#Tanner: But the teeth come out when the camera flashes

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Second Chance at Forever - Chapter 12

Chapter 12 of this year’s entry for the @dwsecretsanta, my present to @wordsintimeandspace!  Beta’d by the always-kind @stupidsatsuma​.  Thank you!

@doctorroseprompts​ and @timepetalscollective​ as an AU fic

General warnings for: alcohol use, cursing, discussions of sexual activities

Masterlist

AO3

Summary

Once upon a time, a boy and girl met at a bar and fell in love - until he ghosted her.

Five years later Rose Tyler’s best friend Mickey is getting married, and arranges a dinner for her to meet the groomsman she’ll be walking with - unaware that the two already know each other.

John Noble’s not sure how his friend and mentee managed to connive with the Universe to bring the One Who Got Away back into his life; all he knows it carefully built and maintained walls are crashing to the ground with no warning.

Rose bounced on her toes as she waited impatiently.  After a month apart, the last twenty minutes since John texted her that he was off the plane had been excruciating.  Technically he had texted Donna, thinking it was his sister who was picking him up, but she had forwarded the message to Rose who was eager to surprise him.

Finally he walked out into the waiting area, and she was practically vibrating with excitement as she waited for him to notice her.  He had his mobile pressed to his ear when he spotted her, a wide smile spreading across his face as he lowered the device.  “Rose!”

“Hi!”  They ran to each other, John dropping his duffel so he could catch her in his arms.  “I missed you!”

He kissed her in response, bending her backwards, and she just held him tighter.  Wolf whistles and clapping broke their concentration, and he slowly lowered her back to her feet as they remembered they were in the busy Arrivals section of Heathrow.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured, tucking her hair behind her ears and searching her eyes.  “You have no idea.”

“I have some idea,” she replied breathlessly, damn near giggling with glee.  He looked good, tanner and leaner than when he left, and ridiculously happy to see her.  The feeling was mutual.

“How long do we have before the Ball tonight?”

“Four hours.”

“Mhmm.”  He sampled her lips again, before finally letting go enough to grab his bag off the ground so they could walk towards the car, hand in hand.  “Plenty of things we could do in four hours.”

“I’m going to need most of that time to get ready,” Rose said apologetically, “but I’ve got your tux and things at mine, so you can at least ogle my bum while I put my makeup on.”

“Fair enough.”

Three and a half hours later they slid into the limo, John laughing softly as the driver shut the door.  “Quite the change from my ride to the airport this morning.”

“I’m so glad you’re home,” she sighed, resting her head on his bicep.  “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.  But… I think the time apart was good,” he said hesitantly, and Rose stiffened.

“How so?”  Sitting up straight she turned to face him, not soothed by his nervous expression.  He’d been eager to see her, but had that been a front? Was he biding his time?  Was he going to run again?

John glanced down at his hands, unable to meet her eye, and panic surged through her.  “I realized… looking at the devastation, the people who’ve lost everything, really puts one’s own life into perspective,” he hedged.  “I had a few revelations.”

“About us?”  Fear and anger were clawing at her throat, but she fought them back to concentrate on what he was saying.  Assumptions about the other’s feelings had torpedoed their initial relationship; she wouldn’t let that happen again.

“Yes.”

“And?”

Finally meeting her eye, it took a moment to process the tentative smile on his face.  “I love you, Rose.  I want to spend my life with you.”

The dull roaring in her ears made her freeze, as she stared at him wide eyed.  “What?”  It was so far from what she was expecting, what she was preparing herself for, she could barely wrap her mind around it, her heart pounding.

His smile slipped for a moment, but he soldiered on.  “I’m not proposing or anything, right now or even in the foreseeable future, but… that’s what I want.  That’s the future I want.”

“With me?” Rose asked, breathless.

He nodded, and she threw her arms around his neck to pull his lips down to hers.  “Me too,” she mumbled, and they didn’t stop until the driver buzzed over the intercom.

“Miss Tyler?”

“Mhmm, yes?”  They broke apart, Rose trying to focus on something other than John’s lips on her neck or how wonderful it felt being in his lap.

“We’ve just about arrived.  Would you like me to drive around the block before letting you off?”

Rose pulled away enough to look them both over.  The neckline of her dress was bunched around her waist, John’s palms still massaging her bare breasts, while his own shirt was half unbuttoned, tie discarded, and lipstick covering the lower half of his face.

“Make it twice.”

By the third time around the block they were perfectly pulled together, and Rose waited until the driver opened the door to casually throw over her shoulder, “By the way, there might be some press.”

She stepped out into starbursts of camera flashes, her best heiress smile on her face as she waited for John to catch up.  He settled one arm across her back, palm flat on her opposite hip, and they walked the red carpet together. They only stopped for pictures twice, ignoring any and all questions shouted their way.

