“I understand,” I told him. “I’m not happy, but I understand.”

“Next time, don’t send your witnesses home,” the DA added.

“I’ll try to remember that, sir.”

Then the little prick had the nerve to wink at me as he left. I turned to the lieutenant. “That’s sexual harassment.”

“It’s a tic, Decker.” Stone laid his hand on my shoulder. “You did a good job. It’s a shame that some rotten apples got in the way of a righteous bust. But I understand his position. Now go get some lunch before your shift starts.”

I remembered my manners. “Thank you, sir, for your support.”

He smiled at me. “You’re welcome.”

Brill said, “I’m still on the hit-and-run from a couple of weeks ago, Cindy. You okay from that?”

“An occasional street dream. No big deal. Thanks for asking, Justice.” I turned to the lieutenant. “Can I go?”

“Absolutely.”

I stood, and before I reached for the doorknob, I gave a nice little feminine wave. As soon as I was alone, I called Koby and had him paged. He picked up the line five minutes later.

I said, “It’s okay. I’m okay. A little disappointed, but I’m not in any trouble.”

“Baruch Hashem.” He sounded genuinely relieved. “What was it?”

“I’m on a cell phone, Koby. We’ll talk later. What time do you get off?”

“I’m doing a twelve-hour rotation. More money, and we’re off at the same time. Shall we meet at home?”

“Your home, you mean?”

“No, Cindy, I mean just plain home.”

That was sweet and I told him so. I told him that I’d see him later.

I was sweating. Whether they saw it or not, I don’t know.

33

Work came, work went. A routine week and I liked it that way. The following Sunday, Koby and I finally managed that romantic dinner, driving down Pacific Coast Highway just as the sun was sinking over the horizon, the sky bursting with fireworks in a palette of hot pinks, regal purples, and flaming reds. When we turned right onto Malibu Canyon Road, the mountains were bathed in reflected light, turning the surface mossy green and rust orange. The moon could be seen swimming in the pale gray sky of dusk. It was a wonderful moment, an incredibly delicious evening, and I was giddy even before sipping my first glass of wine. We shared food while we cracked wise, the banter eventually turning into a series of racy innuendos. By the time we hit the road, we couldn’t wait. So we checked into an old Malibu beach motel—a series of tiny, private cottages with beds the size of coffee tables, foam rubber mattresses, and scratchy sheets. No view of the ocean, but that didn’t matter. It was all lightning and thunder, and when it was over, the shower worked.

I felt as if I were finally living those glorified high school days that had eluded me as an adolescent. It was nice to walk on air and really nice that the guy involved was incredible in bed. It was too early in the relationship to feel this way and I knew that the carpet could be yanked from under my feet at any moment. Still, I had carried Koby’s key and he hadn’t asked for it back. In fact, the only thing he had asked for was my key in return.