High Noon

“And I dislike him right down to the tip of that teeny weenie of his.” She offered a sunny smile as she dried her hands. “Lieutenant.”
    “Detective,” Phoebe returned as Liz tossed the paper towel into the bin and strolled out.
     
    She didn’t like it, but she went to Dave. As was her habit, she jogged up the two flights of stairs from the lecture area to her own section. He was striding out of his office, swinging on his jacket as she popped out the stairway door.
    “Oh, you’re heading out.”
    “I’ve got a meeting. Problem?”
    “Maybe. I’ll come back.”
    He glanced at his watch. “I can give you two minutes.” He jerked a thumb, stepped back into his office. And said nothing when Phoebe closed the door behind her.
    He was still so much the same as the day she’d first met him. A little gray dashed his temples, and those lines people called character in a man and age in a woman fanned out from his eyes. But those eyes were still clear and blue and, for her, drenched in quiet wisdom.
    “I don’t like having to do this, because for one thing, it means I’ve failed. But I’m asking you to consider removing Officer Arnold Meeks from my training sessions.”
    “Because?”
    “I can’t teach him anything. And, in fact, may be prejudicing him against any of the basic tactics and guidelines in the field.”
    Dave leaned back against his desk, a gesture that told her she’d get more than the two minutes now if she needed them. “Is he stupid?”
    “No, sir, but he is small-minded. In my opinion.”
    “His father’s still on the job. He’s a son of a bitch.”
    Phoebe relaxed fractionally. “I’m shocked and amazed to hear that.”
    “I want all officers assigned to the sessions to complete them. You can relate your opinions of Officer Meeks, in this area, in your evaluation. I want all of them to get through it, Phoebe. You know as well as I do that at least some of what you teach them will work its way in, even into small minds.”
    “I dressed him down in the session.”
    “Did he deserve it?”
    “And then some. But he’s only going to be pissed off at me now, and even less likely to listen.”
    “Minimize the damage and move on.” He gave her a pat on the shoulder. “I’m going to be late.”
    “Minimize the damage,” Phoebe muttered, but reached up to straighten Dave’s tie.
    He smiled at her. “You’re the best I’ve ever worked with. You remember that, and handle small-minded Meeks.”
    “Yes, sir, Captain.”
    She walked out with him, and when she peeled off, spotted Arnie loitering with a couple other cops outside her squad room. Her belly might have clenched, but her face was serene as she walked up to him. “Officer Meeks, the captain wishes all assigned officers to complete the negotiator training. I’ll expect to see you Monday morning, as scheduled. Is that understood?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Now I’m sure the three of you have more important things to do than stand around here. Go on and do it.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” he repeated, in a tone that had her hackles rising. Minimize the damage, she reminded herself. “I expect we can both learn something from these sessions.”
    She couldn’t hear what he said when she walked away; the words were low and indistinguishable. But she heard the snickers clearly enough.
    She let it go. A woman who’d pushed through Quantico, who’d slogged through police training, through negotiation training, sexually outnumbered ten to one, had heard snickers before.
    She also knew when eyes were trained on her ass, and while it might infuriate her, Phoebe reminded herself to pick her battles. And that she had a damn fine ass.
    When she entered her office, saw the message from the mechanic, she understood she had bigger problems than a smart-mouthed cop and ass ogling.
    Her car was going to cost seven hundred and fifty-nine nonnegotiable dollars.
    “Ah, hell.”
    Giving up, Phoebe laid her head down on her desk for a moment of pure self-pity.
     
    She caught the bus home, and the moment she was inside deeply regretted the prospect of going out again. Even the idea of going out again—the bus ride, sitting in a bar making small talk, only to ride yet another bus only to get back to square one—seemed overwhelmingly stupid.
    She should dig up Duncan’s number, cancel. Agreeing to the thirty-minute drink had been a moment of weakness anyway—that damn dimple. Hadn’t she thought of a dozen other things she could do