Once through the doors they paused to take in the hall.  Every year they rented the Neptune Court at the National Maritime Museum, and it was incredible to see through John’s eyes as he stopped dead next to her.

Rose always helped to plan and set up the event, and she’d seen it just that morning before picking him up at Heathrow.  After more than ten years of attending it had lost some of the ‘wow’ factor, but watching him take it in let her see it as though for the first time again.

“This is incredible,” he murmured, awed.

Smiling, she stepped closer to bump his shoulder with hers.  “Thanks, we put a lot of work into it.  The galleries are open to us as well.  Come on!”

They took a turn through some of the galleries, mostly focused on catching up on their respective month apart and luxuriating in being in the other’s presence again.  By the time they returned to the main hall the band had started playing, and a few couples were out already out on the dance floor.

“Shall we?” John offered, holding out his hand.

“All right.”

He guided her out to the floor, taking a moment to set up properly before they started to waltz.  “Seemed like a good idea to practice,” he murmured, “considering how long ago that lesson was.”

“Practice makes perfect,” she replied, giving him a teasing smile and letting her tongue peek out between her teeth.  His steps faltered, and she laughed.  “By the way.”

“Hmm?”

“You said something earlier…”

“I said a lot of things.  Bit of a gob, me.”

She pinched his side.  “Something you maybe expected me to repeat?”

He pretended to ponder, spinning her out and then back in tighter than before.  “I don’t like to brag, but yes, my arse does look pretty good tonight as well.  I forgive you for not saying it, though.”

“John.”

He stopped dancing, and they let the other couples swirl around them as they gazed into each other’s eyes.  “I love you, Rose.”

“I love you too.”

Mindful of their public location they kept the kiss light and sweet, but the joy in his eyes when they pulled away made her want to drag him to a dark corner.

“Rose!”  Her mother’s voice popped their happy bubble, and groaning, Rose led him off the dance floor to their table.  They were front and center by the stage, Jackie standing next to two unknown women.

“Hi, Mum.”

“Rose, you look stunning!” Jackie gushed, though Rose’s attention was instantly diverted when John made an odd choking noise.  “That’s a beautiful dress. Hello, John.”

He ignored her, causing Jackie to huff.  His focus was on their tablemates, staring with an absolutely gobsmacked expression.

The women were staring back, surprise and confusion on their faces.  They were very different, though they had matching expressions.  The one on the left was John’s age, a willowy redhead in pale yellow, while the one on the right was a brunette in her mid-twenties who was clearly less comfortable in fancy dress than the other based on how she kept shifting.

“Hi, John,” the redhead murmured, and he nodded stiffly, darting panicked looks in Rose’s direction.

“Liz.”

The brunette glanced between the two awkwardly.  “Hey, Professor.”

She got a half-smile from John.  “Hi, Ace.”

“Rose, this is Doctor Liz Shaw, she’s the Manager of Operations for Doctors Overseas, and Dorothy McShane, she manages the volunteers,” Jackie filled the awkward silence.  “This is my daughter Rose.”

“Nice to meet you,” Rose said politely, getting smiles from both women and wave from Dorothy before turning to John.  “Do you need a minute?”

His grip on her hand tightened, and even if she wanted to she couldn’t walk away.  “Um, no.  No. Sorry, I just… didn’t expect to see them here.”  He met Rose’s eye then, sighing as he said, “Liz and I were together when we were in med school.”

“Ah.”  Rose didn’t know what to say; the tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife, and she couldn’t honestly tell if he was just surprised or if more was happening she didn’t know.  “That’s nice.”

“He got back this afternoon from Haiti,” Dorothy volunteered.  “He’s been there since the hurricane struck.”

Liz laughed softly, shaking her head.  “That’s John in a crisis – first in, last out.”

“So you all know each other?”  As fishing expeditions went it wasn’t the most delicate, but for Jackie it was downright James Bond level inquiry.

“John and I were in the same year,” Liz explained, giving Rose a smile.  “We stayed friends for a while, but lost touch.”

“He saved my life,” Dorothy added.  “I was in India when that big tsunami hit, just a teenager on my own.  I got trapped on the top floor of a hotel for three days, and he was the first of the rescue team to reach my floor.  First face I saw after all that time thinking I was going to die. I’ve worked with Doctors Overseas ever since, as thanks and repayment.”

Everyone fell silent, and the two women stared at Rose and John expectantly.  “And you?” Dorothy finally asked bluntly.

“Ace!” John hissed before sighing.  “This is Rose.  My girlfriend.”

After a moment, a wide grin broke across Liz’s face.  “If half your mother’s stories are true, it sounds like you’re perfect for each other.”

