The Drinking Game

Discussions with Sean

Pots and pans banged in the kitchen and Jen could smell the grease from all day breakfasts.

The waitress brought their coffees and swished away in her Harvest Gold, polyester uniform.

“Ken insisted on calling a profiler. I was outvoted."

Used to this resistance, she showed him a patronizing smile. “Wanted to handle it all by yourself." Not a question, since it wasn't.

Sean's gaze flipped back to her as he deposited some ashes in the tin tray before him. “Something like that." His eyes seemed to want to see through her again. Could he see to her soul? Could he see her lies and deceptions? A chill sprinted up her spine. “So you were expecting a profiler, but somehow I wasn't what you expected. How is that?"

His maleness oozed from him. Even if he were in a dress, no one would mistake him for a woman. God must have given him more testosterone than most men. Jen dealt with this type often. Each department had one. The renegade. The lone wolf. She wondered briefly how Ken had gotten along with him.

“Ken's fiancée," Sean murmured his disbelief evident in the furrow of his brow.

“Can we get past that?" She had a job to do here and she hoped the task at hand would help her through her grief.

Another drag of the cigarette and he jabbed it out in the ashtray. Hunching over he lifted the cup to his lips like the brew was precious. His tired eyes turned to her. “I had a picture in my mind of what Ken's fiancée would look like. Seeing as we never met."

Okay, he needed to be humored. “I'll bite," she started. “What did you think Ken's fiancée would look like?" This should be classic.

Busying herself with adding some powdered creamer, she waited for his answer. He leaned back and stretched his long arms along the back of the booth seat. “He didn't talk about you much."

That's because he didn't love me. A stab of pain jolted her. Not for the lack of love, but for the loss of a good man. No matter who he loved. “Ken was a private person. I'm sure he only socialized with you guys occasionally."

“He did more than I do," Sean admitted.

“You're a loner, but that's another conversation."

“Profiling?"

“That's what I do, but I might be inclined to charge for a personal analysis."

“That's right. You're a shrink."

“My major was psychology and I've never been in private practice so 'shrink' would be a misnomer."

Sean cleared his throat and shrugged. “You really want to know my vision of you?"

She shrugged. “If it'll get you to start talking about the case sooner, go ahead."

He drank half of his coffee and dropped the cup back on the saucer. No one noticed the loud noise it made, but Jen stiffened slightly. She breathed deeply to calm herself. She hated being so jumpy, but ever since the last case and that bullet... She shook herself out of the memory.

“Big t**s. Ken seemed to be a breast man. And blond."

His lover had been blond all right.

“You're a Redhead."

“Strawberry blond," she corrected, but it shouldn't matter if she shut up and let him finish.

“Still. You probably have the fiery personality of a redhead. You know, underneath that conservative suit."

Fiery? No one had ever accused her of that. Cold, maybe. Able to put out fires. Who could blame them? When she should have been either recovering from her injuries or grieving for an ex-boyfriend, she was offering to profile a brutal killer. Where was the warmth in that?

Sean seemed to be waiting for an answer.

“Finished?" she asked.

“No comment? No insight into what I thought?"

She kept her eye rolling in check. Instead she leaned her forearms on the table. “No. Can we talk about the case?"

A moment of shock transformed his face before it went back to showing no emotion. “Goddamn. You're an ice princess, aren't you? Shouldn't you at least be grieving for the man you were going to marry?"

Her eyes narrowed as her temper spiked. She tapped a manicured finger on the Formica table. “My grieving is none of your business," she shouted, then lowered her voice. “I have a job to do and the sooner I give you a profile, hopefully the sooner you'll catch him. So can we talk about the case?'

He downed the rest of his coffee and fished into his pants' pocket. Dropping some wrinkled bills on the table, he slid out of the booth. “No."

She flinched. “No?"

Leaning towards her, he said, “Maybe you don't give a goddamn that Ken Westin's gone, but I do and I need some time."

He left her fuming.

***

Sean half expected her to follow him. He'd seen the anger in her eyes and heard the defensiveness in her words. She didn't seem the type to back down from a fight. He shrugged.

Well, damn it, he did need time to grieve. More importantly he wanted to see that crime scene again. Closure? Bullshit. Assurances, that's what he wanted. He needed to know that Ken wasn't any different.

Once inside the Centre County Administration Building, he punched the elevator button for the fourth floor. To his relief no one else made the trip up with him. Small talk would have irritated him even more.

Storming into Cam's office, he kicked the door closed behind him. “Why can't I help process that crime scene?"

Cam placed his pen on top of his paperwork. His gaze sauntered up to Sean's face. “Policy."

Sean's temper spiked and it took all of his self-control not to wring his superior's flabby neck. “Policy? That's what's keeping your best investigator off this case?"

Cam sighed and tented his fingertips in front of his face. Weary eyes stared at Sean. “You can't work a case where you have a personal involvement. Ken was your partner. Its personal."