Nora Roberts - Sacred Sins

“How about Chinese?” It was the best compromise she could come up with as she slipped into the car. “There’s a great little place around the corner from my office.”

“Told you she was classy,” Ed said as he took the driver’s seat. He fastened his safety belt and waited with the patience of the wise and determined for Ben to follow suit. “The Chinese have the proper respect for the digestive system.”

“Sure, they keep it stuffed with rice.” Ben glanced over his shoulder and saw Tess already spread out on the backseat, her file open. “Come on, Doc, take a break.”

“I just want to check over a couple of things.”

“Ever treated a workaholic?”

She glanced over the file, then back again. “I may decide I have a craving for yogurt after all.”

“Not Tanya Tucker!” Ben pushed the reject button before the first bar of the song was out. “You had her this afternoon.”

“I wish.”

“Degenerate. I’m putting on some-ah, shit, look at that. The liquor store.”

Ed slowed down. “Looks like a five-oh-nine in progress.”

“A what?” Tess straightened up in the back and tried to see.

“Robbery in progress.” Ben was already unhooking his belt. “Go back to work.”

“A robbery? Where?”

“Where’s a black and white?” Ben muttered as he reached for the radio. “Dammit, all I want’s some sweet and sour pork.”

“Pork’s poison.” Ed unlatched his own belt.

Ben. snapped into the radio. “Unit six-oh. We have a five-oh-nine in progress on Third and Douglas. Any available units. We have a civilian in the car. Ah, damn, he’s coming out. Requesting backup. Perpetrators heading south. White male, five-ten, a hundred eighty. Black jacket, jeans.” The radio squawked back at him. “Yeah, we’re on him.”

Ed revved the engine and rounded the corner. From the backseat, Tess stared, fascinated.

She saw the husky man in the black jacket come out of the liquor store and head up the street at a jog. The minute he turned his head and saw the Mustang, he broke into a run.

“Shit, he made us.” Ben pulled out the Kojak light. “Just sit tight, Doc.”

“Making for the alley,” Ed said mildly. He brought the car to a halt, fishtailing it. Before Tess could open her mouth, both men were out of opposite sides and running.

“Stay in the car!” Ben shouted at her.

She listened to him for about ten seconds. Slamming the door behind her, she raced to the mouth of the alley herself.

Ed was bigger, but Ben was faster. As she watched, the man they were chasing reached into his jacket. She saw the gun and only had an instant to freeze before Ben caught him at the knees and sent him sprawling into a line of garbage cans. There was a shot over the clatter of metal. She was halfway down the alley when Ben dragged the man to his feet. There was blood, and the scent of rotting food from the metal cans which were emptied regularly but rarely cleaned. The man didn’t struggle, probably because he saw Ed and the police issue in his hand. He spat a stream of blood tinged saliva.

It wasn’t like television, Tess thought as she looked at the man who would have shot Ben in the face if the timing had been a little different. Nor was it like a novel. It wasn’t even like the eleven o’clock news, where all the details were neatly tied up and delivered with rapid-fire detachment. Life was full of smelly alleys and spittle. Her training and work had taken her there before, but only emotionally.

She took a deep breath, relieved that she wasn’t frightened, only curious. And maybe a little fascinated.

With two snaps Ben had the robber’s hands cuffed behind his back. “Haven’t you got more brains than to shoot at a police officer?”

“Got grease on your pants,” Ed pointed out as he secured his gun.

Ben looked down and saw the long skid mark running from ankle to knee. “Goddammit. I’m with Homicide, jerk,” he announced in his prisoner’s face. “I don’t like getting grease on my pants. In fact, getting grease on my pants really pisses me off.” Disgusted, Ben passed him to Ed as he brought out his badge. “You’re under arrest, sucker. You have the right to remain silent. You have-Tess, dammit, didn’t I tell you to stay in the car?”

“He had a gun.”

“The bad guys always have guns.” As he looked at her, wrapped in a powder-blue cashmere coat, he could smell the sweat from the petty thief. She looked as though she were on her way to have cocktails on Embassy Row. “Go back to the car, you don’t belong here.”

Ignoring him, she studied the thief. He had a good-sized scrape on his forehead where he’d connected with concrete. That explained the slightly glazed expression. Minor concussion. His skin and the whites of his eyes had a yellow tinge. There was sweat on his face, though the wind cutting through the alley billowed his jacket. “Looks like he might have hepatitis.”

“He’ll have plenty of time to recover.” He heard the sirens and looked over her shoulder. “Here comes the cavalry. We’ll let the uniforms read him his rights.”

When Ben took her arm, Tess shook her head. “You were running after him, and he had a gun.”

“So did I,” Ben pointed out as he pulled her back up the alley. He flashed his badge at the uniforms before continuing on to the car.

“You didn’t have it out. He was going to shoot you.”

“That’s what’s the bad guys do. They do the crime, we go after them, and they try to get away.”

“Don’t act like it was a game.”

“It’s all a game.”

“He was going to kill you, and you were mad because you got your pants dirty.”

Reminded, Ben glanced down again. “Department’s going to get the bill too. Grease never comes out.” You re crazy.

“Is that a professional opinion?”

There had to be a good reason why she wanted to laugh. Tess decided to analyze it later. “I’m working one up.”

“Take your time.” The adrenaline from the collar was still pumping Ben up. As he reached the car, he saw they had a three-unit backup for one two-bit hood with hepatitis. Maybe they were all crazy. “Come on, sit down in here while I fill in the uniforms.”

“Your mouth is bleeding.”

“Yeah?” He wiped the back of his hand over it and looked at the smear. “Yeah. Maybe I need a doctor.”

She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and dabbed at the cut. “Maybe you do.”

Behind them the man they had arrested began to swear, and a crowd had gathered.

Over the next few days Tess bent under her caseload. Eight- and ten-hour days stretched to twelve and fourteen. She postponed her usual Friday-night dinner with her grandfather, something she would never have done for a date, only for a patient.

The press hounded her, along with a few of her less sensitive associates, such as Frank Fuller. The fact that she was working with the police added just enough mystique to have him hanging around her office at five. Tess began to stay at her desk until six.

She had no new information, only a nagging sense of worry. It wouldn’t be long before there was another victim. The more she felt she understood the mind of the killer, the surer she was of that.

But it was Joey Higgins who kept her awake and restless into early Saturday morning, when the streets outside were dark and empty and her eyes were burning from overuse. She slipped off her glasses, sat back and rubbed them.

Why couldn’t she get through to him? Why wasn’t she making a dent? The session that evening with Joey, his mother, and stepfather had been a disaster. There had been no temper tantrums, no shouting, no accusations. She would have preferred that. There would have been emotion in that.