John relaxed all at once as Dorothy nodded in agreement.  “Good on you, Professor!”

“No Michael?”  John let go of Rose’s hand only to wrap it around her waist, and she went willingly into his arms as the tension broke.

Liz laughed.  “At the bar, of course, with Liam.”

“You brought your brother?” John raised an eyebrow at Dorothy, who shrugged.

“Mia had to go to New York for work.”  Then she turned to Rose, a mischievous glint in her eye.  “So, tell us about you.”

Dinner was a blast, and despite John’s initial discomfort the three women hit it off like gangbusters.  Liz and Dorothy, or Ace as she insisted, kept the table in stitches as they regaled them with tales of John’s various misadventures, and he spent most of dinner with his head in his hands in embarrassment, though she caught all the smiles he tried to hide.  By the end he was contributing to the stories as well, more animated than he’d ever been in front of her parents.

Jackie and Pete were engaged as well, laughing and joking, and it made her happier than words could describe to see some of the people she loved most in the world getting along so well.  She knew they had concerns about John’s age, but they seemed to be getting past that, which made her happy.

Now more than ever Rose was sure John was her future, and she spent half the evening warring with herself over the immediate implications.

She didn’t think he’d noticed until they were back in the limo heading to her place.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Hmm?”  Rose blinked, turning her head from where she’d blindly been staring out the window at the passing London skyline.

John took her hand, rubbing his thumb soothingly over the back.  It didn’t escape her notice how often it passed over the base of a specific finger, and she briefly wondered if he was imagining a ring there like she was.  “You’ve been distracted all evening.  Is something wrong?”

“No,” she said truthfully, giving him a small smile, “I’m just… thinking.”

His lips tightened.  “Is this about Liz?  Or Ace?  Ace was always just a friend, more like a kid sister.  And Liz and I… that ended a long time ago, on good terms.  She’s been happily married for more than a decade, and I’ve never once wished I was Michael.”

“Really?  Not even for his ten percent stake in West Ham?”  Rose laughed at his guilty expression.  “It’s all right, really.  So you have a past.  As long as it is a past, and I don’t doubt you there, then all I’ll say is it was really nice getting to know other people who care about you.”

“If it’s not them, then what?”  John’s other hand came up to brush hair out of her eyes before cupping her cheek.  “Please.  You’re… making me nervous.”

They pulled up in front of her building then, and she darted forward to kiss him briefly.  “Upstairs.”

After tipping the driver and saying goodnight to Wilf as he fussed over them in their fancy dress, Rose led him into her flat and headed for her sofa, flopping down with a relieved groan.  “D’you mind getting some wine?”

Only a second later a cork popped free behind her, and she grinned to know they were on the same page with that at least.

“Red?”

“Please.”

By the time she had her shoes off and feet curled under her, he was settling next to her on the sofa and handing over a glass.  They silently toasted before taking a sip, Rose sinking deeper into the cushions.

“Quite the day,” she started slowly, leaning her elbow on the back of the couch and propping her head on her hand as she stared at him.

“Best I’ve had in a month,” he smiled.  “I’m with you.”  He slowly twirled the wine glass in his fingers before setting it down on the coffee table in front of them.  “What about you?”

“I’m with you,” she repeated simply.  “And, I do love you.”

His face lit up like the sun, a beaming smile that brought an echoing one to her own.  “I love you too.  I have for a long time.”

“Me too.”  Her eyes darted down to her wine glass.  “Um, about that-” He stayed silent, waiting her out, and she swallowed.  “Listen, John-”  She momentarily reconsidered.  Would it be so bad?  But then she thought about the promises she had made herself when they started this, and stiffened her spine.  “You may have had certain expectations after a… a moment like this, but… well, I mean- it’s just-”

Rose closed her eyes and groaned softly.

“You still want to wait for sex.”  He read her mind, tone carefully neutral.

“Yes.”  She peeked at him, and was relieved to not find an angry expression.  “Is that okay?”

“Oh, love.”  His eyes crinkled, smile widening, and he settled his hand on her knee.  “Of course it is.  We had an agreement, and I’m determined to see it through.  I don’t want you to have any doubts of my intentions.”

“I don’t.”

“And I don’t doubt yours.  But we made a promise.  We’ll wait until the weekend of the wedding, and not a second sooner.  Or longer.  It’s nine weeks now.  It’ll fly.”

Rose smiled, taking one last gulp of her wine before settling the glass down on the table.  “How did I get so lucky?”

“I’m the lucky one.  I screwed up five years ago, and it was the worst mistake I ever made.  To even be sitting here with you now…  I’m the luckiest damn bastard in the world.”

