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“Your wife doesn’t need to find out,” she said. “I just need you to give your statement to my sergeant.”
“What happened during the time of seven to eleven?”
“There was a murder,” she said.
“And what? You’re a suspect?”
“Not exactly, but if I’m going to be allowed to continue working cases, I need this alibi.”
A smile toyed the edges of his lips.
“I’m glad you find this amusing.”
“I find it interesting.”
She stiffened. He was on some sort of power trip, though he didn’t know about the poor girls out there, or that the longer he kept her tied up, the longer they remained prisoners.
“Well, will you testify that we were together or not?”
“What sort of details do I need to hand—”
She scowled and he laughed. The playboy she’d seen in his eyes at the Tipsy Moose the night they’d hooked up was back, alive and well. She briefly considered asking him to make it sound like they were more than they were, but, really, Malone probably wouldn’t care about her having one-night stands. “You just need to speak to my sergeant. Stick to saying we were together at the time.”
“Enjoying each other’s company.” He smirked and she shook her head. He added, “And if your sergeant asks what we were doing?”
“I highly doubt he will.” She viewed Malone almost as a second father sometimes, and if he felt at all the same, he wouldn’t want details about her sex life anyway. “If he asks, just tell him the details of our outing are none of his business—that it’s personal.”
“Sure. I can do that.”
She breathed with relief. “Thank you. I’ll have him call you, but I’ll need your number.”
“Surprised you don’t have it already.”
She wasn’t about to admit that she’d pulled a background report on him and none showed on record. She took out her phone and created a new contact named Alibi. “Ready when you are.”
He rattled off the number and she keyed it in. “What kind of detective are you, anyway?”
“I’m with Homicide.” She put her phone in a pocket.
He squinted behind his shades, small lines forming around his eyes. “Cool.”
“Cool? I investigate murders. That means people have died. There’s nothing cool about it.” That’s what she said at least, but honestly, the Homicide Unit was where she belonged.
“Sure, okay, but I’m going to need you to do me a favor before I—”
“You’re blackmailing a cop?”
“Detective, isn’t that what you said? I’d like to start over. Don’t think I’m asking for much.”
“Start over… what?” Her heart bumped off rhythm, her instinct telling her he was going to ask her out. But there was a huge problem with that. He was a married man, and she didn’t get involved with them. Well, not after she found out they were married anyway. She slept with guys once. One night. One time. One and done.
“I want to go out for dinner with you,” he said. “The whole deal: appetizers, drinks, main course, dessert.”
Her impulse was to correct him; she didn’t drink. “Think you’re forgetting the part where you’re married.”
“Separated, actually. Have been for a couple of years. Well, two years, eight months, sixteen days, but who’s counting.”
“Sounds like you are.”
