Free Blood Will Tell by Jean Lorrah Page B

they can tell.” He scratched the cat under the chin, and Sylvester began to purr. Then he turned to Brandy. “I'll see you later. Nice to meet you, Ma'am,” he added politely to her mother, actually tipping the hat that he put back on at the front door, and was gone.
    Brandy turned to look at her cat in puzzlement. Sylvester was in his Egyptian cat pose, sitting tall with his tail looped over his feet. Immediately behind him, she realized, stood the items her mother had left on display.
    Brandy drove her mother home, helped to carry her things in, and was shooed out. A date with a university professor her mother approved of—she was constantly after Brandy to find someone with a secure future, marry, have children, and stop risking her life.
    But Brandy loved police work, and cops had a worse record for successful relationships than movie stars. Brandy's own failure rate was 100%—every serious relationship since she had joined the Murphy Police had ended within months. Inevitably, some event would demonstrate the danger of her profession, and the man would give her an ultimatum.
    Brandy did not respond well to threats.
    But Dan Martin did not threaten. When he arrived promptly at 6:00pm, she had potatoes baking and wine chilling. He handed her the evening paper from the doorstep, and said, “I thought I was taking you out."
    “I'd like to get to know you better,” Brandy explained. “And you might as well get to know something about me. I'm not a gourmet cook. All I know about wine is that red goes with beef. If that's good enough for you, we'll get along."
    “That's fine. May I help?"
    “Everything's under control,” Brandy replied. “How do you like your steak?"
    “Very rare."
    Brandy blinked. “I thought you grew up in Iowa and Nebraska. Farmers generally like it well done."
    “We didn't have steak when I was a kid. We had meatloaf or pork chops. When I was introduced to prime cuts I was also introduced to the proper way to prepare them."
    She noted the shift to passive voice, and assumed that it was a woman who had introduced him.
    “Yes,” said Martin.
    “Yes what?"
    “Yes, it was a woman. Brandy, can't you stop playing Sherlock Holmes for a few hours?"
    “You, Sir, are the one who just pulled the Holmes trick of following my train of thought and replying to the end of it.” Then she added thoughtfully, “I don't know how to turn my curiosity off, Dan. It's not just police training. I've always thought that way."
    “You're a dangerous woman to become involved with."
    “Are we involved?” she asked bluntly.
    He came around the counter, into the kitchen proper. He smelled clean, fresh from the shower, and his hair was still slightly damp. His presence filled her small kitchen. “I've made it no secret that I find you attractive."
    “Yeah, well, I haven't had much success hiding my feelings, either,” said Brandy. “Are you sure you want to risk getting involved with a cop?"
    “I wasn't planning to commit any crimes,” he replied, and reached to take her in his arms.
    It took every ounce of Brandy's willpower to shrug him off and retreat to the corner by the microwave. He let her go, leaning back against the counter. “What's wrong?"
    “You've seen it already,” she told him. “I can't plan on my free time being free. Two or three cancellations without notice are enough for most men."
    “The same would be true if you were a doctor, Brandy. Or a social worker or a firefighter. Uncertainty comes with the territory. I should think anyone would understand."
    “Not all,” she replied, “but yes, there have been men in my life who could accept it. Until something like today happens—or worse."
    Brandy had replaced the white hospital bandage with a flesh-colored one, but it was still obvious. Had she left the wound uncovered it would have looked worse still, red and puffy, the stitches black and ugly—completely normal, she knew from a dozen previous experiences, but shocking to someone