Somebody to Love (Tyler Jamison #1) - April Wilson Page 0,74

way back to the car. Then I head to the office. It’s early, and folks are still coming in.

One of the admins seated behind the front desk flags me over. “Detective, I have a message for you.” She hands me a slip of paper. “A call came in earlier this morning for you.”

“Thanks.”

As I head to my office, I unfold the slip of paper, not sure what to expect. A note from Ian, berating me for slinking off like a coward this morning? A note from Internal Review, wanting to ask questions about the shooting?

We need to talk. Come to my office at the courthouse at ten. – M. Alexander

M. Alexander? Shit. That’s Ian’s father, Martin Alexander. Judge Alexander. I laugh at the absurdity. Here I am forty-four years old with my first… what? What is Ian to me anyway? A crush? A hook-up? What are we?

I can’t imagine what Judge Alexander wants with me. His son is safe, and the killer is dead. It’s not like he knows his son and I have been giving each other head, and that we slept together last night.

As I head to my office, stopping only to grab a cup of coffee in the break room, my mind races through the possibilities. Why do I have the sinking suspicion that Ian’s father knows more than he should, and that I’m about to be called out on the carpet?

My neck heats at the thought of facing Ian’s father. Yes, Your Honor, I gave your son head.

I check my e-mail, answer some questions from Internal Review and from my captain. I field text messages from my sister and my mom this morning, asking me how I’m doing. I eat a bagel, and it sits in my gut like a stone.

At nine-thirty, I walk over to the courthouse, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. I pass through the security check-point and head up in the elevator to the third floor, where the judges’ private offices are located.

I don’t know this judge personally, but I know of him. He has a reputation for being firm, but fair. I’ve never heard anything negative about him. I guess I’ll soon be in a position to form my own opinion.

I find Judge Alexander’s office door and step inside a small waiting room. His administrative assistant is seated at her desk, busy typing away on her computer keyboard.

“Tyler Jamison,” I tell her. “Judge—”

“Yes, he’s expecting you.” She points at a closed mahogany door bearing a nameplate: Judge Martin Alexander. “Go right in, Detective.”

“Thanks.” I knock once on the door, just as a courtesy.

I receive a booming reply. “Come in!”

I open the door and step inside the judge’s inner office, having no idea what to expect.

“Shut the door, Jamison,” he barks. He’s on the phone. “Yes, that’s fine. I have to go now. I’ll call you later.” He hangs up and points to a chair facing his desk. “Sit down, Detective.”

As I take a seat in front of a massive wooden desk, I quickly scan his office. Behind his desk is a solid wall of bookcases filled with thick legal tomes bound in leather, scores of them. There are a couple of landscape oil paintings on the walls and some ornate brass lamps. It’s a masculine room and a bit stilted for my taste.

I lean back in my chair and face him directly, hoping we can get this over with. “What can I do for you, Your Honor?” I say, hoping to get off on a good footing with the man. Hoping my worst suspicions aren’t true.

I’d guess him to be in his late sixties, his short hair completely gray. His face is clean shaven, and his eyes are a cool blue. The tense expression on his lined face isn’t promising, and I’m starting to think the worst.

Ian’s father steeples his fingers and leans forward, his gaze direct. “I’ll make this very simple, Detective. Stay the fuck away from my son.”

“I beg your pardon?” It takes a minute for my mind to stop reeling. I knew this was entirely possible—in fact, I was almost expecting it—but until I actually heard the words come out of his mouth, it just wasn’t real.

His gaze narrows on me. “You heard me, Detective. Keep away from my son, or I’ll have your badge so fast you won’t know what hit you. You’ll never work in law enforcement in this city again. In fact, if I have my way, you’ll never work in