Free Robert B. Parker's Debt to Pay by Reed Farrel Coleman Page B

“Go ahead, open it.”
    Inside was an 8x10 color photograph of Jenn. It was a candid shot of her in the sun at an outdoor café.
    Molly was confused. “It’s not Jenn at her best, but so what?”
    â€œFlip it over.”
    On the back was a handwritten note, the lettering neat and square. The note read:
    Do you ask a praying mantis why?
    Now Molly got that same sickly feeling in her belly and said, “Oh my God, Jesse. It’s him.”
    Jesse nodded. “Uh-huh. Mr. Peepers.”
    â€œYou still want me to get Healy on the phone?”
    â€œI do . . . and get Suit in off patrol. Get him in here right now. He’s got to be alerted.”
    Molly was gone. Jesse picked his old glove off his desk and pounded the ball into the pocket so hard it might have shaken the windows.

TWENTY
    S uit wasn’t having any luck with his concentration that morning. Patrol was going smoothly enough, like it almost always did. He supposed he had liked his life well enough, but it had been pretty boring. Being a cop in Paradise wasn’t exactly life on the mean streets. It was mostly parking tickets, the occasional bar fight, and traffic control when the town filled up during the annual regatta. He thought about how different it had been for Jesse. Jesse had done things, big things, in his life. Besides being one step away from Dodger Stadium, Jesse had been out there in the world. He’d kicked ass and solved murders. He’d been married to a newscaster, for crissakes. The glory in Suit’s life had come and gone with his high school graduation. Suit knew that his constantly comparing himself to Jesse was unhealthy. It had nearly gotten him killed. But it wasn’t Jesse or the scars on his abdomen that were ruining his concentration, not today.
    â€œCar four to base,” Suit said into his car mic.
    â€œWhat’s up, Suit?”
    â€œWhat’s up with you? You sound out of breath.”
    â€œJesse’s got me running around looking for reports.”
    â€œIt’s quiet out here. I’m going ten-sixty-three.”
    â€œLittle early for lunch,” she said.
    â€œNever too early for lunch,” he said, letting Molly believe it was food he was stopping for.
    â€œRoger that.”
    Suit pulled the car up in front of Elena’s house, but he didn’t get out. He sat there for a few minutes, frozen with panic over what he was about to do. He wasn’t given to profound thoughts, not that he wasn’t smart. It was just that he tried not to dwell on things. Yet after reconnecting with Elena, it had occurred to him that he had been lonely for too long. He had never lacked for friends. Suit knew he was a likeable guy. Imposing as his size made him, people felt comfortable around him. Nor had he lacked for the company of women. The problem was his relationships with women were usually short-lived and often carried out under cover of darkness. There was never any future in them, just temporary comfort. But nothing focuses a man’s mind like facing his own mortality. As hard as he tried not to think about getting shot, it was impossible to escape.
    He took three deep breaths and got out of the cruiser. He stuck his hand in his pocket, got panicky again when he couldn’t find the ring. Then relaxed a little bit when he found it. He had thought about doing this in some romantic way like they did it in the movies. He’d meet her down in Boston or even New York for a weekend, making dinner reservations at a fancy restaurant, and then having the ring delivered to the table as part of her dessert. He’d considered taking her to a Sox game and having a plane fly overhead, trailing a banner with his proposal on it. But he realized that he loved her too much for that stuff and that Elena would be embarrassed by it. She was too private a person. And they had both agreed to keep their relationship to themselves until they had a sense of where it would