Her lips twitch with a teasing smile. “Figured I’d give you an update since we’ve just hit our first milestone. Spence is coming through floor by floor, tearing out the janky dinosaur-age computers and replacing them with standard Griffin tech. We’re still using your existing networks so your staff can continue working. Meanwhile, Griff is on the fifteenth floor building your mainframe. Your electricity consumption will rise after we’re done, since you’ll be running a larger system than before, but I promise it’s for a good cause. Pres is tearing out the crappy security cameras already in place and swapping them for Griffin Red Dots. Also, those hand-held recorders you use will be obsolete after this week. Once we’re set up, you can initiate a formal recording with a simple verbal order. You’ll label the case, date, and time, and each recording will automatically save to the files associated with each patient who rolls in.”
“So, you’re giving memoreadmin before I can even start cutting? If I can’t cut until I record, and I can’t record until I have a file already set up on the dumb computer…”
Her eyes dance with mirth, even as she brings one long leg up and crosses it over the other. “Placeholder files will exist before you walk outthe door every single day. When you arrive on scene, you’ll do that thing you do where you state the date and time and whatever the scene looks like; this will automatically filter across and formalize the new file. If you want to assign each new file a number that means something to you, you can. Alternatively, stating their name, or John Doe #73 will do it. Each new addition to the file will update what’s already there, keeping it perpetually current. Backups are created every hour, on the hour, so if you mess up, you can roll everything back and find the last saved file.”
“Sounds complicated.”
She rolls her eyes. “If it’s too messy, you can call Pres, and he’ll fix it for you. Believe it or not, but this will streamline your process and make for fewer hours chained to your desk. By the time you’re done with the body and ready to work on your formal reports, much of the information will have auto-populated. I estimate we’re about thirty percent through the install. Spence is doing the heavy lifting, Pres is working on security, and Griff is building the beast that’ll run it all. You’ll get keycards to swipe for access, but your system will come with voice activation and biometric security measures, too. Pres will be on site at least once a year, every single year, to re-code and clean up your access files. If you hire someone new, contact him, and he’ll get them set up. If you fire someone, contact him, and he’ll wash them out of your system, so they won’t be able to access the building beyond the lobby. Ya know, in case the breakup isn’t entirely harmonious.”
The breakup.
“What if Pres dies?” I tease. “Or quits. Or what if you and I break up and I don’t want Checkmate to have their noses in my business anymore?”
A slow, sly smile stretches her lips wide. “We’re blood-in now, Chief. If you insist on kicking me out, I’m gonna need you to submit a forty-nine-page, double-spaced, nine-point, indented statement outlining why you think you get to escape me. Then file it in the closest paper shredder, add cream cheese, and shove the entire machine up your sphincter, because I won’t accept it anyway.”
My desk phone trills with an internal call I don’t particularly want to pick up. Whenever my public relations slash assistant-esque chick calls my line, it’s because someone else wants to talk to me.
And dammit, I so rarely want to talk to them.
Entirely too entertained, Soph merely bounces her foot. Up. Down. Up. Down. “You might wanna get that, Chief. Could be important.”
Gah!
Surging forward, I snatch up the phone and bring it to my ear. “This is Chief Mayet.”
“Hi, Chief. I have Mayor Lawrence on line three. He says it’s quite urgent.”
“Fine.” I keep the phone wedged between my shoulder and ear, disconnect our call, and select line three. “Mayor? Is everything okay?”
“Chief.”Urgent, my ass. I hear no screeching tires. No screaming victims. Not even a hand-wringing Fifi as her heels clack-clack-clack across tile. “You’re a difficult woman to reach. You were out of the office all day yesterday?”
“Yeah. I had some personal matters to attend to.” I slump back in my chair and ignore Soph’s quiet snicker. “You had something urgent to discuss?”
“Oh, right! Yes. I’m told you’re allergic to peanuts. Is that correct?”
“I… uh…” Stunned, I blink, blink, blink and search for sense. “What?”
“I don’t doubt Ms. Lewis’ word, but considering allergic reactions can vary from itchy spots on a person’s skin, all the way to anaphylaxis andactualdeath, I thought it prudent to gather the specificities from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.”
“The…”God. Why isn’t my brain working?“What?”
“Allergies, Chief Mayet?” He hardens his tone and leaves no room for myumminganduhhing. “Peanuts?”
“Y-yes. I’m allergic to peanuts. The kind of allergic that would make it difficult for me to breathe if I ate any, but not the kind that prevents someone else from enjoying them in the same room.”
“Good. Thank you.” I swear, I hear thetap-tap-tapof a computer keyboard. “Any other allergies?”
“Ahh… nope?”
He stops typing and chuckles. “Are you unsure, Chief?”
“No. I’m just unsure why you’re asking me.” I sit forward and set my elbows on my desk. “Why do you care?”
“Because we’re having dinner at my house.” He pauses for a beat, then, “Tonight.”
I let out a loud laugh. It scratches my throat and burns a little on the way up. Jesus, it makes my stomach tumble and my heart flip. And since Soph can’t hear Justin’s end of the call, it makes her eyes narrow.
“Are you high?” I massage my temple with the tips of my fingers and pray for this phone call not to turn into a headache. “Does Fifi know you’re running the city while under the influence? I feel like if she did,she’d wheel you into a broom closet and lock you away until the effects of whatever you took taper off.”
