She Walks the Line. Roz Fox Denny

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СКАЧАТЬ room, passing Sergeant Denholm, a man more than a little flabby around the middle.

      “Hey, Ling. I saw how you let Santiago whip your butt. I’ll gladly show you how a man cuts that hot tamale down to size.”

      “You know, Denholm, I was on my way out,” Crista said. “But you’ve been pushing for a slaughter.”

      Spinning, Mei turned back, too. “I’ll referee, just to keep you honest, Sarge.”

      His grin faltered, and he tried to backpedal. The women closed ranks and, because others had heard his bragging, he ended up going along.

      It did Mei’s heart good to see Crista flatten the big-mouth in three out of three tries. “You know what?” she said, calling to her friend who’d barely broken a sweat. “I changed my mind about having tea. Come on, Crista. My treat.”

      “I probably shouldn’t have been so rough on him,” Crista lamented later as the friends trudged down the street toward a coffeehouse in the next block.

      “Why not? He’s been asking for it. Now maybe he’ll shut the heck up.”

      “If only. More like now every macho jerk in Denholm’s squad will want a piece of me, when we both know the number one rule in Wing Chun is to not let an attacker provoke you.”

      Mei pulled open the door to the coffeehouse. “Quit beating up on yourself. Denholm claims he wants to learn the Wing Chun system of kung fu. Tonight was another step in his training. At least, that’s what you told me all those times you bounced me off the carpet.”

      “That’s different. I like you, Mei Lu.”

      Mei, who got into line first, glanced around and pulled a face at Crista. “Thanks—I think.” The women burst out laughing and jostled each other, still smothering giggles as they placed their orders. The revelry broke whatever tension had gripped them earlier. By the time they picked up their orders and found a table in the corner, Denholm’s plight and Mei’s case were taboo subjects. The two old friends chatted about inconsequential things. Harmless gossip. Half an hour later, they parted, still in high spirits.

      On the drive home, Mei reflected on how much she missed the nights the five, or sometimes six, would meet for coffee, drinks or dinner. The first crack in their bond occurred when Catherine became chief. They all understood that her job brought with it weighty new responsibilities. Nevertheless, she’d been the first to pull back. Relaxed as she felt now, Mei hated recalling the next fracture that occurred, after Risa had been accused of killing her partner. Mei shuddered, and the warmth of the evening fled. The whole mess rushed to the forefront of her mind.

      Maybe the situation would’ve gone differently if the friends had been more experienced in their individual fields. Instead, after working the required street patrol, they’d barely been settled into their new jobs—Mei in Corporate Crime Investigation, Risa in Sex Crimes, Lucy in Missing Persons. Crista was in Homicide, but with a different unit. Abby had worked part-time with the crisis intervention team.

      At the first catastrophes their friendship had collapsed. Mei hadn’t known what to do—hadn’t known what to say—to comfort Risa. She recalled a phone conversation that had ended badly. Even after IA cleared Risa, one thing led to another and it was as if their earlier friendship ceased to exist. Some blamed it on falling in love. Grady Wilson had backed Risa, and their relationship had deepened. Jackson Davis had come into Lucy’s life at the very point when everything was so confused. Mei felt both men were exactly what her friends needed.

      Mei hadn’t been as willing to admit that Alex Del Rio was good for Crista. Of course, she’d always felt more like a sister than friend to Crista. Abby, who’d already been in and out of love, suggested Mei might be jealous of Crista’s happiness. Mei Lu had given it serious thought, but honestly believed jealousy wasn’t part of her reaction. Truly, Mei had never met such a dark and brooding man as Alex. She’d been concerned for Crista. Alex was…intense. And he’d been married before, but his wife died of a brain aneurism a couple of years ago.

      Looking back, Mei had no idea why his having been married was a sticking point. After all, they were of an age where many of their contemporaries were divorced and some had children. She was probably the oddball.

      But boy, talk about intense. Thomas Riley, the former Delta Force officer Abby Carlton had fallen for, could be another poster boy for intensity. Still, as Catherine once said, every one of the men was sinfully good-looking. “Hot” was how she’d put it.

      As Mei parked in front of her duplex just after six, she actually paused to wonder if Catherine would attach that label to Cullen Archer. Hot. In Mei’s opinion, it certainly fit. Flustered, she grabbed her purse, notebook and keys, and flew into the house. Thankfully Foo’s effusive greeting steered her priorities in another direction.

      “Yes, I’m glad to see you, too, mutt.” Shedding her suit coat, Mei locked up her weapon, then hung her jacket in the closet. The next thing she did was find one of Foo’s squeaky toys to toss across the room. It was a nightly ritual. His ambling gait on stubby legs too short for his big feet never failed to make Mei laugh. The shelter had said no one there wanted to venture a guess as to the breeds in his background. Built low to the ground like a basset, his soft fur, perky terrier ears and pug-like face expelled him from that breed. To say nothing of his waving plume of a tail. But he almost smiled, and Mei had loved that about him from the minute she set eyes on him. Life held enough sorrow; she liked surrounding herself with bright colors and silly offbeat objects that always lifted her spirits.

      She changed into jeans and a T-shirt, and took Foo out into her compact backyard so he could chase a ball around. She supposed her propensity for lots of color and things her parents would call junk came from having lived amid such order all her life. The Ling home could grace the pages of Architectural Digest or House Beautiful. On the high-ceilinged, ice-toned walls hung rich brocade tapestries that provided splashes of color. However, her mother rarely spoke of their beauty; rather, she added up their monetary value. Mei and Stephen had grown up in a veritable museum. Stephen, Mei’s elder by two years, had slipped easily into the family habit of collecting for the sake of owning. Once close, the siblings had a clash of principles the last year Mei spent in Hong Kong at the family business. Leaving the firm had been heart-wrenching, one of the hardest decisions she’d ever made. But it’d been for the best. She’d found her true niche in police work.

      She heard her phone ring. Aware that Catherine’s meeting might let out around seven o’clock, Mei raced inside to scoop up the receiver before her answering machine kicked in. “Hello,” she said, still out of breath.

      “Lieutenant?” a male voice inquired. A vaguely familiar one, too, but Mei couldn’t quite place it.

      “Yes,” she said more hesitantly. Her home phone number was unlisted, as were most officers’.

      “You sound like I caught you running a marathon or something. This is Cullen Archer.”

      “Mr. Archer?” Mei found it even harder to breathe normally. “I haven’t been home long. You caught me playing with my dog.”

      “Ah. Well, I’m down at the Port of Houston.” He rattled off a dock number, and Mei automatically stored the information. “We have a second corpse. A second dead courier, I’m betting.”

      Mei’s thundering heart nearly stopped beating. “Oh, no! How? Why? Did you call Homicide?”

      “They contacted me,” he said. “There’s a second photograph and another note in Chinese. If I might interrupt СКАЧАТЬ