their faces when they ask me why. I don't have an answer.”
“I'm sorry.” She reached for his hand without thinking. Her fingers closed over his. “It's a hideous job. One that wakes you up at night. I've had to talk to families—the ones left stunned and bitter after a suicide.” She felt his hand tense, and soothed automatically. “When you lie awake at three A.M., you still see the questions in their eyes, and the grief. Ben…” She leaned toward him, needing to draw him closer. “I have to think like a doctor on this. I could give you clinical terms—impulse disorder, functional psychoses. Whatever label we use, it equals illness. This man isn't killing for revenge or for profit, but in despair.”
“And I have to think like a cop. It's my job to stop him. That's the bottom line.” He was silent a moment, then pushed his drink aside. “We talked about your Monsignor Logan. Harris is checking it out.”
“That's good. Thank you.”
“Don't. I haven't a lot of faith in the idea.”
She drew back with a little sigh. “We don't have any common ground, do we?”
“Maybe not.” But he remembered how small and warm her hand had been on his. “Maybe we just haven't found it yet.”
“What do you like to do on a Saturday afternoon?” she asked abruptly.
“Sit down with a beer and watch the ball game.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That won't work. What about music?”
He grinned. “What about it?”
“What do you like?”
“Depends. I like rock when I'm driving, jazz when I'm drinking, and Mozart on Sunday mornings.”
“We're getting closer. How about Jelly Roll Morton?”
Surprised, he grinned again. “Yeah.”
“And Springsteen?”
“He caught me with The River .”
“Marvin Gaye?”
Ben sat back and took another long look. “Maybe we've got a start.” His leg brushed hers under the table. “Wanna go back to my place and listen to my record collection?”
“Detective Paris…” Tess chose one last almond. “Trained psychiatrists don't fall for shopworn lines.”
“How about fresh ones?”
“Such as?”
“Have a late supper with me after the theater and we'll see who can remember more old Beatle lyrics.”
She flashed him a grin, quick, impulsive, and totally unlike the careful smiles she'd given him before. “You'll lose, and you're on.”
“Do you know a guy with two thousand dollars worth of caps on his teeth and a Brooks Brothers suit?”
Her brows drew together. “Is this a quiz?”
“Too late, he's coming over.”
“Who… oh, hello, Frank.”
“Tess, didn't expect to see you here.” He patted the hand of the pencil-slim, exotic woman at his side. “Lorraine, this is Dr. Teresa Court, an associate of mine.”
Obviously bored, and earning Tess's sympathy, the woman held out a hand. “So happy to meet you.” Her gaze slid easily over Tess and latched on to Ben. “Hello.”
His smile was slow, and though his eyes never left her face, he took in every detail. “Hello, I'm Ben.”
“Tess, you should've told me you were coming. We'd have made a party of it,” Frank said.
Lorraine tilted her head as she looked at Ben. Maybe the night could be salvaged after all, she thought. “There's always after the play,” Lorraine said.
“There certainly is,” Ben murmured, and earned a swift kick from Tess under the table. His smile never wavered. “But Tess and I have to make an early night of it. Business.”
“Sorry, Frank, we'll have to do it another time.” Knowing escape was always in doubt, Tess was already up. “See you around the office. Bye, Lorraine.”
“Here's your hat, what's your hurry?” Ben mumbled as he followed her out.
“If you knew what I knew, you'd thank me.”
“Your, ah, colleague has better taste in women than he does in ties.”
“Really?” Tess made a business of brushing her coat smooth as they walked. “I thought she was rather obvious.”
“Yeah.” Ben cast a look over his shoulder. “Uh-huh.
“I'm sorry.” She reached for his hand without thinking. Her fingers closed over his. “It's a hideous job. One that wakes you up at night. I've had to talk to families—the ones left stunned and bitter after a suicide.” She felt his hand tense, and soothed automatically. “When you lie awake at three A.M., you still see the questions in their eyes, and the grief. Ben…” She leaned toward him, needing to draw him closer. “I have to think like a doctor on this. I could give you clinical terms—impulse disorder, functional psychoses. Whatever label we use, it equals illness. This man isn't killing for revenge or for profit, but in despair.”
“And I have to think like a cop. It's my job to stop him. That's the bottom line.” He was silent a moment, then pushed his drink aside. “We talked about your Monsignor Logan. Harris is checking it out.”
“That's good. Thank you.”
“Don't. I haven't a lot of faith in the idea.”
She drew back with a little sigh. “We don't have any common ground, do we?”
“Maybe not.” But he remembered how small and warm her hand had been on his. “Maybe we just haven't found it yet.”
“What do you like to do on a Saturday afternoon?” she asked abruptly.
“Sit down with a beer and watch the ball game.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That won't work. What about music?”
He grinned. “What about it?”
“What do you like?”
“Depends. I like rock when I'm driving, jazz when I'm drinking, and Mozart on Sunday mornings.”
“We're getting closer. How about Jelly Roll Morton?”
Surprised, he grinned again. “Yeah.”
“And Springsteen?”
“He caught me with The River .”
“Marvin Gaye?”
Ben sat back and took another long look. “Maybe we've got a start.” His leg brushed hers under the table. “Wanna go back to my place and listen to my record collection?”
“Detective Paris…” Tess chose one last almond. “Trained psychiatrists don't fall for shopworn lines.”
“How about fresh ones?”
“Such as?”
“Have a late supper with me after the theater and we'll see who can remember more old Beatle lyrics.”
She flashed him a grin, quick, impulsive, and totally unlike the careful smiles she'd given him before. “You'll lose, and you're on.”
“Do you know a guy with two thousand dollars worth of caps on his teeth and a Brooks Brothers suit?”
Her brows drew together. “Is this a quiz?”
“Too late, he's coming over.”
“Who… oh, hello, Frank.”
“Tess, didn't expect to see you here.” He patted the hand of the pencil-slim, exotic woman at his side. “Lorraine, this is Dr. Teresa Court, an associate of mine.”
Obviously bored, and earning Tess's sympathy, the woman held out a hand. “So happy to meet you.” Her gaze slid easily over Tess and latched on to Ben. “Hello.”
His smile was slow, and though his eyes never left her face, he took in every detail. “Hello, I'm Ben.”
“Tess, you should've told me you were coming. We'd have made a party of it,” Frank said.
Lorraine tilted her head as she looked at Ben. Maybe the night could be salvaged after all, she thought. “There's always after the play,” Lorraine said.
“There certainly is,” Ben murmured, and earned a swift kick from Tess under the table. His smile never wavered. “But Tess and I have to make an early night of it. Business.”
“Sorry, Frank, we'll have to do it another time.” Knowing escape was always in doubt, Tess was already up. “See you around the office. Bye, Lorraine.”
“Here's your hat, what's your hurry?” Ben mumbled as he followed her out.
“If you knew what I knew, you'd thank me.”
“Your, ah, colleague has better taste in women than he does in ties.”
“Really?” Tess made a business of brushing her coat smooth as they walked. “I thought she was rather obvious.”
“Yeah.” Ben cast a look over his shoulder. “Uh-huh.
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