Nora Roberts - Sacred Sins

She smiled, lifting her hands to his wrist. “Then I don’t have anything to worry about, do I?”

“I care about you,” he said carefully. It was as close to a declaration as he’d ever come with a woman. “I want you to know that.”

“Then take me home, Ben.” She turned her lips into his palm. “And show me.”

The maintenance man was glumly mopping up a mud-colored puddle in the hallway outside the squad room. Under the heavy scent of pine cleaner hung trails of more human odors. The machine that dispensed coffee black, coffee light, and when its mood was generous, hot chocolate, leaned like a wounded soldier against its companion which handled Hershey bars and Baby Ruths. A platoon of Styrofoam cups littered the tile. Ben steered Tess around the worst of it.

“Coffee machine blow up again?”

The man with dusty gray overalls and dusty gray hair looked over the handle of his mop. “You guys gotta quit kicking these machines. Look at that dent.” He slopped more coffee and Lysol as he gestured. “Criminal.”

“Yeah.” Ben sent a look of dislike at the candy machine. He’d added a fresh dent there himself after he’d lost another fifty cents the day before. “Somebody ought to investigate. Watch your shoes, Doc.” He led her into the squad room, where at eight o’clock phones were already shrilling.

“Paris.” Lowenstein chucked a paper cup toward her trash bas-ket where it caught the rim and flipped in. “Captain’s daughter had her baby last night.”

“Last night?” He stopped by his desk to look for messages. The one from his mother reminded him that it had been nearly a month since he’d checked in.

“At 10:35 P.M.”

“Shit, couldn’t she have waited a couple of days? I had the fifteenth in the pool.” There was still a chance, he figured, if she’d cooperated and had a boy. “What’d she have?”

“Girl, seven pounds, seven ounces. Jackson hit it on the nose.”

“Figures.”

She rose, giving Tess a quick professional sweep. Lowenstein judged the price of the snakeskin bag in the ballpark of a hundred fifty and felt a small, harmless tug of envy. “Good morning, Dr. Court.”

“Good morning.”

“Ah, if you’d like coffee or anything, we’re getting it out of the conference room until things are cleared up. We’ll be meeting in there in a few minutes.” The perfume was French, the real stuff, Lowenstein deduced as she took a quick, discreet sniff.

“Thanks, I’ll wait.”

“Why don’t you have a seat until the captains ready?” Ben suggested, glancing around for a clean chair. “I’ve got to return a couple of these calls.”

There was a sudden spurt of obscenities from the hall, then a metallic crash. Tess turned to see the dirty water from the bucket stream down the hall. Then all hell broke loose.

A stringy black man with his hands cuffed behind him got as far as the doorway when a man in an overcoat caught him in a headlock.

“Look at my floor!” Almost dancing with fury, the maintenance man jumped into view. He swung his mop, spraying everything. “I’m going to the union. See if I don’t.”

The prisoner bucked and squirmed like a landed trout while the officer in charge tried to hang on. “Get that wet mop out of my face.” Panting and a bit red-faced, he tried to avoid the next shower while the black man sent up a high, keening wail.

“Shit, Mullendore, can’t you control your prisoners?” Without hurry Ben walked over to assist when the black man managed to sink his teeth into Mullendore’s hand. There was a low growl of a curse before the prisoner burst free and ran headlong into Ben. “Jesus, give me a hand, will you? This guy’s an animal.” Mullendore made a grab, sandwiching the prisoner between them. For a moment they looked as though they were ready to rhumba. Then all three men lost their footing on the damp floor and went down in a heap.

Beside Tess, Lowenstein watched with her hands comfortably on her hips.

“Shouldn’t you break it up?” Tess wondered aloud.

“The guy’s cuffed and weighs maybe a hundred pounds. They’ll just be a minute.”

“You ain’t putting me in a cell!” The black man rolled and squirmed and screamed, and managed to bring his knee solidly into Ben’s groin. In reflex, Ben jerked his elbow and caught him under the chin. As his body went limp, Ben collapsed on it, with Mullendore panting beside them.

“Thanks, Paris.” Mullendore held up his wounded hand to study the teeth marks. “Christ, I’m probably going to need a shot. The guy went crazy when we walked into the building.”

Ben managed to rise to his hands and knees. His breath whistled as he sucked it in, and left a hole burning in his gut. He tried to speak, dragged in another whistling breath, and tried again. “Sonofabitch put my balls into my stomach.”

“I’m real sorry about that, Ben.” Mullendore took out a handkerchief and wrapped it around the bite. “He looks real peaceful now, though.”

With a grunt Ben pushed himself off to sit on the floor, braced by the wall. “For Christ’s sake get him into holding before he comes to.”

He sat there as Mullendore hefted the unconscious prisoner. The cold, coffee-stained wash water had soaked through the knees and thighs of his jeans and splattered his shirt. Even when it soaked through the seat, he continued to sit, wondering why the knee that had connected with his pride had been so bony.

As he headed down the hall for a fresh batch of soapy water, the maintenance man rattled his mop in his bucket. “I’m talking to the shop steward. I had that floor almost finished.”

“Tough break.” Ben spared him a look as the pain between his legs sang its way up to his head.

“Don’t worry about it, Paris.” Lowenstein leaned on the doorway, carefully avoiding the small river. “Chances are you’re still a stallion.”

“Kiss my ass.”

“Honey, you know my husband’s a jealous man.”

Tess crouched down beside him, giving him a sympathetic tut-tut. Her hand was gentle as she patted his cheek, but her eyes were lit with laughter. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, I’m terrific. I like absorbing my coffee through my skin.”

“Executive branch, right?”

“Yeah, right.”

“Want to get up?”

“No.” He resisted reaching a hand between his legs to make certain everything was in place.

The laugh wasn’t quite muffled as she pressed a hand to her mouth. The long, narrowed look he gave her only made it worse. Her voice hitched and bubbled. “You can’t sit here all day. You’re sitting in a puddle, and you smell like the floor of a cafe that hasn’t been washed over the weekend.”

“Great bedside manner, Doc.” He took her arm as she fought a losing war against laughter. “One good tug and you’re down here with me.”

“Then you’d have all those guilt ramifications to deal with. Not to mention the cleaning bills.”

Ed walked down the hall, still bundled in his outdoor gear. As he avoided the worst of the wet, he dug the rest of his breakfast yogurt out of the carton. Licking the spoon, he stopped in front of his partner. “Morning, Dr. Court.”

“Good morning.” She rose, still swallowing laughter.

“Nice day.”

“Yes, a little cold though.”

“Weatherman said it should hit fifty this afternoon.”

“Oh, you two are a riot,” Ben told them. “A real riot.”

Tess cleared her throat. “Ben… Ben had a little accident.”

Eds bushy brows lifted as he looked at the stream running down the hall.

“Just keep your sophomoric humor to yourself,” Ben warned.

“Sophomoric.” Ed rolled the word around on his tongue, impressed. He handed his empty carton to Tess, then hooking his hands under Bens armpits, hauled his partner effortlessly to his feet. “Your pants are wet.”