Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
He opened the envelope, and a clichéd black book fell out, along with a note. A quick read told him it was from Judge Baine’s wife:
In a lucid moment, my husband asked me to give you this. Old mistakes that he paid for by living with his guilty conscience that eats away at what few good moments he has now. As many suspected, the old Winkler place was, in fact, a brothel. Many otherwise good, prominent men kept it going—until the time you were asking about. Now you have the list in your hands. Do with it what you must. My husband has more than made up for his sins, at least to me, and he’s barely aware of what’s going on around him most of the time, anyway. But he did want to clear his conscience, and I followed his wishes.
Mike glanced up at the ceiling in his office. “A lead as well as some answers. Thank you, God.”
He jumped up and headed for the squad room, intent on finding Cara. He found her at her desk, typing in reports on the barebones system they had. Soon, though, his new system would be in place and even when he was gone from here, he’d have made a lasting impression.
That mattered to him, he realized. This place, a small police station with dingy walls, an air conditioner that needed to be replaced, and the people in it, mattered.
“Hi!” Cara glanced up from her desk.
Beautiful blue eyes focused on him and immediately brightened his day. “Hi. You have some time?”
“Umm, sure. Let me just save this . . . ” She hit a button and pushed her chair back. “Ready. What’s up?”
He looked her over, loving how she appeared so in control and sexy in her uniform. “I have a lead on the money in the evidence room. Or at the very least, I have a list of names and information I can’t discuss here.”
“Then let’s go.”
She was dropping everything? “Don’t you have work to do?”
“I’m on top of things.”
“Good. I want to look at this in private. Can we go to your place?”
“Sure, but yours is closer.”
Mike paused. “But yours is warmer.” And he didn’t mean temperature. He liked the homey feel of her condo, and for the news he assumed he’d be getting, he didn’t want to be in his sterile room over Joe’s Bar.
* * *
Back at Cara’s condo, she made them grilled cheese sandwiches while Mike sat down at the kitchen table with a pad and pen in front of him and Judge Baine’s black book open wide.
“It looks like a ledger,” she said, glancing over from where she stood at the stove, frying up lunch.
“It is, but it’s not used like one. Not exclusively anyway. There’s a list of names here. Prominent businessmen with initials underneath their names.”
She slid the spatula beneath the sandwiches to flip them one more time, then placed them on plates and carried them to the table. “What else is there?”
He flipped through the book, coming to empty pages.
“Flip further,” she said, taking a bite of her sandwich. “And eat before it gets cold. I worked hard on these.”
He grinned and took a bite. His eyes glazed over. “Delicious. This isn’t just grilled cheese.”
Pleasure filled her. “I’m not sharing my secret recipe. Besides, it’s not like you’ll ever cook it. If you want it, you’ll have to come to me and get it.”
“That would be my pleasure.” He started to reach for her, but she slapped his hand.
“Work first,” she said, tapping the book with her finger.
“Can we play later?” His eyes darkened at the suggestion, and her heart skipped a beat.
She’d been disappointed when he’d kissed her and gone home last night, but a part of her understood. They’d both admitted to deeper-than-planned feelings, and sleeping together last night would have been a very bad idea. She’d have ended up feeling way too much. This afternoon, though, they were back on familiar playful ground, where she at least had a shot at keeping her emotions in check.
“Maybe,” she said, teasing him. “Now keep looking.”
He turned the sheets of paper one by one, finally coming to another set of filled pages. “Bingo. Women’s names.”
“I bet you can match those to the initials underneath the men’s names.”
A quick scan back and forth proved her right. “Okay, so the initials are names of women,” he said.
“One question answered. Let’s focus on the men. Any names you recognize?”
“Other than the judge? Only almost every one,” Mike muttered. “Judges, politicians, family men, men with money, working-class guys . . . ” He shook his head in disgust.
“Is Simon in there?” she asked gently.
He skimmed the pages more than once before meeting her gaze. “No.” His eyes shimmered with relief. “No, thank God.”
So whatever Simon knew, he hadn’t been cheating on his wife.