• • •

Axel had been looking at Brazil all morning and was certain Brazil’s feelings were stirring. The guy was blushing even as Axel stared. That definitely was a good sign. Axel could hardly concentrate on his Wynonna Judd review, which was unfortunate for her. What might have been a splashy story about her latest fabulous album was destined for mindless jargon that no doubt would cost her millions in sales. Axel had that power. He sighed, working up the courage to ask Brazil yet one more time to do dinner, a concert, or a club with male strippers. Maybe he could get Brazil drunk, get him to smoke a little dope, jazz him up, and show him what life was about.

Brazil was in despair as he glanced again at the phone. Oh, what the hell. What happened to having guts? He grabbed the receiver, flipped through his Rolodex, and dialed.

“Chief Hammer’s office,” a man answered.

Brazil cleared his throat. “Andy Brazil with the Observer,” he said in a remarkably steady voice. “I wonder if I might have a word with her.”

“And this is in regard to what?”

Brazil was not about to be scared off the case. It was too late. There was no place to run, really.

“I’m returning her phone call,” he bravely said, as if it were perfectly normal for the chief to call him and for him to get back to her.

Captain Horgess was thrown off. What did Hammer do? Dial this reporter’s number herself? Horgess hated it when she did that instead of placing all calls through him. Damn it. He couldn’t keep track of that woman. She was out of control. Horgess punched the hold button without bothering to tell Brazil. Two seconds later, Hammer’s voice was on the line, shocking Brazil.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he quickly said to her.

“That’s quite all right. What can I help you with?” she replied.

“Oh, not a thing. I mean this isn’t about a story. I just wanted to thank you for what you did.”

Hammer was quiet. Since when did reporters thank her for anything?

Brazil interpreted the silence wrongly. Oh God, now she really thought he was stupid. “Well, I won’t take up your time.” He was talking faster and faster, thoroughly decompensating. “Uh, I, well. It’s just that it was a big thing to do. I thought so. When you didn’t have to. Someone in your position, I mean. Most wouldn’t.”

Hammer smiled, drumming her nails on a stack of paperwork. She needed a manicure. “I’ll see you around the department,” she told him, and her heart was pricked as she hung up.

She had two sons and they hurt her on a regular basis. This did not prevent her from calling them every Sunday night, or setting up a college trust for the grandbabies, and offering to send plane tickets whenever a visit was possible. Hammer’s sons did not have her drive, and she secretly blamed this on the bad genetic wiring of their father, who was all egg white and no yolk, in truth. No bloody wonder it had always required so many tries for Hammer to get pregnant. As it turned out, Seth’s sperm count could be done on one hand. Randy and Jude were single, with families. They were still finding themselves in Venice Beach and Greenwich Village. Randy wanted to be an actor. Jude played drums in a band. Both of them were waiters. Hammer adored them. Seth did not, and this was directly related to how seldom they came to town and why their mother ached in private.