tumbling out quickly now. “And that someone is going to be me. I don’t think I’ll be the most popular choice with the locals. In fact, I’m sure I won’t be. But I’m used to fighting uphill battles. And once folks get to know me, I believe I can earn their confidence and their trust. It’s old-fashioned, hands-on community law enforcement, Mitch. The real deal. I’ll be putting on a uni every day. Dealing with the people one on one. Anything nasty goes down, I pick up the phone and call the Westbrook barracks. But not much does in a town like this.”

“Really? That hasn’t been my experience.”

“This case was way out of the ordinary.”

“So let me see if I’ve got this right…” Mitch mused aloud, scratching his head. “You’re going to be like Roy Scheider in Jaws-except without the shark?”

“Hopefully.”

“What about your friend Bella? What’ll she do?”

“She’s been wanting a smaller house for a while. Now she’s looking for one here. She intends to be Dorset’s first angry Jewish woman.

“I’m sure that’s something the community has been wanting for a long, long time. Your dad is cool with this idea?”

“My father thinks I’ve gone insane, actually. But he can’t comprehend how important my art has become to me. My life will be way more my own now, Mitch. And I’ll be like two minutes from the Art Academy. I picked up their catalogue this afternoon. They’ve got night classes all year around-anatomy, three-point perspective, life drawing

… I’ll actually be able to take them, which there was no way I could do when I was on Major Crimes. I’ll be able to give it prime time.”

“Okay, this part I like.”

“Do you really?” Her eyes were searching his face now.

“I do. I like it large. In fact, I’ve got something for you. Was saving it for the right occasion. I think this qualifies.” Mitch hobbled over to the narrow closet underneath the stairs and dug out the old oak easel that Evan had sold him. It once belonged to a renowned local painter named George M. Bruestle and the lieutenant had been crazy about it. Or so Jamie had reported to Evan after she visited their shop.

“Man, what in the hell are you doing with that thing?” she demanded, gaping at it in disbelief.

“I bought it for you.”

“Get out of here!” She ran her fingers over it, touching it, stroking it, loving it. Clearly, she was not someone who was accustomed to spoiling herself. “But why?”

“I wanted to see you smile.”

“That was one very expensive smile. I hope you got your money’s worth.”

“Oh, I did. Believe me. Only, can I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?”

“I’m not a lieutenant anymore, Mitch. I’m a master sergeant.”

Mitch shook his head. “I can’t call you Master Sergeant. Sounds too much like Master Cylinder from Felix the Cat. Plus there are the sexual dominatrix overtones. No, no, I don’t think we can go there. What do I call you instead?”

“You call me Desiree.”

“Is there any other reason why you chose Dorset, Desiree? There must be other towns around the state that need a resident trooper.”

Her eyes shied away from his now. “It’s close to the art academy, like I said.”

“And that’s the only reason you’re interested in this place?”

“Man, what do you want me to tell you?”

“What you’re thinking.”

She went back over to the windows and stared out at the view, her posture rigid. She didn’t say anything.

Mitch flicked off the two lamps that were on and crossed the room toward her. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her around to face him. She did not resist. They stood very close, gazing deep into each other’s eyes.

“Why did you turn out the lights?” she asked him softly. She was trembling, just as she had been that day in the Black Pearl when she reached for her coffee cup.

“Force of habit. I do all of my best work in the dark. Can I ask you another personal question?”

She gazed back at him steadily. “Go ahead.”

“What’s in the gym bag?”

“My sketch pad and charcoals.”

“What else?”

“My jogging clothes.”

“What else?”

“My nightshirt,” she said huskily. “Would you like to see my tattoo?”

“Desperately.”

“How desperately?”

“What, there’s a condition?”

“There is.”

“Name it.”

“We don’t worry about what other people are thinking. We don’t ask ourselves whether it’ll ever work. We don’t-”

“Freeze frame. I’ll go you one better-we don’t think about it at all. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Shall we shake hands on it?”

Her lips gently grazed his, sending a jolt of electricity through his entire body. “Oh, I think we can do way better than that.”

Later, much later, as they lay in each other’s arms in the moonlight, Mitch said, “Desiree…?”

“Hmmm-mmm?” she murmured, running her fingers lazily over his bare chest.

“Your tattoo…”

“What about it?”

“I had a feeling that’s where it was.”

To which Desiree Mitry smiled and said, “Boyfriend, I had a feeling that you had a feeling.”