Free Cuts Like a Knife: A Novel (A Kristen Conner Mystery Book 1) by M.K. Gilroy Page A

hint of reciprocity. I never let the guy steal a full hug or kiss—though that hadn’t seemed to be on his agenda. I didn’t know if it was refreshing or strange. I’m used to hand-to-hand combat to keep the wolves at bay. Is that why I’ve let this charade continue—because he’s been so easy to control? And even if I did miss a Saturday drive in the country, for obvious good reasons—and admittedly, my effort to get a hold of him and explain was late—it wasn’t me who brought a revenge date to church. Why am I the bad one?
    After I had heard enough of the pain and suffering he’s experienced at my hands and a little bit of analysis on my inability to bond, I came back with both guns blazing. I explained clearly that any pain and suffering he was feeling was self-induced. I let him know I liked him, but reiterated that I did not return the level of feelings he professes toward me. I let him know we had covered this territory before. And I let him know that I thought his church date was cute and that perhaps he needed to devote his considerable attentions to her.
    “And we’re not going out anymore.”
    That stopped him in his tracks. His response was interesting: “You know it’s only you, babe. I was hurt and just wanted to get your attention. It was stupid to bring Carrie to church. Will you ever be able to forgive me?”
    I thought I was going to puke. What would it take for him to get it? I pushed him out the door at eleven. He wanted a kiss. I obviously didn’t. When I yanked my head back, he got the message and stomped down the stairs.
    I was so tired I didn’t brush my teeth or hang up my clothes. I just fell in bed and squirmed under the covers. When I woke seven hours later, it felt like my teeth had a film to rival barnacles on the underside of a cruise ship. When I stumbled to the bathroom and took a look at myself in the mirror, it was downright frightening. That’s how I greeted Monday morning after my alarm went off like a tornado warning at six.
    It didn’t help that when I arrived at my cube, with just fifteen minutes to spare before my Internal Affairs interview—make that interrogation—there was a large Post-it note on the center of my computer screen with a message written in all caps:
     
DEAR DETECTIVE CONNER—HAVEN’T MEANT TO LEAVE YOU OUT! JUST WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW THAT YOU ARE ALWAYS WELCOME TO BE A PART OF AARP! (ANGRY AND RAGING POLICEPERSONS) WE FEEL YOU’VE GOT LOTS OF PROMISE. YOU’RE EVEN BEING CONSIDERED FOR A MENTORING ROLE. DETAILS TO COME!
     
    That was bizarre. Who would write that? I looked around a couple times and then crumpled it up and threw it away. I wasn’t going to give someone the satisfaction of seeing me get angry. For once.
    • • •
    I am in an interview room usually reserved for suspects. I guess that makes me a suspect. Tom Gray of Internal Affairs and I have been sparring in a twelve-by-ten room, sitting across a six-foot folding table centered in front of a large mirror—which anyone who’s ever seen a cop show knows is one-way glass—for ninety minutes now.
    If anyone from my detective squad—and the curiosity, and yes, embarrassment is killing me—has been watching, they’ve got to be close to nodding off. I’m not a cooperative suspect. Just as I was leaving my cubicle, Zaworski and Konkade stopped me and in hushed tones advised me to say as little as possible. That had me wondering if I should be worried. I’m still asking myself the same question at a time when the interview should have long been over.
    After introducing himself just as Tom Gray, and giving no rank, which is atypical for an officer of the peace, he opened a thick manila file and leafed through it for almost ten minutes in complete silence. I knew he was trying to create an awkward silence where I would blurt out a confession of premeditated and unmitigated brutality. Exactly what I would do if I were in his shoes.
    I wanted to say, Hey, Tom, thanks for coming