Leann Harris - The Detective And The D.A.

Carlson nodded.

Ash stood and walked out of the bar. Carlson sounded innocent to him. But he had discovered that the Reeds were fighting when they returned home.

It was a new lead.

Kelly packed up the papers she needed to take home with her to review. This day had been a little better than the day the Texas Supreme Court overturned the Carlson conviction but not by much. She had a headache, her feet hurt from standing in court most of the day, and if she had to listen to one more complaint—one more society matron telling her what an injustice had been perpetrated on the state—she might run screaming from the room.

She’d had to get out of her office before anyone else could protest or ask her to do something or tell her what else had gone wrong.

Leaning down to grab her purse, she heard the door to her office open. “Rats,” she mumbled.

When Kelly stood up, Ash filled the doorway. His expression didn’t bode well for what he had to say. Her plans for escape vanished like smoke.

“I’m warning you,” Kelly quickly told him, holding up her right forefinger, “if you’re going to give me bad news, don’t.”

“Have a bad day?” He looked too good for her peace of mind. He had on jeans, a white shirt and an old sport coat that she’d bought him. Her heart jerked in reaction.

“You really don’t want to hear about it, Ash.” She shrugged her purse over her shoulder, grabbed her briefcase and started out of her office.

He followed her. “Then you’re certainly not going to want to hear about what I’ve come up with in the Carlson case.”

She stopped beside her secretary’s desk in the outer office, her head bowed. She didn’t want to hear the doom he was sure to deliver, but she couldn’t avoid it. That had always been Ash’s complaint—that she couldn’t ignore problems.

“I don’t want to know about it right now,” she muttered, surprising herself and no doubt her ex. She marched out of the office into the hall.

“When was the last time you ate?” he asked, following her.

His question surprised and annoyed her. She pushed the elevator button and glared at him. “I don’t know. Breakfast, maybe. Why?”

The doors to the elevator opened and they moved inside.

“Still not taking care of yourself?”

She glared at him.

“What you need, Ms. A.D.A., is a meal. You still like stuffed crabs?” His expression was smug, as if he knew a secret that no one else did. And he did. She was tempted not to answer, but her stomach growled. “Yes.”

“Then let’s go get some of Sal’s stuffed crabs and fettuccine Alfredo.”

If he had asked her to strip naked here in the elevator, she couldn’t have been more surprised. He knew the weakness that she had for Sal’s crabs. When they’d been married, dirt-poor, her a law student, him a beat cop, they would allow themselves a meal at Sal’s once a month. It had been the highlight of the month. Eating at Sal’s, a bottle of cheap wine and a walk in the park afterward. It had been heaven, and some of the best times of her life. They were certainly more enjoyable than ninety-nine percent of the official functions she had to attend as a D.A.

It was ridiculous that going to Sal’s would hit such an emotional note for her. She was hungry and the stuffed crabs sounded heavenly. If Kelly told him she didn’t want the memories Sal’s invoked, he might misinterpret it. She was tired, that was all. “All right. You’ve bribed me.”

He grinned, an expression of cocky arrogance. She didn’t want to add to that arrogance, but stuffed crabs—it would be a brief reprieve from the lousy day, she told herself. “You going to buy?”

“Will that get you to go?”

“Yup.”

“Then I’m buying.”

“After you buy me dinner, then you can tell me what ugly facts you’ve uncovered.”

“I will, but only after you’ve eaten.”

Sal’s was a little place, the last business in an old turn-of-the-century building with atmosphere that you could scrape off the walls. Ash was sure that, if he pulled the health records on this place, he wouldn’t be happy. But on this point, ignorance was bliss.

Sal smiled when he saw them walk into the restaurant. “Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Ashcroft. It’s been too long since you’ve come to my fine establishment. Come, the table you like is empty. I will seat you.”

Ash winced inwardly. Hadn’t he been here since the divorce? He glanced at Kelly to see her reaction to Sal’s mistake. Her face drained of color. She followed the little man without a word of protest.

After they were seated, Sal asked, “Stuffed crabs and fettuccine Alfredo and a sauvignon blanc?”

Ash looked at Kelly. When she nodded, Ash agreed. “I’m surprised you remember what we like to order, Sal, with all the customers you’ve had over the years.”

Sal grinned and leaned down. “I’ll tell you a story, Mr. Ashcroft. When you and the missus used to come into my place, I’d tell my wife, look at those two lovers. There’s a passion there that is reserved for the few. Then I would grin at my Catherine and give her a good kiss and a pat. She enjoyed when you came into the restaurant.”

Ash couldn’t have been more surprised. Glancing at Kelly, he saw the wounded expression in her eyes. Her jaw clenched. Sal’s words had inflicted a serious wound.

“I’ll get the wine and turn in your order.” Sal hurried away.

Ash glanced at Kelly. “I’m sorry—”

She shook her head. “It’s okay.” But from her body posture, her shoulders hunched as if to protect herself, it wasn’t.

Taking a deep breath, she hid her emotions behind that cool lawyer mask of hers. It was one of the things that had always grated on his nerves.

Finally she shook her head and leaned back in her chair. “Well, it’s just too perfect an ending for today.”

Before Ash could respond, Sal returned with the wine and poured them each a glass.

He took a sip of wine. “I understand. It’s been one of those days for me, too, when you want to kick the hell out of your tires to vent some of the frustration.” He shook his head, noticing that he had her attention. “I was tempted, but decided I didn’t want broken toes in addition to all the other problems we’ve got. Besides, dealing with the city when you smash up your car is worse than dealing with the snotty rich kids in the Memorial area.”

Kelly’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m sure the city is grateful you didn’t take your frustration out on another municipal vehicle.”

His brow arched.

She shrugged. “A friend of mine in the department called today and commented on your trouble.” Carrie Nelson, a forensic psychiatrist with the PD, had also given Kelly sympathy about having to work with her ex, even if he was a good detective. “Tell me what you’ve discovered,” Kelly quickly asked.

He was more than ready to move on to another subject. He told her about the conversation he had had with Steve Carlson. “I’ve got to tell you, Kelly, I believe the man,” he told her as the waiter arrived with their dinner.

“Oh, come on, Ash.” Doubt and disbelief rang in her words. “I’ve seen you nail a dozen different guys who were all claiming to be innocent and you brought me the evidence to back up your hunch. What’s the problem now?”

He put down his fork. “The problem is the blood evidence. Why wasn’t there any found in Carlson’s apartment, considering how bloody the crime scene was?”

“That bothered me, too, when I looked over the file.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Why didn’t it bother you the first time, Kelly?”

“It did, but Lee assured me that Carlson could’ve gotten rid of the shirt. He had the jewelry.”