LITMIR.BIZ

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dismissed because of the lab work.”

      “No, I’ve got that information…” Mac’s self-assurance faded on a sobering thought. He couldn’t read through his files or access his computer. “Can you copy them in braille?” His sarcasm was too sharp to be funny.

      Mitch’s patient sigh deflated the remnants of Mac’s ego. “You can’t—”

      “I know. I can’t read braille.”

      The grip at his elbow tightened, summoning his attention to the woman standing quietly by his side. “I could read a report for you,” she whispered.

      His fractured pride warred with his mind’s need to find answers. “It’s pretty technical stuff.” He tried to warn her away, get her to retract her offer.

      “So? I’d just be reading the words. You’re the brain.”

      Meaning she wasn’t? Nobody got through college and earned a registered nursing degree without their fair share of intellect. Julia’s teasing at her own expense nagged at his subconscious mind, but he filed away the casual observation to analyze later.

      He turned his mouth back to the receiver. “Send me the files. Maybe I can find a pattern of some kind.”

      He doubted there was much he could do toward proving Jeff’s motivation for destroying the lab, but it would give him a break from trying to identify the chemicals which Jeff had been using the night he died. “Jeff had a tray of lab samples swimming in a pool of corrosive acid. I suspect it wasn’t an isolated incident. Either he was taking a bribe, or he was in big trouble. From his words and behavior I’d say he was coerced.”

      “You think somebody was blackmailing one of my cops?” A territorial authority that made Mitch Taylor one of the most respected captains of any Kansas City precinct almost elicited a smile from Mac.

      “If I.A.’s on it, they may suspect corruption somewhere else, too.”

      Mitch’s curse was choice and succinct. “You watch your back, Mac. I know you’re not involved in anything illegal. But you were the last person to see Jeff alive. Whoever was blackmailing him may think you figured out what he was up to.”

      He could hear the snap of paper, the click of a pen at the other end. He could envision Mitch taking charge and taking action—in a way Mac could not. “I’ll put out some feelers from my end, see if we can dig up anything else about Ringlein and his connections. I’ll send someone over to keep an eye on Melanie Ringlein’s place.

      “And I’ll post a guard at your house, too, just in case anyone comes snooping around. If nothing else, they can give you advance warning if I.A. returns to ask more questions.” Once, Mac would have protested such take-charge, big-brotherly behavior. Now he accepted it as a practical matter of course for a blind man.

      “Fine.”

      “You there by yourself?”

      The question drew Mac’s attention back to the steady hand on his arm. “No. Jules is here.”

      As if mentioning her name had the same impact of one of his defiant arguments, she released him. The scent of sunshine faded as the whisper of denim took her away from him.

      A new emotion worked its way into Mac’s brain. Regret. He didn’t want her close to him, didn’t want to need her the way he apparently did. But he’d felt strengthened when she was at his side. He felt like something was missing when she walked away.

      Before he could fully analyze those new and discomforting thoughts, Mitch laughed. “Jules? You mean Julia Dalton? That tomboy across the street who ran around with Cole? I guess they all grow up, don’t they?”

      “Yeah.” Though most of what Mac remembered about Jules were her skills as a second baseman, he’d learned a lot about the grown-up version of the girl next door in the past few hours. Julia Dalton had matured into a sweet-smelling woman. And the way his nerve endings sat up and took notice of her sharp wit and shrewd tongue breathed energy and sunshine into his dark, gloomy world.

      Not that he was ready to deal with energy and sunshine yet.

      His body heated with the memory of her figure imprinting into his. His imagination hadn’t pictured anything close to a tomboy then.

      His face and body had been diced and burned and sewn back together, while she’d matured into a soft-skinned woman, with strong shoulders and rounded hips, and eyes…

      What color eyes did she have, anyway?

      And why did it matter?

      He had no better chance of solving that mystery than he had of making sense of Jeff Ringlein’s death.

      “They grow up, all right.” He ended the trip down memory lane. “Thanks, Mitch.”

      “I’ll keep in touch.”

      Mac pressed several buttons before he disconnected the phone and could lay it on the desk. Some nagging bit of information, buried in the dark recesses of his mind tried to make itself known, but failed to make sense. He’d seen Julia’s eyes before. He’d seen them, but he couldn’t remember them.

      He added that to the list of mysteries a blind man could never solve.

      OFFICER WADE OSTERMAN ate more than enough to fill his six-foot, six-inch frame. He weighed in at a bulky two hundred eighty, only fifteen pounds under his playing weight, as Julia had learned while sharing dinner with the uniformed policeman. He’d played semi-pro football. Defensive lineman.

      On his third helping of mashed potatoes, she found out he could have played in the pros if his knees had held up. “And my wife had stayed with me,” he added. It was more a philosophical remark than an expression of remorse. “She was always my best cheerleader, even when she wasn’t wearing that cute little skirt.”

      Julia wondered if his confession needed some kind of response. Did she express sorrow over his dissolved marriage? Ask if he’d had his knees scoped? Since she didn’t know what to make of the big, blustery charmer, she ended up simply asking, “Do you have room in there for dessert?”

      She’d finished her pork chop, green beans and potatoes a while back, but had remained at the kitchen table to keep Wade company.

      And to wait for Mac to make an appearance.

      She’d given her mother a very specific list of groceries to bring to the house, hoping to lure Mac out of his room with the comforting scents of home cooking. But the enticement had failed. He’d gone without anything to eat all day, unless he had something stashed in his bedroom.

      Hell. Something could be rotting in that room, and no one would smell it because of the assortment of chemicals he kept on his dresser.

      What was that all about, anyway?

      “I smelled that pie when I came in this afternoon. I can hardly wait. Usually, on a job like this, I get stuck with takeout.” Wade had been on duty for only four hours, but already he’d made himself at home. “You got ice cream to go with that?”

      “Sure.”

      Julia cleared the dishes and took the ice cream out of the freezer to soften up. She couldn’t help but look through the archway that led into the rest of the house. She’d stuck to her professional guns today, refusing to take any food to Mac. But his suffering pulled at her personal heartstrings.

      He needed medical attention, food and liquids. But first she’d hoped he could work through the chips of guilt and self-pity and anger that burdened his shoulders. A patient had little chance of healing if he didn’t make the effort to heal himself.

      “Who do you think is gonna win the World Series this year?” Wade interrupted her thoughts. Normally, she loved discussing sports. But tonight she had to force an interest in the topic.

      “Braves, probably.” She repeated a line she’d heard her father say more than once. “Good pitching beats good hitting.”

      “You

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