the world, but he was merely making a bad situation worse. And since they clearly weren’t getting anywhere with the victim’s granddaughter, Kari decided they needed to back off and let her grieve in peace.
“If you think of anything else—or just need to talk—you can reach me at this number anytime,” Kari said, indicating the bottom number on the card that she’d just placed on the bed beside Anne Daniels.
The woman pressed her lips together, obviously too choked up to talk. Picking up the card, she nodded silently, looking as if her whole world had shattered.
“You keep handing those cards out like that, you’re going to wind up holding shrink sessions in the back of your car,” Esteban commented as they walked through the hospital lobby, headed for the exit and the parking lots beyond the eight-story building.
Kari didn’t see it that way. “People need to feel that they’re not alone.”
Was she really that naive? he wondered. Or just some cockeyed optimist who didn’t know which end was up? Either way, she needed to be set straight.
“People are alone,” he told her firmly.
“Maybe so,” she conceded, because she didn’t want to get sucked into a philosophical argument neither side intended to lose. Instead, she emphasized, “But they don’t have to feel that way.”
Esteban laughed shortly. “So you’re going to kiss their hurts, put Band-Aids on them and make them all better?”
He was baiting her, she thought, which was why she managed to remain unfazed. “If it helps, I can be there to listen.”
“And if you’re so busy ‘listening,’ when are you going to do your job? Or don’t you intend to ever sleep?” he asked.
“I’ve learned how to catnap,” she countered, keeping her own expression unreadable.
Kari paused for a moment as they got into the car. She knew she was going to be treading on dangerous ground, but she was never going to find any answers by keeping quiet.
“What you said before,” she began. “About people being alone...is that how you really feel?”
He didn’t appreciate her probing him. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t,” he bit off.
“Do you feel alone?” she pressed.
How many different ways did she want him to say it? He was beginning to think that saying anything at all had been a huge mistake.
“Back off, Hyphen,” he warned, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t need a shrink.”
Not every psychiatrist turned out to be helpful, and she knew without being told that her partner was not the sort who would ever seek help to begin with. “No, but maybe you need a friend.”
“What I need,” he emphasized, “is a partner—if I have to have one—who doesn’t talk so much.”
She smiled. Slowly but surely, she was beginning to understand him—at least a little. It allowed her to say, “Well, there I’m afraid that you’re out of luck.”
Esteban slanted a long look in her direction, then faced forward, gazing out the windshield without really seeing anything.
“Don’t count on it,” he told her.
She took a deep breath, summoned her courage and forced herself to ask, “What happened between high school and here?”
“Life,” was all he said. He made the single word sound ominous and volatile. He also didn’t trust himself to say more.
Turning the key, she started up the car and backed out of the space. “What—?”
“Drop it, Hyphen,” he ordered. His voice left no room for any give-and-take. That part of the game was over.
She’d pushed him as far as he’d go today, Kari realized. There was always tomorrow, but in order to get to tomorrow, she had to remain his partner today.
She backed off.
“You in the mood for Mexican or Chinese?” Kari asked cheerfully, thinking of the two best take-out places between the hospital and the police station.
He’d never been ruled by his taste buds and he shrugged now in answer to her question. “Doesn’t matter,” he told her.
“You don’t have a preference?” Kari asked, clearly surprised.
When he was hungry, he ate what was in front of him. “Not worth the time picking one over the other,” he said, then added, “You pick.”
“Okay,” she answered after a beat. “I will.”
* * *
Esteban stared at the chopsticks his partner held out to him. Served him right for abdicating control. “What makes you think I want to spear my food like some backward hunter?”
“Pretty limited hunting grounds,” she pointed out. “Besides, I thought maybe you knew how to use them.” Everyone she knew was fairly proficient with chopsticks, so she’d just assumed he was, too.
She should have known better, she