They met in the middle, kissing softly.  When they eventually pulled apart to breathe, Rose let out a sigh.  “You still want to stay the night?”

“I’d stay every night,” he whispered.  “Here, mine… If I wake up next to you, it’s going to be a good day.  And falling asleep with you in my arms is better than anything.  A month without you proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt, not that I had any.”

“Okay.”

John pulled back enough to meet her eyes.  “What?”

“Okay.”  She blinked, realizing what exactly she was saying.  “Let’s move in together.”

A wide smile spread across his face before quickly falling.  “My lease isn’t up until December 31st.”

“So move in slowly,” Rose shrugged, before wrinkling her nose.  “Er, if that’s what you want.  Would you rather find somewhere different?”  She looked around, trying to imagine no longer living here.  It was her first home, the first place to be her very own, and she loved it.  Glancing back at him she knew she loved him more, and would move if that’s what he wanted.

“You own this place, right?”

“Yes.”

John shook his head.  “At least for now, this is perfect.  Anywhere with you would be perfect.  And if we ever need more room… we’ll reconsider then.”

It took a moment to process his meaning, and her voice took on a teasing tone.  “More room, huh?  Got a lot of stuff?”

“Mhmm, tons,” he deadpanned, tugging her onto his lap.  “Pictures, paperwork, albums.  Furniture.”

“All of which will go in my spare bedroom?”  Rose shifted, hiking her skirt up high enough to straddle him, making him smile as warm palms settled on her bare thighs.

“Or storage.  I was thinking sooner or later… maybe something living could take up space there?”

“Living?  Like a puppy?!” she playfully gasped, kissing the tip of his nose.

John laughed.  “Sure.  Puppies, kittens, tiny homemade people, plants… whatever we want.”

“So, just to reconfirm,” she paused to kiss his mouth, “no sex until December, you move in between now and then, and somewhere down the road we pull a Frankenstein?”

“I am a medical doctor like he was, how hard could it be?  And I’m moving in before December?”

Rose leaned back to meet his eye, laughing.  “Babe.  Once this wedding happens, we are not leaving the bedroom.  Possibly for the rest of the year.  You really want to waste time we could be shagging on boring things like moving?”

“Fair enough,” he grinned.  “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Let’s not just limit ourselves to the bedroom.”

“Doctor Noble, I like the way you think.”

[mysteryshelf]

BLOG TOUR - Duplicity

Welcome to

THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF!

  DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF by Partners in Crime Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

Duplicity

by Jane Haseldine

on Tour July 1-31, 2017

Synopsis:

In Jane Haseldine’s new novel of riveting suspense, Detroit newspaper reporter Julia Gooden is up against the city’s most devious criminal—and her own painful past. Julia Gooden knows how to juggle different lives. A successful crime reporter, she covers the grittiest stories in the city while raising her two young boys in the suburbs. But beneath that accomplished façade is another Julia, still consumed by a tragedy that unfolded thirty years ago when her nine-year-old brother disappeared without a trace.

Julia’s marriage, too, is a balancing act, as she tries to rekindle her relationship with her husband, Assistant District Attorney David Tanner, while maintaining professional boundaries. David is about to bring Nick Rossi to trial for crimes that include drug trafficking, illegal gambling, and bribery. But the story becomes much more urgent when a courthouse bomb claims several victims—including the prosecution’s key witness—and leaves David critically injured.

Though Julia is certain that Rossi orchestrated the attack, the case against him is collapsing, and his power and connections run high and wide. With the help of Detective Raymond Navarro of the Detroit PD, she starts following a trail of blackmail, payback, and political ambition, little imagining where it will lead. Julia has risked her career before, but this time innocent lives—including her children’s—hang in the balance, and justice may come too late to save what truly matters…

What Reviewers are Saying about Duplicity:

“Haseldine has a gift for atmosphere, setting, and suspense, and the many twists and turns will keep readers guessing.”—Library Journal

“Julia, introduced in The Last Time She Saw Him (2016), is ferociously bold and persistent as she deals with professional and personal adversity laced with duplicity in this action-packed, plot-driven mystery. This is hard-bitten crime fiction with changes ahead for its unrelenting series protagonist.”—Booklist

“Haseldine (The Last Time She Saw Him, 2016) uses her experience as a crime reporter to bring authenticity to this exciting and gritty tale.”—Kirkus Reviews

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery Published by: Kensington Publishing Publication Date: April 2017 Number of Pages: 352 ISBN: 149670407X (ISBN13: 9781496704078) Series: Julia Gooden Mystery #2 | Duplicity can be read as a stand alone novel Purchase Links: Amazon 🔗 | Barnes & Noble 🔗 | Goodreads 🔗

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

Glenlivet, light on the rocks. A cocktail waitress with bright fuchsia lipstick delivers the drink and motions her head in the direction of the aged fifty-something women two tables down. The recipient of the cocktail turns his head toward the hoots and low whistles from the likely recent divorcees who are ogling him like a lusty spectator sport.

