Sandra Brown - Ricochet

Checking to see if the abrasion was as visible as it felt, she glanced into the rearview mirror.

A face grinned at her from the backseat.

She cried out in shock and fear, and reflexively stamped hard on the brake pedal.

“Mrs. Laird. We’ve never actually met. Allow me to introduce myself.” With a flourish, the man proffered a business card, holding it between his index and middle fingers. “Meyer Napoli.”

After leaving Elise, Duncan had driven around aimlessly for a while. In search of what, he couldn’t say. Redemption, perhaps.

But it wasn’t going to be found driving the streets of the city, or in a bar, or the gym, or a movie theater, all of which he considered. He ended up at the Barracks.

Only one other detective was in the VCU. When Duncan came in, the officer made a joke of the late hours they were keeping. Duncan said something suitable in reply, then went into his office and closed the door, signaling that he didn’t want conversation.

In the back of his mind, he supposed he was thinking that if he was working on the case-actually seated at his desk reviewing the contents of the case file-then he could rationalize his private meeting with Elise.

Even after all that double-talk speculation about Savich, when he’d seen who was waiting for him inside that house, he could credibly say that he’d stayed only because he was in pursuit of the truth, a confession, new evidence. Something.

If he could convince himself of that, he could almost excuse himself for what had happened. For several hours he tried. But eventually he gave up the pretense. He’d stayed in that house because he’d wanted to be with her, not to make headway on the case. What had taken place on the dusty sofa could not be classified as police work.

Admitting it was liberating to some extent. But not entirely. He still had to grapple with the guilt.

As long as he was wallowing in his culpability, he’d rather do it in the comfort of home. He left the Barracks and drove the few blocks to his town house. By now it was as close to dawn as to midnight, but as soon as he got inside, he sought refuge in his piano.

He played rock and roll, country, and classics, but every tune had a funereal beat. The music didn’t salve his soul as it usually did. He soon quit trying to find comfort in it and lay down on his couch, placed his forearm across his eyes, and gave way to the remorse he’d been trying to outrun since leaving Elise.

It landed on him like an anvil.

On a professional level, there was no justification for what he’d done. He had been intimate with a suspect, probably the primo, numero uno no-no of law enforcement.

DeeDee and his fellow detectives would scorn him. His superiors would discipline him if not outright fire him. But no matter how severe their condemnation, it wouldn’t be as harsh as he deserved, or as severe as his self-condemnation. He had compromised an investigation. There was no forgiveness for that.

And even if that were forgivable, there was the other thing-Elise was married.

He’d been the typical preacher’s kid, out to prove that he was no holier than the other kids. Growing up, he’d habitually gone looking for mischief and usually found it.

During adolescence, he’d developed a real wild streak. The worst punishment he’d ever received was having to sit through two Sunday morning services so hungover from a Saturday night drinking binge that he’d wanted to cry. He’d had to leave the sanctuary three times to throw up a rancid blend of bile and apple-flavored wine cooler.

His dad had hoped the punishment would teach him a lesson. The experience had only taught him how to choose his liquor more wisely, how to avoid a hangover, and how to handle one if the avoidance tactics didn’t work.

Much to his loving parents’ despair, he was determined not to be different just because they were in the ministry, which made him even more adventurous than most teenagers. That applied especially to sexual exploration. He started early, and some of the most memorable of those experiences had occurred on church grounds. While the deacons were discussing the purchase of new pews or hymn-books with his father, he was coaxing kisses from their daughters in the choir room closet, where the robes were stored.

He copped his first feel of a breast at church camp. It was after the evening service, on the walk through the woods from the tabernacle back to the cabins. Two summers later, he lost his virginity in a similar fashion. The next morning when prayers of thanksgiving were said, possibly his was the most sincere.

He’d had some pretty crazy escapades during his college years, but who hadn’t? Maturity had made him more cautious and careful-last Saturday night being an exception.

He’d evolved from the horny college kid out to nail any coed who would say yes to a more responsible man who had a genuine liking and respect for women. No matter how long a relationship lasted, or didn’t, he tried to conduct himself honorably.

That included never poaching on another man’s claim. It most certainly meant never having carnal knowledge of another man’s wife.

For over forty years his parents had enjoyed a loving, stable, and happy marriage. There was no doubt in his mind that they were still madly in love and sexually active. The sanctity of the institution was a familiar theme of his dad’s sermons.

Duncan supposed, as hell-raising as he’d been, that particular moral lesson had stuck. Adultery was one commandment you didn’t break. You just didn’t go there. He’d never even been tempted.

But now, he’d taken a married woman, and he was ashamed of himself for it.

The real shame, however, was that, despite everything, he still wanted her.

That would be his punishment, knowing that he could never have her.

No matter how the investigation into the Trotter shooting was ultimately resolved, he would never have Elise.

And the investigation wouldn’t be left to him to resolve.

He wouldn’t be at that ten o’clock interrogation session. Because at nine thirty, he would be in Captain Bill Gerard’s office, admitting that, in regards to Mrs. Laird, he hadn’t been as objective as he’d claimed to be. Not even as objective as he wanted to be. He would make a full confession to Gerard, taking sole responsibility for what had happened, leaving Elise blameless.

He would ask Gerard not to tell Cato Laird why he was removing himself from the case, and Gerard would probably grant that request, not to spare him, but to spare the judge, Elise, and the police department a public scandal.

Gerard would take some disciplinary action, possibly even demand Duncan ’s badge. Tomorrow at this time, he might be out of a job. It was no less than he deserved.

There was one other person to whom he must confess. DeeDee. Other coworkers would speculate on why he was no longer serving in his capacity, and probably a few would guess correctly. But DeeDee needed to hear the truth from him. He owed her that. As his partner, and as his friend. Because as both partner and friend, she had warned him against letting his personal feelings for Elise interfere with their investigation. He doubted she would say “I told you so,” but even if she did, she’d earned that right.

Having resolved what he would do, he left his couch and trudged upstairs. Before he talked to DeeDee, it seemed only proper, and symbolic, that he wash away all vestiges of Elise.

In his bathroom, he reached into the shower stall and turned on the faucets, then took off his clothes. Surrendering to a moment of weakness, he held his shirt against his face. He inhaled the essence of her, which seemed woven into the fabric. Then he impatiently stuffed the garment into the hamper before he talked himself into saving it as some kind of romantic souvenir.