Sheri WhiteFeather - Always Look Twice

“Yep.” He smiled at the blonde, then scratched his head, giving Olivia’s outfit a curious study. Riggs scooted by, carrying another mound of paperwork.

Olivia entered the room, her stiletto heels sounding on the linoleum. “You two got awfully chummy.”

The female detective shrugged. “I’m chummy with everybody.”

“Maybe you ought to try it,” West told Olivia, looking like the lord of the lieutenant’s manor.

And maybe he should go jump in the lake, she thought. “Why did you ask me to come here?”

He ran his gaze up and down, cruising the length of her body, settling on her itty-bitty skirt. “For a ménage,” he said, without the slightest bit of humor.

She raised her eyebrows. She knew he was trying to get her goat. “With who? Me and you and Muncy?”

Riggs laughed at that. She was in her Cagney mode, behaving like the TV character. Tough yet feminine, with chin-length hair and strong-boned features. “Muncy’s wife might have something to say about that.”

Olivia wasn’t in the mood to laugh. She was still smarting over getting annihilated by Kyle last week. She didn’t need to get taken down by West, too.

He came around the front of his borrowed desk and sat on the edge of it. Then he gestured to a chair, indicating for her to sit. She did, but not without crossing her legs and flashing the hooks on her garter belt, giving him a screw-you peep show.

He didn’t miss a beat. He saw it all, even angling his head to get a better look.

Riggs took the other chair. She wore a simple blouse, pleated slacks and sensible shoes. “Just for the record,” she said, scolding West in a malice-free voice, “I’m not the threesome type.”

Olivia’s tone wasn’t nearly as forgiving. “Me, neither.”

“Really?” He gave her a pointed look. “And here I thought you liked all that kinky stuff.”

“Excuse me?”

“I found out how you conned your way into my motel room, Ms. Whirlwind.”

She uncrossed her legs, let him take a second look, then recrossed them, thinking how predictable men were. He couldn’t seem to get enough. “I did what I had to do. And cut the Ms. Whirlwind crap.”

Riggs scooted to the end of her chair. Intrigued, it seemed, by their conversation. Then she leaned into Olivia and whispered in her ear. “He’s kind of sexy, don’t you think?”

Olivia almost laughed. West was frowning now. Apparently he didn’t appreciate being the object of feminine scrutiny. “I haven’t decided,” she whispered back.

Riggs cupped her hand like a first-grader, making their secret even more obvious. “You should give him a chance. He’s a pretty good flirt, once he takes that stick out of his ass.”

“Would you sleep with him?” Olivia asked, still whispering.

Riggs turned, looked at West and sized him up. “Probably not,” she said, loud enough for him to hear. “Would you?”

Yes, Olivia thought, as the memory of her vision washed over her. “No.” Her voice was just as loud. “Not a chance.”

“Okay, ladies,” West interrupted with a scowl. He resumed the seat behind his desk, putting a barrier between them. “That’s enough. You got me back.”

“For what?” Olivia asked innocently.

“Yes, for what?” Riggs parroted, mimicking his accent, the Southern drawl that slowed down his words. “That little ol’ ménage thing?”

His face nearly flushed. Olivia wanted to shoot Riggs a high-five. The lady cop certainly knew how to put a man in his place.

“What’d I miss?” Detective Muncy shuffled through the door, with a cup of burnt-smelling coffee and bed-head hair, even in the middle of the afternoon. His clothes, as usual, were wrinkled.

“Nothing,” West said. “You didn’t miss a thing.”

Olivia and Riggs exchanged a glance, then remained, quite demure, in their chairs, waiting for the meeting to begin.

West took charge, removing a small stack of pictures from an envelope on his desk. “These were provided by Denise Red Bow’s husband. I want Ms. Whirlwind—” he paused to correct her name “—Olivia, to look at them and tell me what she sees.”

She accepted the photographs. She wasn’t sure where West was going with this, so she studied them carefully. Denise in a long, silky wedding gown, Denise making a funny face at the camera, Denise at an Indian gathering, eating fry bread. “I see a beautiful young woman who shouldn’t have died.”

“Me, too. But there’s more to it than that. Something I can’t put my finger on.” He reached for the wedding photo. “She looks truly happy here. The others almost seem like a forgery.”

Olivia glanced up at him. “Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s a gut a feeling, I guess. My ESP, if you will.”

She merely nodded. Most investigators had strong instincts. But that didn’t mean he was right. Or that he had powers beyond the norm.

Except for those eyes, she thought, as she searched his gaze. They were almost devoid of color today. Like clear quartz crystals from the earth.

“Does Denise remind you of someone in those pictures?” Muncy asked West.

The special agent shrugged. “Lots of people smile when they’re troubled. Lots of people fake it.”

Olivia glanced at the remaining photographs in her lap. She could feel West’s energy, his displacement, the electrical charge swirling around him. “She reminds you of your ex-wife,” she said. “That’s the forgery you were talking about.”

He gave her an annoyed look. “This isn’t about me.”

Olivia didn’t back down. “Your ex was unhappy. Discontent. You spent more time on the job than you did at home, and she couldn’t handle that.”

West didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. The scene was already set.

Muncy tapped the fry-bread picture of Denise. “She was married to a surgeon.”

“And she probably felt neglected,” Riggs put in. “Her hubby worked some rigorous hours.”

“She didn’t cheat,” Olivia said, studying the dead woman’s image. “She didn’t have a lover.”

“You sure about that?” West asked.

“Yes. But…” A sudden sadness ripped through her body. Denise’s loneliness. The nights she dreamed about romance and flowers and a man whose touch would make her feel special. “She wanted to. She fantasized about having an affair.”

West sat back in his chair, grabbed his bottled water and took a swig. Apparently Denise’s fantasies had left a bad taste in his mouth. “The killer knew that. The son of a bitch knew.”

Olivia agreed. “I think so, too.” But she wasn’t surprised. The Slasher’s supernatural abilities were part of his MO, part of what drove him.

“I could use a drink,” West said suddenly, discarding his water. “Something stronger than this.”

Because he was still dwelling on his ex, Olivia thought.

“Sounds good to me.” Muncy frowned at his over-brewed coffee. “Why don’t we all meet at the Mockingbird later? After this long-ass day ends.”

“I’m game.” Riggs looked at Olivia. “How about you?”

She knew the Mockingbird was a cop-patronized bar downtown. And she knew Special Agent West was going to get tanked. Damn-the-consequences drunk. “Sure,” she said, glancing in his direction. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

* * *

At 6:00 p. m., Olivia had dinner. Nothing fancy, just a routine meal with her sister and Glenn Sabolich, a family friend who’d been part of their lives since they were children.

The trio met regularly at Mel’s Diner, a legendary restaurant brimming with fifties nostalgia. This evening they ate on the patio, where a view of the Sunset Strip presented the glitz and glamour associated with West Hollywood.

Glenn munched casually on a Famous Melburger, his grayish blond hair blowing lightly in the breeze. He was more than a family friend, Olivia thought. He was also their landlord, the real estate mogul who owned the loft in which she and Allie lived. But Glenn had owned the rental house where they’d grown up, too.