Free Fair Game by Doreen Owens Malek

but I don’t see it. I do see her working like a dog and doing everything she can to cooperate with us. I’m sure you’ve observed the same thing. So I ask myself, what’s your problem?”
    “I don’t have a problem,” Martin said stiffly.
    “Okay, fine,” Capo said, obviously content to drop the subject. He leaned across the table and added in a low tone, “What the hell is she doing in there? She’s been at it for hours.”
    “Legal work.”
    “Whose? I thought she was on a leave from that job.”
    Martin shrugged. “Don’t ask me. But people from the Justice Department keep calling her.”
    “What about loverboy?”
    “He’s back in Washington.”
    “Trouble in paradise?”
    “I don’t think so. Apparently he goes back and forth a lot.”
    “Too bad. That guy makes me want to muss up his hair, which I think is dyed. Did I mention that?”
    “You mentioned it,” Martin answered, grinning. “You’re probably just jealous.”
    “Not me, Timmy, but I think one of us is,” Capo replied seriously.
    Martin fixed him with a baleful stare.
    “Hey, I’m allowed to offer an opinion on the subject,” Capo said defensively. “I’m a...”
    “... happily married man,” Martin finished for him. “I know, you’ve told me.”
    There was a knock at the outer door. “Room service.”
    Martin got up to answer it, and as he did Meg Drummond stuck her head in the door.
    “The Senator is about to retire, Sergeant Capo,” she said.
    “So early?” Capo said.
    “Long day tomorrow,” Meg replied.
    Capo picked up his jacket. “See you in the morning,” he said to Martin, and followed Meg into the hall.
    The waiter carried the tray in and set it on the cocktail table. Martin signed the slip and gave the boy a tip, then tapped on the connecting door.
    “Miss Fair, your coffee’s here,” he said.
    Ashley emerged after a few seconds of silence, lifting her hair off her neck and sighing.
    “Wonderful,” she said. “I could use a break.”   She poured for both of them and inquired, “Cream?”
    “Black.”
    She handed Martin his cup and then added cream to hers.
    “How are you feeling today?” he asked.
    “Fine.”
    “No dizzy spells?”
    “None at all, thank you. The omelet cure must have worked.”
    She sipped her coffee as she watched him take a deep swallow of his and then put his cup down to light a cigarette. He noticed her scrutiny and said self-consciously, “I hope you don’t mind my smoking. I guess I should have asked already.”
    “I don’t mind, Lieutenant. But I’d be careful around Jim. He has a thing about it. Thinks he can get lung cancer from secondhand smoke.”
    “Yeah, well, maybe he’s right,” Martin said neutrally, unwilling to get into the subject of Dillon. “Too late for me, anyway. I’d rather smoke than eat.”
    Ashley chuckled. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”
    “It’s the truth.”
    “Why?”
    Martin shrugged. “It’s soothing, I suppose. Easy, and steady, and quiet. It’s always the same, always rewarding. Few other things in life are that consistent.”
    “I see.”
    “It helps me think.”
    “Do you do a lot of thinking, Lieutenant?” Ashley asked.
    He looked at her sharply, to see if she were baiting him, but her gaze was level and serene.
    “More of that than anything else,” he replied. “Police work is mostly trying to out-think the criminals, regardless of how many car chases you see on TV.”
    “Then you must be very good at it. I understand you’re the youngest lieutenant on the force.”
    There was no reply to that, and he made none.
    “This must be a very boring duty for you,” she added.
    “It’s different,” he answered.
    Her smile became impish. “It will get more so. Tomorrow evening we’re going to the opera.”
    He looked so distressed that she laughed.
    “It didn’t say that on the itinerary I was given,” he objected. “I would have remembered.”
    “Our plans have changed. We’re squeezing this into