“Want to join us, hon?” the ringleader asks and adjusts her leopard print halter-top to reveal an extra inch of orange, tanned cleavage. In case her intent wasn’t clear enough, the woman scoops a sugar cube from her champagne cocktail, places it between her teeth and starts sucking.

“No thank you,” the businessman answers coolly and places the unwanted drink back on the cocktail waitress’ tray.

He turns his back on the spurned women and locks in on a tall, willowy blond in a white dress that clings to her slender curves as she moves fluidly across the casino floor in his direction.

She pauses at his table, slides into the empty seat across from him and carefully tucks a leather briefcase between her legs.

The rowdy commotion from the neighboring table of women abruptly stops as they wordlessly concede, they’ve been bested by a thoroughbred.

The businessman slips an Italian charcoal grey suit coat over his tall and tightly muscled frame. He tips back the last few sips of the drink he ordered for himself ten minutes earlier and heads toward the lobby, not bothering to look back. He knows the blond will follow.

In the elevator, the mouth of a camera lens captures its occupants’ activities. The pair stand close, but just far enough apart so it doesn’t look obvious they are together, just two attractive strangers in an elevator heading up to their respected rooms. The blond stunner holds the briefcase in her left hand and takes a risk. She lifts her pinky finger up and brushes the back of the businessman’s hand for less than a second.

The elevator arrives on the VIP floor, the best the MGM Grand has to offer.

The blond bends down, slides a key out of the front pocket of the briefcase and opens the hotel room door. Inside, the man stands in front of the floor to ceiling windows. He takes a quick pan of downtown Detroit and then snaps the curtains shut. When it is safe, when they are alone, the blond, now anxious and wanting, drops the briefcase and goes directly for his zipper.

“Wait.” He takes the briefcase over to the bed, opens it, and fans the stack of bills across the mattress like a seasoned blackjack dealer some thirty stories below.

“Two million. You don’t trust me now?” the woman asks with a contrived pout.

He ignores the question until the cash has been fully accounted for.

“Come here,” he commands.

He starts to remove his coat, but she is already there.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispers and cups her long, delicate fingers around his crotch.

He reciprocates by running his hand across the thin silk of her dress directly over her breast, and then squeezes until the blond lets out a gasp.

The blond easily submits when the man pushes her down hard on the bed, letting him believe he still has the upper hand, that he is the aggressor. She stares up at his beautiful face, his breath coming faster now as his body starts to move in a rapid, steady rhythm above her. She doesn’t mind when he closes his eyes. He wants her again, reestablishing her position of control, at least for now. That’s all that matters.

When they are finished, the businessman turns toward the wall in disgust.

“I knew you weren’t through with me yet,” she says. “You take all your hostility out on me in bed. You’re a rough boy, but I like it.”

He ignores her, gets up from the bed, still naked, and heads to the bathroom. The blond is useless to him now. She knows it but still holds on.

“The birthmark on your ass is so sweet. It looks like a crescent moon with a shooting star underneath,” she remarks. “Come back to bed and let me take a closer look.”

The man spins around, anger flashing in his eyes as if the blonde’s comment violated something personal.

“Shut up,” he says.

“No need to talk dirty to me. You know I’ll give you what you want, as long as you give me my share of the money.”

“When it’s over, you’ll get it. That’s the agreement.”

“How do I know you won’t screw me?”

“Because I’m not that guy. The money will be in a safe place.”

“I want access to it.”

“I don’t think so.”

The door to the bathroom slams shut and she is dismissed. Inside the shower, he scrubs every trace of the woman off his body, hoping she will be gone when he comes out. But the blond is still in bed. At least she is sleeping.

The businessman climbs back into his suit, grabs the briefcase and closes the hotel room door quietly behind him. The second elevator in the hallway opens and he disappears inside just as elevator one chimes its arrival to the VIP floor. Its single occupant emerges, a man, squat and thick but moving swiftly like a gymnast. He wears all black, a bulky windbreaker, sweatpants and a baseball cap as if he’s just come from the hotel gym. He lets himself into a room with a key he extracts from a bulky fanny pack that flanks his waist. Inside, he quickly assesses the scene, pulls a tiny camera out from its hiding place inside a fake antique clock on the dresser and tucks it into his coat pocket.

He then retrieves a razor blade and scarf from the pack and heads toward the bed where the blond is still sleeping.

The man moves silently as he eases his body onto the bed. He inches forward across the mattress and then straddles the blond with his hips, locking her in place until she is prone and pinned to the bed. Without opening her eyes, she smiles, thinking her lover has returned. She flicks her tongue across her lips and then opens her mouth expectantly.

