Bachelor Cop. Carolyn McSparren

“Hey, honey, I’m home. I spent the afternoon digging through the North Memphis landfill for the leg that fits the foot a bum found in a Dumpster two days ago.”

      “At least with Cold Cases it’s generally a skeletal leg and not a greasy one.” Jack glanced over at Liz. “Sorry.”

      Liz waved her hand. “I don’t barf the way I did my first three months.” She leaned across her desk toward Randy’s. “So she won’t be going to Aruba with you?”

      “Lots of beautiful unattached ladies in Aruba. No need to take my own. Anyway, Paige has left for Hawaii and won’t be back for a while.”

      Liz propped her chin on her hand and stared out the grimy windows at the dank February morning. “If I weren’t married and pregnant, I’d beg to go with you. When do you leave?”

      “I’d like to get out of here today, but teaching the self-defense class is paying for the trip, so I’m stuck for a couple more months.”

      “Any candidates for New Girl in the class?” Jack asked.

      Randy shook his head. “One gorgeous trophy wife.”

      “Off-limits, I hope,” Liz said.

      “No way would I be crazy enough to get involved with a married woman. The others range from farmers to a perky newlywed.”

      “All married?” Samuels asked.

      “One divorcée and one widow, both in their forties. Then there’s the whack job. She doesn’t wear a wedding ring. Wouldn’t be surprised if she’s never been married.” He leaned back, propped his loafers on his desk and shook his head. “I’m not getting near that one.”

      “Not pretty enough?”

      “I get the feeling she’s trying to make herself ugly. She’s succeeded.”

      “Why would a woman do that?” Jack asked.

      “Fear. Low self-esteem. Depression,” Liz said. “How ugly?”

      “Last night I would have said unattractive. Looking back, I’d have to say not, if she made an effort. Big brown eyes, eyebrows like Sela Ward, wide mouth even without lipstick. She’s got this straggly, dark brown hair she keeps in a tight ponytail.” He ran his hand along his skull just over his right ear.

      “How’s her figure?” Jack asked.

      “Hard to tell under sweats, but she provided a lovely cushion when I fell on her.”

      “Excuse me?” Liz asked.

      He told them what had happened.

      “She took you down?” Liz laughed. “I’d like to have seen that.”

      “She caught me off guard. I’ll have ’em all taking me down before we finish the course, but she won’t come back. She hated me.”

      “Oh, sweetie, what woman could hate you?” Liz asked.

      He spread his hands and flashed her a smile of wide-eyed innocence. “What’s not to love, right?”

      “Maybe she hated your aftershave. What are you wearing these days, Essence of Shark?”

      “I tossed that stuff. I’ve switched to Love God. Want a sniff?” He leaned toward her.

      She rolled her chair out of his reach. “Back, Fang. Go detect something.”

      WHEN RANDY WALKED INTO the exercise room at the gym for the Thursday evening class, he spotted them at once. Of course, he should have guessed. Streak didn’t swing his way. He was surprised that he felt let down.

      The pocket Venus who trailed her into the room stood maybe five-two, with light brown curls, eyes such a bright blue that he could tell the color from across the room, boobs he’d bet came straight from Mother Nature, narrow waist, lush hips. On top of everything else, she was laughing. She had a happy, infectious laugh. Polar opposite to Streak.

      What a waste.

      Venus spotted him and crossed the room with her small hand extended. No wedding ring. Long nails with pink polish. She wore jeans and some kind of silky shirt that slid over her body like cream. “Hi, I’m Marcie Halpern, Helena’s housemate. I wanted to meet you.”

      “You joining the class?”

      She shook her head. “’Fraid not. Somebody has to look after the kids.”

      Kids, plural? As in more than one? Adopted? Artificial insemination? In vitro? Old heterosexual relationship gone sour?

      “Aunt Marcie, come watch me lift weights.”

      Streak’s kids, then. More baggage. Randy looked down at them as the boy ran into the back of Marcie’s legs.

      “Ow, watch it, Milo. That hurt.”

      “I’m sorry, Marcie.”

      Whoever Daddy was, Streak—uh, Helena—was certainly their mother. The boy was probably nine or ten, the girl six or seven, depending on whether they had inherited their mother’s tall genes. Same dark hair, long bones, high cheekbones and wide mouths. Same intelligent dark eyes.

      “Should you be lifting weights?” Marcie asked the boy.

      “Not heavy ones. I might tear a muscle or something. Vi’s too little, anyway. She just rolls them around on the floor.”

      “I’m strong as you.”

      “Are not. Bet you can’t do this.” He ran over to the rack of free weights in the corner of the workout room, rolled one off the bottom and managed to heft it to his knees before Randy took it and set it back on the rack.

      “We all start light,” he stated mildly. The boy glared at him, then took a deep breath and nodded, though the frown stayed on his face.

      Marcie said, “Milo, Viola, go say goodbye to your mother and tell her we’ll see her when she gets home.”

      “Can’t we watch her kick butt?” The boy glowered at Randy. “She gonna kick his?”

      “I don’t think she’s up to butt kicking yet,” Marcie said, with a shrug of apology to Randy. “Go.”

      The kid hesitated, then took the girl’s hand and trotted across to Streak. Randy watched her open her arms to the children. She lit up. He must be losing not only his touch but his eyesight, as well. This was the woman he thought wasn’t beautiful?

      Marcie grinned. “Sorry about that. Sibling rivalry rears its ugly head. Milo and Vi are scary smart, but they’re still children.”

      “I’m sure they make you both very happy.”

      Marcie cocked her head. “I rent the other side of Helena’s duplex from her, Detective. I’m her tenant and part-time nanny. I’m also assistant librarian at Weyland, where she teaches, so we’re colleagues as well as friends. We’re not lovers.”

      “I didn’t—”

      “Sure you did. That’s okay. The last time I checked we were both heterosexual. Milo and Viola’s hideous father is a journalism professor.”

      So he was still around. “Hideous?”

      “Makes Darth Vader look like Saint Peter. Should have been strangled at birth for the benefit of the human race.”

      “But then you wouldn’t have…Milo, was it? And Viola?”

      Marcie’s smile was luminous. “Mickey is completely out of the picture, and they’re worth it.”

      He felt his heart give a small kick. Streak wasn’t off-limits, then. Why should he care?

      Marcie waved at Helena, picked up the children and walked into the main gym, where the latest workout machines shared space with a professional-style boxing ring.

      Through the