Drop Dead Perfect (An Ellen Harper Psycho-Thriller) (2 page)

The heavy wooden door opened to her left, and Captain Harvey Patterson emerged. His jowly face was red, as usual, but this time the beet color extended past the big man’s thinning hairline. Not good.

“Harper. Get your ass in here. I don’t have all damn day,” he barked.

Getting up, she brushed the lint from her blue sweater, flipped her medium-length, auburn hair from her face, and crossed the threshold into his office, through the gates of Hell. Three steps in, she stopped and then jumped as he slammed the door. She could already feel a chunk of her fanny somewhere between his teeth.

Big Harv
Patterson rumbled to his desk and sat in his high-back leather chair, motioning for her to sit in one of the matching meeting chairs directly in front of him. She did and then waited. He shuffled two files, then restacked some CSI reports, unstacked them, slid one pile to one corner of his desk, and another stack to the opposite corner. He piled them all on top of each other, moving them directly in the middle of the desk, and he then moved them back to separate corners. All without speaking or looking at her. She crossed her legs nervously, the denim of her jeans rubbing together the only sound in the large office overlooking the Chicago skyline.

A double-stack move like that was a rare and surefire sign he was as upset as his face
advertised. Another
not-good
thing. He’d been pissed at her before, but this might be the crème de la crème.

Suddenly the files exploded from one corner of the desk, scattering in the air to her right. The yellow, white, and green papers looked like large pieces of New Year confetti as they fluttered painstakingly to the floor. Every nerve in her body screamed to leave. She didn’t scare easily
—she never had—but she’d be lying to say Big Harv hadn’t commanded her complete attention with one sweep of his meaty hand, again.

He stared at her, his large, brown eyes shooting lasers in her direction, but still he said nothing. She stared back, hoping to appear much braver than she felt.

After sixty more seconds of the stare from hell, she couldn’t take it any longer.

Her anger roared back before she could stop herself. She swept the other stack of files off the desk and watched the confetti show repeat itself.

She leaned over the desk, two feet from Big Harv’s face, never flinching. She was tired of being the goat in these situations. Yeah, her anger had gotten the best of her a time or two over the last fourteen months since the “incident.” But she wasn’t the only one who had his or her nerves jangled in this business. As her old man had always said, it took two to tango.

The big man who doubled as her boss furrowed his eyebrows, intensifying his stare.

“Feel better?” he asked softly.

As quickly as the rage appeared, it left. That’s how this beast growled. She hated not being able to
harness her temper, but how do you control something that you don’t know is coming? Somehow, Big Harv’s words helped. But then again, they should. That’s what he got paid for, sort of.

“Yeah, I do. How about you?”

“Don’t get flip, smartass,” he growled. “And no, I don’t. I’d feel better if I didn’t have to see your butt sitting in that chair every few weeks because you can’t control your tongue and that damned temper. It gets old, Ellie, really old. You’re the biggest single reason my blood pressure’s up.”

“This was
n’t my—”

“I didn’t say you could speak, did I? I know what happened. Lucky for your ass, there were witnesses. But that doesn’t excuse your reaction to her action. I told you the same thing when you punched that parking
-ticket cop for writing you a ticket.”

“Hey, she put her hands on me first. I
don’t like that and don’t—”

“I STILL didn’t say you could talk. Just shut the hell up until I ask for your opinion, got it?”

Ellen nodded. This was the weird part about this anger junk. She should be turning into the Wicked Witch of the West just because of the way Big Harv was talking to her, except she wasn’t. The department shrink had said her pissy thing wouldn’t always show up because she was dealing better with the “incident” and subconsciously accepting it. Maybe. Or maybe the instinct to survive, and keep her job, was all-powerful at the moment. He’d fired more than one cop for screwing up. She loved being a CSI and shivered at the thought of being denied that opportunity. Big Harv knew that too. She didn’t need this meeting crap, but she couldn’t stand to lose her CSI job and go to work behind the counter in one of the expensive shops littering the Magnificent Mile with the rest of the “sparkle” girls. Talk about hell on earth.

“Look. I know it hasn’t been easy since your asshole husband left. I’ve made allowances for the effect that something like that has on folks, especially in your case. I know a little about this shit, you know? But it’s been over a year, and you can’t use that as an emotional crutch anymore. You’ve got to get your head screwed on straight.”

Ellen’s eyes moved to her high-cut, leather boots. Joel Harper’s handsome face flashed across her mind, wanting to stoke the unpredictable anger.

Big Harv
was right. It
did
still hurt and it
did
still piss her off, at different levels, every time she thought about it, which was all of the time. What he’d done to her remained an annoying, constant companion that only went away when she was sleeping or drunk, and she didn’t drink, too much.

She still didn’t get it. How could Joel have done that to her? One day, they were the happy, professional couple; the next day, literally, he texted her and told her that he was in love with someone else and had filed for divorce. At first, she thought he was messing with her—he was an expert because he knew all of her buttons, especially the good ones. Only when she’d arrived home and found his personal things missing, including one of the large-screen TVs, did it start to sink in.

On the handmade mahogany coffee table was a copy of the text, a dozen red roses, a seemingly heartfelt apology, and neatly stacked legal papers from his attorney. After reading it all, twenty minutes later and still in shock, she’d moved to the framed mirror near the fireplace and stared at the woman it reflected. She was a good wife, took care of herself, maybe not totally beautiful, but good-looking, witty, sexy when she wanted to be, and they had been best friends. He’d said so a thousand times. She’d left the apartment, got into her Mustang and searched for him until the wee hours of the morning, with no luck. Finally returning home, she’d crashed for a week. Drinking Caribbean rum, watching old Katharine Hepburn movies in between sobering-up episodes. Uneasy, fearful sleep littered with vivid nightmares was the order of the day
.