“Shhh,” he whispers. “You pay now. We know what you did.”

The woman’s eyes fly open, and she tries to scream out her assailant’s name, but he cuffs one stubby hand across her mouth before she can utter a word. He lifts the razor from his pocket and begins to gently slide the unsharpened side of the blade down her stomach until it reaches the top of her public bone.

“Please!” she begs. “I’ll give you what you want.”

The razor stops short before it makes its final descent.

His breath is warm and steady against her ear. “How do you know what I want?”

“Money. I’ll give it to you.”

He pauses as though considering the request and flicks the dull side of the blade back and forth across her skin.

“God, please. You don’t want money then. Okay. Just tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

He shakes his head and teases the sharp edge of the razor blade against her leg.

“Who is it?” he whispers as the razor makes a tiny, precise knick on the inside of her thigh, drawing a single drop of blood that trickles down her ivory skin like a crimson teardrop.

“The name. I’ll give you the name!” she pleads. “Sammy Biggs, the Butcher. He’s the one. I just found out, I swear. I didn’t betray you. He did. Now please! Let me go.”

The hired hand sighs deeply, as if savoring an indulgent pleasure, now finally satisfied. But not quite. Lessons must be learned and never forgotten. The man stuffs the scarf down the woman’s mouth to muffle the pain of her penance. It is engrained in his soul those who sin must atone. He clasps the razor blade between his thumb and middle finger and cuts the blonde’s left earlobe off in one clean slice.

“Hail Mary, full of grace,” he prays as he pulls out a locket from underneath his black T-shirt. He kisses a likeness of the face of the blessed Virgin Mary etched into the front of the gold necklace charm and stuffs his newly won keepsake from the blond into his pocket.

Chapter 2

Concrete, grey, cold, and quickly passing is the only thing Julia sees. The running started the previous summer when she was at the lake house, the place she mistakenly thought would be a sanctuary for her boys after the separation from her husband David.

The runs started as just one lap around the rocky coastal loop along Lake Huron. But when Julia migrated back to the Detroit suburbs for a second shot at her marriage, her runs progressed and three times a week turned into seven and the start times became earlier and earlier.

Five a.m. Julia conquers the stretch of her Rochester Hills comfortable suburban neighborhood within five minutes. She expands her perimeter to downtown and then all the way to the Auburn Hills border. Ten miles today. No negotiation.

Julia races through the darkness just starting to break and ignores everything she passes, the funky downtown stores, the tidy homes with daily papers waiting on the icy driveway blacktops and the Assembly of God church with its bulletin board warning “Sin: It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time.”

None of the scenery matters. The steady rhythm of her sneakers pounding against the concrete pushes Julia forward, getting her closer to some invisible finish line as she race her one constant opponent: herself.

Spring officially arrived in Michigan a week prior, but the depressing mounds of frozen grey snow from another cruel Midwestern winter obviously didn’t get the memo. Julia pushes herself harder and starts to sprint as she passes her oldest son Logan’s middle school, her half-mile mark to home, and breathes in deeply. The cold air stings as it goes down, but it’s worth it. Julia is certain she can smell the beginnings of the ground starting its impatient thaw and the bulbs, in a deep slumber since October, beginning to stir. Change is coming and she is ready for it.

A car drives by slowly, reaches the corner and then turns back around in her direction. Julia instinctively moves away from the curb and reaches down toward her waist pack. Instead of a water bottle, Julia packs protection, pepper spray and a folding knife with a three-inch blade. Paranoia always ran hard and deep after what happened to her brother when Julia was a little girl, compounded by twelve years covering the crime beat, not to mention a deranged religious fanatic who kidnapped her youngest son. For Julia, it all adds up to one thing: Trust no one.

The car slows to a crawl as it approaches a second time. A dark sedan, nondescript, probably a Ford model about five-years-old with tinted windows, Julia calculates as her hand sweeps inside her pack. She runs her fingers across the flat side of the knife’s blade as the car’s driver side window opens.

“Hey, Gooden, I thought that was you. If you’re going to jog in the dark, you better wear brighter colors or you’re going to get mowed down out here,” Detroit Police Detective Leroy Russell says. Julia recalls Russell lives somewhere in the Rochester Hills community, where his ex-wife is an assistant professor of journalism at Oakland University.

Julia finally exhales, her breath turning into a puff of white that disappears into the frigid late March morning. Now knowing she won’t have to engage in hand-to-hand combat, Julia fixes her gaze back on Russell whose trademark Mr. Clean buzz cut looks freshly-shaven. She feels the sting of adrenaline coursing through her body as the fear leaves her.

