Page 40 of Outsider

“We were dying to see some action, make that first big arrest. Make a name for ourselves.”

“We definitely made a name for ourselves.”

“Not the kind we had in mind.” Gina chortles. “I’ll never forget the way that dude looked, running down the alley, buck naked, trying to pull up pants that were two sizes too small. One leg in, one leg out.”

“Some things can’t be unseen.”

She throws her head back and gives a raucous laugh. “Our big home-invasion arrest turned out to be a husband walking into his house with no idea his loving wife was upstairs doing the wild thing with another dude.”

“In his haste to get out of the house, Romeo grabbed her clothes instead of his own, and jumped out of the upstairs window.”

“Thinking there’s an intruder, the genius husband called 911.”

“His wife couldn’t exactly tell him what she’d been up to, so she let him report it as a home invasion.”

“Colorosa and Burkholder to the rescue.”

“Talk about a couple of geniuses,” I say. “Took us a while to straighten that one out.”

“First time I had to cuff a naked guy.”

We look at each other, grinning, and for a moment we’re partners again, best friends with no emotional baggage between us, no experience, and just enough youth that we’re not afraid to charge into our lives no holds barred.

“The detectives made fun of us for months,” I mutter.

“Called us the Naked Squad.”

“Title justifiably earned.”

Caught up in the memory, we look at each other and break into laughter. The release of tension that follows is palpable. But we’re older now, more than a little cynical, and we quickly fall silent, lost in the thoughts and memories compressing the space between us. We listen to the whistle of wind, the quiet patter of snow against the glass, trying not to acknowledge that the silence isn’t quite comfortable.

Gina turns her gaze on mine. “Those were the best days of my life.”

“We had some good times,” I concur.

“I didn’t appreciate it.”

“Young people never do. That’s part of youth.”

She nods, her expression sober. “Did you hear from Ken Mercer after you left?”

The muscles between my shoulders go taut at the mention of Mercer. I’d worked with him dozens of times in the years I was with the Columbus Division of Police. He was older. An experienced cop. A mentor. We were friends first and then lovers. We were only together a handful of times. But it was a handful of times too many.

“Never heard from him,” I say.

She tilts her head, her eyes probing mine, looking for something I’d prefer she not see. Like maybe she isn’t the only one who’s not proud of certain elements of her past. “He was crazy about you,” she says quietly. “Talked about you months after you left.”

“He was also a liar and a cheat.”

A smile plays at the corners of her mouth. “A charming liar and cheat. Not to mention good looking.”

I say nothing, holding her gaze. She stares back as if I’m some human contradiction that must be made to make sense. “Did you tell Tomasetti about him?”

“There’s nothing to tell. Mercer is ancient history and got filed under Mistake.” I shrug, trying to look nonchalant, not quite sure I’m succeeding. “It never came up.”

Her look turns knowing and one side of her mouth curves. “You were crazy about him, too.”

“I was twenty-four years old.”