The Lover. BEVERLY BARTON

his father use that expression whenever two people said the same thing at exactly the same time?

      As soon as Patterson left, Bernie picked up the empty Styrofoam coffee cups scattered about the room and threw them into the garbage. Jim turned off the coffeemaker, picked up the glass pot and took it into the adjoining bathroom. He emptied the remainder of the coffee into the sink, rinsed out the pot and brought it back into his office.

      “You didn’t have much to say about this case,” Bernie said.

      “There’s not much to say at this point. We don’t have the official autopsy or—”

      “What’s the official autopsy from DFS going to tell us that we don’t already know? Morris examined the body at the scene and told us she’d apparently been raped and tortured, and the cause of death was obvious—somebody slit her throat.”

      “There’s more to it than the autopsy. Patterson hasn’t heard back from his crime scene unit yet.”

      “He should have a preliminary report from them by morning, but you’re an experienced investigator. You looked over the scene before Patterson’s team arrived. You must have a gut feeling about this case.”

      “My gut feelings aren’t a hundred percent accurate. I’ve been known to be wrong.”

      “Haven’t we all?”

      They stood there and stared at each other for at least a minute. Jim wondered what this in-control, got-it-all-together woman had been wrong about in the past?

      “Look, there’s something you should know,” he said, the comment coming from out of nowhere. He hadn’t meant to unburden himself on his boss, at least not yet. But before Kevin arrived on Thursday, he’d have to tell her about the changes in his personal life that might conflict with his duties as her chief deputy.

      “Something about this case?”

      He shook his head. “No, about me. About something going on in my personal life right now. I hadn’t meant to bring it up tonight, but you need to know.”

      “Is it something that will interfere with your doing your job?”

      “I don’t think so.” He huffed out a disgruntled breath. “No, it shouldn’t. Not if I can figure out how to handle being a full-time single father and do justice to my job at the same time.”

      Bernie lifted an inquisitive eyebrow. “Your son is coming to live with you?”

      “Temporarily. My ex-wife… Kevin’s mother has been diagnosed with breast cancer. Her surgery is scheduled for next week. I know the timing is lousy, what with me just starting this job and our facing this major murder case, but—”

      “How old is Kevin?”

      “Twelve.”

      “He won’t need a babysitter, just someone to keep an eye on him when you’re not at home.”

      “Yeah, and with this case coming up the way it did, I can’t predict what my hours are going to be during the next month or so while Kevin’s living with me.”

      “I see why you’re concerned, but I think I have a solution for you.”

      “You have a solution? What kind of solution?”

      “My parents are retired. They both want grandchildren and unfortunately neither I nor my sister, Robyn, has given them any … yet. Why not let Kevin spend time with my folks when you’re at work? My mother will spoil him rotten. And Dad will take him fishing and play ball with him and—”

      “Whoa, hon—slow down.” He’d stopped himself just short of calling his boss honey. “You haven’t even checked with your parents. You can’t make that kind of offer without asking them about it first. I can’t imagine they’d want the responsibility of looking after my kid. They don’t even know me.”

      “I’ll tell you what, come to Sunday dinner. Meet my folks. I’ll tell Mom about your dilemma and I’ll bet you twenty bucks she’ll volunteer for the job of playing surrogate grandmother to Kevin.”

      Jim felt overwhelmed by this generous offer. Stunned might be a better word. He was unaccustomed to people going out of their way for somebody who was little more than a stranger to them. “I don’t know what to say.”

      “Say you’ll come for Sunday dinner. My dad’s dying to meet you anyway.”

      “He’s dying to meet Jimmy Norton and I haven’t been that guy in a long time.”

      Bernie stared at him, her gaze pensive and penetrating, as if she were trying to delve deep inside him, to figure out what made him tick. “I believe that the child we were, even the teenager and young adult we were, always remains a part of us. Something of who Jimmy Norton was is still a part of you, whether you like it or not.”

      “You’re awfully philosophical for so late at night, or do you always play amateur psychiatrist?”

      “Guilty as charged,” she told him. “I minored in psychology at Alabama.”

      “If I agree to come to Sunday dinner and join your dad in regaling my glorious past, will you promise not to try to figure out what makes me tick?” Jim turned off the lights in his office, opened the door and held it for her.

      Taking her cue from him, she walked out into the hallway. “Why does it bother you that I want to get to know you better? I’ve known most of my deputies for years. I went to high school with some of them; some have married friends of mine. You’re an unknown, Jim Norton, a bit of a puzzle. And puzzles intrigue me. Besides, I like to really get to know my friends.”

      “Are we going to be friends?” He kept pace with her as they walked down the hall.

      “I’d like to think so.”

      They exited the jail together, and then paused outside on the sidewalk.

      “Don’t you want to be friends?” she asked. “Or do you have trouble being just friends with a woman?”

      Jim chuckled. “The truth is I’ve never been just friends with a woman.”

      “There’s always a first time for everything.”

      “So there is.”

      She headed toward her Jeep, leaving him standing in the middle of the sidewalk. After unlocking the driver’s door, she glanced back at him and smiled. “See you at seven in the morning. You make the coffee. I’ll bring sausage biscuits.”

      “Make mine ham and cheese.”

      “How many, one or two?”

      “Two.”

      She slid behind the wheel, closed the door and started the engine. Jim stood and watched her until all he could see was the Jeep’s red taillights off in the distance. He decided right then and there that he’d definitely like to be friends with Bernie Granger

      He stroked the pearls, loving the feel of their cool, slick surface. These were not real pearls, of course. He couldn’t afford real ones like the necklace she had worn. But his lovers didn’t seem to mind that the necklace he sent was faux pearls. After all, it’s the thought that counts, right? Smiling, his mind filled with memories of her, he closed his eyes and the images grew brighter and sharper. He could see her clearly, almost as clearly as the night he had made love to her. She had been so surprised to see him.

      He had foolishly thought she would welcome him with open arms, but she hadn’t. And in the long run, it really hadn’t mattered. He had gotten what he wanted—actually, more than he’d ever dreamed possible. Satisfaction. Revenge. Empowerment.

      Afterward, he had believed her death had evened the score, that killing her had appeased the rage and anger inside him. But he’d been wrong. It had only fueled his need for revenge. That’s why he had sought out the other three, prolonging his time a little more with each of them, making