She begins to respond to Russell when the smell hits from the open car window. Julia makes out the distinct aroma of almost metabolized late-night, heavy drinking and Old Spice, the latter applied so liberally, it makes her eyes sting.

“How are you doing, Russell?” Julia asks. “Are you on the early shift?”

Russell reaches toward his glove compartment and extracts a green bottle of Excedrin which he pops open and then crushes four white tablets under his tongue.

“Retirement party last night for Sergeant Walter Shaw,” Russell explains. “I’m meeting Navarro for breakfast, so hopefully an order of scrambled eggs and home fries will soak it all up before a hangover hits.”

“You and Navarro are meeting up to discuss the Rossi trial,” Julia states, no question necessary. “I caught both your names on the prosecution’s witness list.”

“That’s right.”

Julia jogs in place without realizing it and strategizes how she can pump Russell for information for her story. The court part of the crime beat is her least favorite, despite the fact Julia is married to a lawyer. To her, courtrooms feel like tight little boxes where various versions of the truth run fast and loose amidst the big show, and the winner is often selected not by the culmination of the presented facts, but by which side puts on a better performance.

“I heard there’s going to be a surprise witness the prosecution is going to pull out at the last minute. Do you know anything about that? We can go off the record. You know I won’t burn you. I just need a name,” Julia pushes.

Russell reaches up and massages his right temple with his index finger.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Even if there is some last-minute witness, Judge Palmer probably won’t allow it if they aren’t on the list. Why are you asking anyway? You’ve got a much better source at home. You and David are back together, right?”

“We’re working on it. I can’t ask David though. It would be a conflict of interest. The D.A.’s office doesn’t want to get sued for leaking information to the press. Plus, David and I are pros. Neither of us would cross that line.”

“Come on. You can’t tell me you don’t pull some favors in the bedroom to get your husband to talk. Sex is a woman’s secret weapon. It always has been since the dawn of time. A sweet, firm ass has toppled many a mighty man. I’m more of a leg man, myself though,” Russell says as he gives Julia’s well-toned runner’s legs a nod of silent approval.

At thirty-seven, Julia has long mastered the fine art of the dodge and weave around unwanted advances. Unless the guy is completely out of line, Julia ignores the come-on like it never happened. The talent serves her well covering the cop beat, where egos and virility are often intertwined, enormous, and surprisingly fragile.

“Where are you and Navarro having breakfast?” she asks.

“Chanel’s in Greektown. You want to join us?”

Julia gives just a hint of a smile. Dodge and weave successful.

“Thanks for the invite. I’ll try.”

“All right, Gooden. Tell the assistant D.A. we’ll see him later. And be careful out here in the dark,” Russell answers and raps a red-chafed hand outside his driver side window before he disappears behind the tinted-glass.

Julia watches Russell’s car pull away and a small shiver runs down her back.

(Don’t ever take a ride from a stranger, Julia, or I swear, I’ll kick your butt).

The sudden childhood memory jolts her, and Julia starts to sprint as if she could race fast enough to outrun the passage of time and warn her younger self to lock the door the night her older brother Ben was taken.

Julia finally reaches home, nowhere left to run. She drops onto the front step, looks up at the first soft lights of dawn finally penetrating through night’s heavy cloak of darkness and chokes back a sob. She knows how to get through the pain. She always has. Julia pushes her emotions down deep and focuses on what she can control.

Her mind clicks off the pieces of the Rossi story she will have to assemble and file into some kind of compelling piece to run in the paper’s online edition before opening arguments. The facts will be the bones of her story: Nick Rossi’s illegal Detroit empire is believed to encompass hijacking and shipping stolen goods, mainly computers and electronics, illegal gambling and drug trafficking. Both the feds and the Detroit PD had been trying to nail him for years. Rossi finally got busted in a city police sting courtesy of hidden cameras placed in the VIP suites of the MGM Grand Hotel. Images on the tapes showed payoffs to the former Detroit mayor and a city councilman, in addition to drug trafficking and cash exchanges for high-stakes gambling bets.

Julia kicks at the frozen ground with the toe of her sneaker and assembles the color elements she will add as sidebars to the main article, the ones that will make the story real to the readers and ultimately make them care: the seventeen-year-old West Bloomfield high school track star who overdosed and died at a party after he graduated that night from ecstasy to heroin for the first and final time, courtesy of Rossi’s stash. Then there is the story of Rossi himself, only nine years old when he witnessed the rape and murder of his mother during a home invasion while the young Rossi bore silent witness as he hid inside a closet and watched the horror unfold through a crack in the door. Since Rossi’s dad had taken off before his son was born, the young Rossi moved in with his uncle, Salvatore Gallo, who ran a moderately successful dry cleaning business with a small bookie operation on the side. Julia and Salvatore Gallo have history, and Julia makes a mental note to herself to call Gallo before she gets to the courthouse to see if he’ll talk.