After three days, her father had made his way over and done his best to console her, to encourage her—not one of his strengths—but she knew he was doing his best. Plus he was all she had now
, especially with her mom, her best friend, dying in a fiery accident on the Ryan Expressway five years earlier. Her dad fumbled a few things emotionally, but got an “A plus” for trying.

She saw Joel one time after that, at the final hearing to grant the divorce. It had hurt more than she would have imagined. Seeing him had somehow released this incessant anger, and she knew instantly she would have shot him if she hadn’t checked her Beretta before entering the courtroom. Instead, she had to settle for blackening both his eyes. Her dad had pulled her off
him, but she still remembered the twinkle in her dad’s eye.

“Ellie? Did you hear me?”

She glanced up, leaving the dark memories behind for now. “Yeah, I did, sir. Just taking another one of those rosy walks down memory lane.”

“Does
it help?”

“Hell no, but I can’t avoid it, at least all of the time.”

“You’d better fix that, now.”

She leaned forward. “I’m trying, sir. Really trying. And most days
, it’s better, but sometimes . . . well, I end up in here.”

Without warning,
the captain’s hard face grew soft.

“The reason you answer to me, Ellie, is because the commander thinks I have a better chance than anyone else to keep you straight and not lose the best CSI on the force. I want him to be right, so no more of this. Another incident and you’ll be suspended
, pending a hearing from Internal Affairs. If we go there, it’ll probably be your job. The assholes in IPRA aren’t as lovely as me, understand?”

Ellen nodded again. She
did
get it; she just hoped her shitty attitude did.

“I promise to play better with others, okay?”

Big Harv narrowed his eyes and slowly shook his head.

“Hardly a ringing commitment, Harper.”

“It’s the best I’ve got.”

The big man leaned back, then sighed. “All right
—and I do have one more question.”

“Yes?”

“How fat
did
Detective Sanchez look in that dress?”

She held her hands wide. “Hippo.”

That old sparkle returned to his eyes, and he even smiled, a small one, but it was a smile nonetheless.

She stood up and moved around the desk, embracing Big Harv with a tight hug. “Thanks. I’ll try to make you proud . . . Dad.”

She felt the catch in his throat come and go, and then he broke her embrace. “I’m already proud. Just don’t make me fire your ass. Your mom would come back and beat the life out of me.”

His
phone rang, and Ellen thought he couldn’t have looked more relieved to answer it. She smiled. Her father was nothing if not consistent. Father and daughter moments were number one on his list, he often said, but he simply had no idea how to handle them. Still, he tried, and that meant more to her than he could imagine.

He answered the phone. “What?” A few seconds later, Big Harv laid the phone gently in the cradle, then glanced at his daughter, his face filled with pain. He buried it as quickly as it had come. But she’d seen it, and her heart felt for him. Emotion like that wasn’t really allowed for men like him.

Exhaling, he pointed to the door. “Take Oscar Malloy with you and get to the Southside, to Jackson Park. They found that kidnapped woman, Clara Rice, on a park bench. She’s . . . she’s dead.”

CHAPTER-3

Usually when men looked at her the way this one was looking, Joannie Carmen felt a little creeped out, even threatened. She thought, for the most part, they were undressing her mentally, indulging in their own personal fantasies. Not that she hadn’t done that a time or two herself. Women appreciated the physical too. And some men just possessed an animal magnetism that couldn’t be ignored. Women, however, weren’t considered creepy when they indulged in that thought process. Men even thought it sexy.

She had read on the Internet, in one of those
be all the woman you can be
sites, that when women thought men were undressing them with their eyes, it was rarely the case. Men were just being men, gawkers, pigs sometimes, but just being who they were. Once in a while, however, she felt like she was feeling now. He was great-looking, in fantastic shape, and dressed like he’d stepped out of a fashion magazine. Not all that rare for Chicago, but she hadn’t dated anyone who looked so incredible. He just sort of stood out from the crowd.

Sipping her afternoon latte, she risked another glance his way. He looked down, almost shyly, then glanced back at her with a smile that melted most of her resolve completely away. He must have sensed it because he got up, hesitated, and then walked her way.

She fidgeted, peered around the room, and noticed she wasn’t the only one watching him. He was hard to overlook. He moved within three feet and stopped, another unsure expression masking his marvelous face.

How charming.

He exhaled and took another step.

“Ahh. Excuse me. I’m not very good at this sort of thing, but I simply cannot help myself. I was wondering if I might buy you another
, and we could talk a little.”

His deep, articulate voice was impossible to resist. She didn’t.

Joannie turned her head, scanning her would-be coffee-drinking partner, feeling her pulse rise. She wasn’t very good at this game either, even though she’d dated several men in the Windy City since arriving from Michigan. There were far too many masqueraders in this intrepid world of dating and relationship seeking. She knew that to be true, and in more than one incidence, there hadn’t been a second date. She didn’t understand why people couldn’t be honest.

He seemed different. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she
felt
his sincerity. Refreshing to say the least. Hot too. Even better.

Taking a step back, he shrugged. “I presume by your silence that your answer is no.”
That brilliant smile flashed again. “I’m terribly sorry to have bothered you—”

“Wait. I was just debating whether I should buy yours or appreciate the old-fashioned concept of you buying mine,” she said, displaying some brilliance of her own. “Please sit.”

Moving gracefully, he sat down across from her, relief flooding his face with a resolute sparkle in his hazel eyes that she found incredibly appealing. The man had more confidence than he realized.