did people get from caring enough about each other to create a kid and bring it into the world, to one day deciding they just don’t want to be bothered anymore?”
Leah was silent. She was surprised. And she had to admit she was impressed. She’d almost completely forgotten about her indignation of a moment ago as she listened to Jason. He certainly didn’t talk like a cop. But she still wondered if he was really all that different from the other cops she’d read about or had seen on the nightly news.
“Do you shoot people?” she found herself asking.
Jason squinted against his cigarette smoke and was thoughtful. “If I have to.”
“Have you had to?”
He hesitated and then looked squarely at her. “Yeah. Once.”
“At least you’re honest,” she murmured. Then she felt an overwhelming need to move, to get away and be alone. “I’ve got to go …” she said, standing.
Jason stood as well. “I’d like to see you again,” he said easily. “I feel I still owe you an explanation.”
Leah shook her head. “You don’t have to.”
“I’d like to. I’d like to try to tell you what happened in September. I’m still trying to understand myself. How about we go for dinner Friday night and talk about it?”
His question annoyed Leah. He wasn’t going to give up. Her expression must have shown that because Jason gave her a wry grin.
“The coffee brought me to my senses, but it didn’t cure anything. Maybe I’m still a little out of it.”
It occurred to Leah belatedly that Jason was not having any trouble at all with their being together under such odd circumstances. She wondered if she could trust her own sense that he was okay, and that having dinner with him was indeed, no big deal. Leah wanted to see him again because in truth, her curiosity had not abated at all with the afternoon. Discovering that he was a cop had only upped the ante—clear through the roof. Leah wondered if she would have felt the same if he’d actually been a teacher.
“You know, you’re getting an awful lot of mileage out of one cup of coffee.”
Jason lifted a corner of his mouth in a sad sort of smile. “Maybe. Maybe it wasn’t the coffee at all, but the thought that was important. At least to me.” He watched her and waited.
Leah finally agreed on a long sigh. “Okay.” She began climbing the stairs.
Jason watched her. “It’s been an interesting afternoon, Leah Downey.”
“That’s one way to put it,” she said dryly. As she put the key in the door, she half turned to watch Jason as he started to walk away.
“I’ll pick you up here at seven. See you Friday.” With long, casual strides he was gone.
Gail was simultaneously reading a fashion magazine, watching TV, and polishing her nails when Leah entered the house. She did not hesitate for a second to satisfy her curiosity. “Well?” she began. “Did he get funny on you?”
“I had a police escort the whole afternoon. I couldn’t have been safer,” Leah responded.
Jason blocked out the babble of the station house routine. The noise no longer drove him crazy because there was never a peaceful moment. He had long since given up expecting an environment conducive to clear thinking and productivity.
A fellow officer had once told Jason that the general public should never get the idea that a police precinct was a pleasant environment. If people found themselves at one, it would not be an enriching experience. It was dreary, intimidating, and cold. It had no attractive rooms, no comfortable furniture, and a lot of skeptical men and women in uniform who’d seen it all, and then some. However, if asked, the officers, down to a man, would probably say that they loved their work. All for different reasons and with different expectations. It would take a lot to convince anyone outside the brotherhood that any of the reasons were altruistic. Being a cop was mostly about power … and control. Jason never tried to deny that.
The work was often
Leah was silent. She was surprised. And she had to admit she was impressed. She’d almost completely forgotten about her indignation of a moment ago as she listened to Jason. He certainly didn’t talk like a cop. But she still wondered if he was really all that different from the other cops she’d read about or had seen on the nightly news.
“Do you shoot people?” she found herself asking.
Jason squinted against his cigarette smoke and was thoughtful. “If I have to.”
“Have you had to?”
He hesitated and then looked squarely at her. “Yeah. Once.”
“At least you’re honest,” she murmured. Then she felt an overwhelming need to move, to get away and be alone. “I’ve got to go …” she said, standing.
Jason stood as well. “I’d like to see you again,” he said easily. “I feel I still owe you an explanation.”
Leah shook her head. “You don’t have to.”
“I’d like to. I’d like to try to tell you what happened in September. I’m still trying to understand myself. How about we go for dinner Friday night and talk about it?”
His question annoyed Leah. He wasn’t going to give up. Her expression must have shown that because Jason gave her a wry grin.
“The coffee brought me to my senses, but it didn’t cure anything. Maybe I’m still a little out of it.”
It occurred to Leah belatedly that Jason was not having any trouble at all with their being together under such odd circumstances. She wondered if she could trust her own sense that he was okay, and that having dinner with him was indeed, no big deal. Leah wanted to see him again because in truth, her curiosity had not abated at all with the afternoon. Discovering that he was a cop had only upped the ante—clear through the roof. Leah wondered if she would have felt the same if he’d actually been a teacher.
“You know, you’re getting an awful lot of mileage out of one cup of coffee.”
Jason lifted a corner of his mouth in a sad sort of smile. “Maybe. Maybe it wasn’t the coffee at all, but the thought that was important. At least to me.” He watched her and waited.
Leah finally agreed on a long sigh. “Okay.” She began climbing the stairs.
Jason watched her. “It’s been an interesting afternoon, Leah Downey.”
“That’s one way to put it,” she said dryly. As she put the key in the door, she half turned to watch Jason as he started to walk away.
“I’ll pick you up here at seven. See you Friday.” With long, casual strides he was gone.
Gail was simultaneously reading a fashion magazine, watching TV, and polishing her nails when Leah entered the house. She did not hesitate for a second to satisfy her curiosity. “Well?” she began. “Did he get funny on you?”
“I had a police escort the whole afternoon. I couldn’t have been safer,” Leah responded.
Jason blocked out the babble of the station house routine. The noise no longer drove him crazy because there was never a peaceful moment. He had long since given up expecting an environment conducive to clear thinking and productivity.
A fellow officer had once told Jason that the general public should never get the idea that a police precinct was a pleasant environment. If people found themselves at one, it would not be an enriching experience. It was dreary, intimidating, and cold. It had no attractive rooms, no comfortable furniture, and a lot of skeptical men and women in uniform who’d seen it all, and then some. However, if asked, the officers, down to a man, would probably say that they loved their work. All for different reasons and with different expectations. It would take a lot to convince anyone outside the brotherhood that any of the reasons were altruistic. Being a cop was mostly about power … and control. Jason never tried to deny that.
The work was often
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