Julia’s cell phone buzzes inside her waist pack. She looks suspiciously at the phone. 6:15 a.m. Even as a reporter, no one calls that early unless it’s an emergency, and she knows David is still at the house with their boys, Logan and Will, who are sound asleep. She is about to hit the ignore button but stops at the last second when she recognizes the number. Gavin Boyles, the acting mayor’s chief of staff. The other piece of color she needs for the story.

“Gooden here. You’re lucky I’m up.”

“You told me you ran at dawn, so I figured I’d catch you before you got into the newsroom,” Boyles answers. “I checked online a few minutes ago, and I didn’t see your story posted yet.”

“It’ll be up later today. Do you have something for me?”

Boyles, a former TV news anchor before he became a flack, still has the oozing, ultra-smooth voice of a game show host. Julia met him ten years earlier at the scene of a major fire that obliterated a Detroit high-rise and eighteen of its residents who were trapped inside. Boyles showed up late and asked Julia if he could take a look at her notes and she could debrief him on the situation.

“Always working the story, that’s why you’re so good,” Boyles says.

“You’re too kind,” Julia answers and plays the pleasantry game while she waits for Boyles to cut through the bullshit.

“Are you including Mayor Anderson in the story?

“Acting Mayor Anderson?” Julia asks.

“Semantics. We’d prefer not to have Mayor Anderson’s name mentioned unless it pertains to how he is working tirelessly to turn the city around since former mayor Slidell’s indictment for his involvement in the Rossi case. If you write another story about how Slidell took bribes from Rossi to shut him up, you’re doing a disservice to the people of the city. Detroit has suffered enough, don’t you think? You could turn this into a positive story.”

“And how has Anderson turned the city around exactly?”

“Public perception. I want to share something with you. This is off the record for now, all right?”

“Of course,” Julia answers and wonders whether the call might not be a complete waste of her time after all.

“Mayor Anderson will be holding a press conference today announcing a strategic task force dedicated solely to promoting all things positive in Detroit, including a volunteer-driven beautification project to help improve blight. It was my idea. Detroit is trying to make its way back. The residents don’t need a rehashing of another corrupt city official story.”

“Politics isn’t my beat.”

“Neither is business, but your articles are hurting the casinos. Detroit got gutted after the auto industry crashed, and God knows we can’t afford to take any more hits. There’s a responsibility, a fine line, we journalists need to ethically tow.”

“I’m still a journalist. Last I checked, you weren’t.”

On the other end of the phone, Boyles blasts an obnoxious guffaw.

“Always blunt, aren’t you? The press conference is scheduled for 12:30 p.m. on the steps of city hall. I assume you’ll be available since the trial will break for lunch. Mayor Anderson specifically asked for you to be there.”

“Thank you for the invitation. I’ll run this by my managing editor and let her decide who to send. You know how this works. It’s not my call.”

“Got it. I’ll call Margie myself and put in the request. I’m surprised the paper is letting you cover the story when your husband is prosecuting it. Good for you though. You won’t have to work as hard this time.”

Julia grits her teeth and forces herself to still play nice. She may need Boyles in the future.

“I always work hard.”

“I just meant…”

Julia cuts off Boyles before he can finish. “Thanks for the call and the heads up on the press conference.”

Julia gives her phone the finger, the sentiment she’d really like to give Boyles directly. Instead, she shuts her phone off and heads into the warmth of her house that hits her like a blowtorch. She strips off her North Face jacket and then peels off her running pants and nylon shirt that stick to her clammy skin. She frees her curly, dark brown hair from its ponytail and pads softly down the hall as not to wake the boys. Inside the office, she leans over the desk and begins to search for her competitor’s coverage of the Rossi trial. She pulls up the Detroit News website and feels a tug in her stomach. In addition to a big picture preview story on the case, Julia knows the Detroit News reporter is writing a sidebar profile on David as first chair for the prosecution and his likely run for D.A. next year, a promise David made to himself after he gave up a lucrative private practice partnership six months earlier to become a public servant. Still standing, Julia bends down closer to the desk and begins to search whether the Detroit News found out about the surprise witness, or worse, if they got the name before she did.

***

Excerpt from Duplicity by Jane Haseldine. Copyright © 2017 by Jane Haseldine. Reproduced with permission from Jane Haseldine. All rights reserved.

Author Bio:

Jane Haseldine is a journalist, former crime reporter, columnist, newspaper editor, magazine writer, and deputy director of communications for a governor. Jane writes the Julia Gooden mystery series for Kensington Publishing.

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