Shadow Prey

looked up from her dinner plate, straight into Lucas’ eyes.
    “She’s pretty good,” Lucas said. “A little chubby, maybe . . . Is this going to be a problem? Who I work with?”
    “No, no.” Jennifer looked down at her plate again. “There’s something else too,” she said.
    “Okay,” Lucas said, putting his fork down. “Let’s have it.”
    “A guy at the station asked me out.”
    “Who?”
    “Mark Seeton.”
    “What’d you say?”
    “I said . . . I’d get back to him.”
    “So you want to go?”
    Jennifer stood up, picked up her plate and carried it to the sink. “Yes, I think so,” she said. “No big heavy deal. Mark’s a nice guy. He wants somebody to go to the symphony with.”
    Lucas shrugged. “So go.”
    She looked sideways at him. “You wouldn’t mind?”
    “I’d mind. I just wouldn’t try to stop you.”
    “Jesus, that’s worse than trying to stop me,” she said, one fist planted against her hip. “You’re trying to mind-fuck me, Davenport.”
    “Look, if you want to go, go,” Lucas said. “You know I’m not going to take you to the symphony. Not on any regular basis.”
    “It’s just that you have your friends and the things you do, the games, the fishing, the police work . . . me and Sarah. You see somebody almost every day, one way or another. I hardly see anybody at all, outside of work. And you know what I’m like about music . . . .”
    “So go,” Lucas said shortly. Then he grinned. “I can take Mark Seeton, I’m not worried,” he said. He pointed a finger at her. “But I don’t want to hear any shit about this New York cop. She is good-looking, but she’s also happily married to a big-shot professor at NYU. Shearson made some kind of move on her yesterday and he’s now carrying his nuts around in his lunch box.”
    “You’re protesting too much,” Jennifer said.
    “No, I’m not. But you’re looking for an excuse . . . .”
    “Let’s not fight, okay?”
    “Are we still in bed?” Lucas asked.
    “You might get lucky,” Jennifer said. “A little romance wouldn’t hurt, though.”
    • • •
    Lily had a short white line on her upper lip when she got back to Lucas’ office. They were alone in the tiny office, the door open on the darkened hallway.
    “Did you have a glass of milk?”
    She cocked her head. “You’re also psychic, right? In addition to the game-making and the money.”
    He grinned and reached out and wiped his thumb across her lip. “No. Just a little rim of milk, here. Like my daughter.”
    “What’s her name? Your daughter?”
    “Sarah.”
    “We’ve got a Marc and a Sam,” Lily said. “Marc’s fifteen now, God, I can’t believe it. He’s started high school and he plays football. Sam’s thirteen.”
    “You’ve got a kid who’s fifteen?” Lucas asked. “How old are you, anyway?”
    “Thirty-nine.”
    “I thought maybe thirty-four.”
    “Oh, la, such a gentleman,” Lily laughed. “How about you?”
    “Forty-one.”
    “Poor guy. Your daughter will be hanging out with all the metal-heads at the high school and you’ll be too old and feeble to do anything about it.”
    “I’m looking forward to my feebletude,” Lucas said. “Sit around in a good leather chair, read poetry. Go up to the cabin, sit on the dock, watch the sun go down . . .”
    “With your fly down and your dick hanging out because you’re senile and can’t remember how to dress yourself . . .”
    “Jesus, I can barely stand the flattery,” Lucas said, laughing despite himself.
    “You were getting a little carried away with the retirement bullshit,” Lily said wryly.
    Hart called at quarter to eight from the Rapid City airport. “They knew him right away,” he said. “His name’s Bill Hood. He’s a Sioux from Rosebud, but he married a Chippewa woman a few years ago. He lives in Minnesota. Somewhere up around Red Lake, they think.”
    “What?” Lily said. There was no extension in the office and she was watching Lucas’ face.
    Lucas nodded at her and said into the phone, “How about the other people. You got any more names?”
    “Yeah, they know quite a few of them. During the trouble with the bikers, they did a bunch of IDs. I’ll give them to Anderson, get him to crank them through the computer.”
    “What?” Lily asked again, when Lucas got off the phone.
    “Your man’s name is Bill Hood. He supposedly lives somewhere up by Red Lake . . . .”
    “Where’s Red Lake?” she