Sophia was especially determined to see the racket brought to an end in light of the nurturing role Jaz Beaumont had played in her sister Viva’s life.
Unfortunately for Sophia, her dedication to seeing the case closed put her at odds with her parents. Once again, her job had aggravated the sore spot the Hails had harbored since their daughter had announced her desire to join the police force. Veronica Hail refused to believe that such an occupation could truly be her daughter’s passion.
The closing of the case also put Sophia at odds with many of her coworkers. Given her line of work, such an upset could make for a dangerous situation.
That all took a backseat, however, to what weighed most heavily on her mind: the fact that she’d had to cancel her date with Santigo Rodriguez.
He’d taken her call to cancel quite well, as she remembered. Then again, he was probably used to it despite the fact that they hadn’t dated in years. After all, it had been the demands of Sophia’s job that had crippled their relationship in the first place.
Santigo’s offer to take her to the Jazz Supper was most likely a fluke anyway. Sophia had been having lunch with Clarissa David. They had been discussing the case when Sophia had looked up and there he was. After eight years of not seeing each other once, there he was. Maybe he thought it meant something. They lived in the same city and hadn’t run into each other at all before that day. Sophia had wondered if it’d meant anything, as well. She could barely hear herself accept his offer above the bass-drum beat of her heart in her ears.
She’d spoken to him only once since the Cole arrest. Even then, he’d sounded calm, telling her, “Work happens.” He’d sounded cool enough, yet Sophia couldn’t help but make note of the change in his demeanor. He’d made a joke about being too old to get riled up over things. Even still, Sophia remembered her ex-lover’s temper all too well.
She had to wonder how long the slower-to-rile, easier-going Tigo Rodriguez would maintain a presence.
* * *
Sophia jerked herself from the cavern of her thoughts and found that the coffee she’d been nursing in the break room had grown cold. Settling back in the uncomfortable metal chair, she sighed. Her dark gray stare appeared as weary as she felt while she studied the clutter she’d made on the small round table she occupied.
She had taken to finishing reports and making calls in the area since the case had broken wide-open. The remote space was rarely used since most cops took to eating at their desks or heading out.
Sophia grimaced and traced the tip of an index nail around the coffee circle the bottom of her cup had left on the manila folder. Break time in a bona fide break area or at a desk would be forever changed when upward of twenty cops—soon to be former cops—would either be sent to the unemployment line or jail.
And that was all her doing. Many of Sophia’s remaining coworkers blamed her for it all. This, regardless of the fact that the disgraced officers were dirty cops. It was a tough thing to deal with, tougher than it might have been, given the whole Reed House dinner fiasco.
Her colleagues had said little, but they didn’t need to. Their thoughts were clearly echoed in the venomous looks they slithered her way. Sophia snorted, wrinkling a small nose spaced perfectly above her bow-shaped mouth. Being treated like an outsider was no surprise. She’d never received much more than a “hi” or “bye” from her coworkers anyway.
Because of who her parents were, almost everyone thought Sophia was merely playing cop. She couldn’t blame them. There weren’t too many heiresses who chose to be public servants.
A tap on her shoulder jerked Sophia from her thoughts for the second time that day.
“Sorry.” Kelly Fields made the apology sound like a word of welcome as she smiled down at Sophia. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Sophia winced and took in her surroundings. “Sorry about that.” The apology was humble and genuine. Kelly was one of the switchboard operators, and that group rarely journeyed from the hallowed department that served as the nerve center of the precinct.
“Why didn’t you call?” Sophia began to put the cluttered network of papers into some kind of order. “Oh,” she said on discovering that her phone was nowhere on the small table or in the pockets she patted on her navy trousers.
Kelly cleared her throat, and Sophia looked up to find the petite redhead waving her cell phone lazily.
“I went by your office to look for you first,” Kelly explained.
“Thanks.” Sophia shook her head and took the phone.
“Not a problem.”
“No, really.” Sophia turned the rectangular device over in her hand. “Thanks for being thoughtful enough to drop this off. At least there’s somebody around here who’s not treating me like a pariah.”
Kelly threw back her head and laughed. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.”
“Hmph.” Sophia toyed with a loose mahogany-brown curl she’d left dangling from her chignon. “What cop shop do you work for?”
“Well, the D.A.’s been trying to track you down,” Kelly said after another bout of laughter. “She wants you to call her ASAP.”
“Thanks again, Kelly.” Sophia raised her phone in a gesture of mock salute.
Kelly leaned over to give Sophia’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you.”
Sophia smiled at the young woman’s departing figure and then got to work returning the district attorney’s call.
D.A. Paula Starker rarely answered a call with a hello. There were always the few additional moments it took for her to close out the conversation she was already involved in before she gave the next person her full attention.
Sophia smiled and listened in as Paula spoke to who Sophia assumed was one of her assistants.
“Now find me at least one piece of worthwhile evidence we can take into court instead of the beef the defense ground the prosecution’s ass into yesterday. Hello?” Paula answered the call as though it was an afterthought.
“Returning your call, Madam D.A.,” Sophia sang.
“Ah...Detective Sophia, don’t you own a mobile? I’ve been trying to reach you all morning. Waymon Cole?” The clipped, no-nonsense tone Paula reserved for her A.D.A.s had softened into her more natural native Georgia drawl.
“Cole.” Sophia frowned. “What about him?”
“Wants a deal.”
“Impossible.”
“Possible. That is, if what he’s dealing is good.”
Sophia left the small table and began to stalk the uninviting, fluorescent-lit room. “What’s he dealing?” Her voice was like stone.
“I’d rather discuss that in person. When can you meet me?”
Sophia was preparing to reply when the phone shook with another call coming through. Santigo.
“Paula,
