Chapter 3
“So this is what DS Swain looks like on a good day, is it?”
Ferocity and determination had been fizzing out of her since she'd joined Carla in the Bistro.
Less of the nosy (and noisy) locals to contend with, she'd reasoned and Lisa had only been too glad of the suggestion.
Amber lighting glowed attractively on her features.
Somewhere in that fiercely intelligent head, there was a fire roaring away; the smoke trapped behind gleaming jade eyes.
If Carla were that way inclined, she'd almost call it sexy.
She wasn't, of course.
Though surely Lisa couldn't be short of offers since Becky's passing?
She made a point of tucking that question away into her filing cabinet, locking it up for good measure.
Time and place.
“Hmm. Define good for me?”
Carla snickered behind her glass.
“You see, that is what I'd like to know, detective. What is good for you?”
The blonde looked up at her, eyes crinkling affectionately, the slightest nudge of an eyebrow hinting at something unspoken.
Heat built at her fingertips, spreading though her hands to run an electric current through her wrists.
Cabinet keys slipped off the hook in spasm.
“Depends. In an ideal world, the active cases line up with solid and meticulously catalogued evidence, I get to turn in my paperwork without any interruptions, and they can be closed up so I can go home and actually spend time with Betsy.”
“Right. And I take it today was one of those then.”
Lisa quirked a slight grin at her.
“That was an ideal scenario, Carla. I'm doing well these days if I can send Kit packing and out of my sight for long enough that I can have a conversation with someone in peace.”
Thr brunette let out a derisive snort in understanding.
Men, eh?
“But I think I'm onto something that could get things reopened and, if my sources are credible, then I expect one Mr Joel Deering to find out that his favoured choice of attire isn't suitable for Highfield Prison.”
Carla swallowed thickly at the name.
Bottom drawer opened and shut as she fumbled with the keys on the floor.
Files fanned around in scattershot mosaics.
“And Betsy?”
The detective huffed, leaning an elbow on the table to card a hand through her hair.
“Well, I'm sat here with you, what do you think?”
The brunette tapped a nail against the stem of her glass.
“I think that if you wanted to spend time with her, you'd be sitting elsewhere after turning down my invite.”
The fire quenched a little.
“I would've, if I thought it would do any good. She's geting mixed up with lads she shouldn't and she resents me for getting on her case about it.”
Carla couldn't suppress a light giggle at the turn of phrase, pressing a hand to her mouth in a poor effort at masking it.
Lisa eyed her with confusion, head tilting adorably to one side, before it clicked in her brain.
Cheeks flaming, she face-palmed.
“Ugh, pun definitely unintended. Trust you, that was awful!”
“You almost got away with it too. If it weren't for those mischievous teenagers.”
That drew a grin from her drinking companion.
“You're making it worse now.”
“If I'd a pound for every time someone's ever told me I made it worse, I'd be living in LA with a second company on the books and not a care in the world.”
She paused for effect.
“Though I'd probably have run it into the ground anyway, if I were to go on that form.”
“I doubt that very much.”
Carla shrugged offhandedly.
No need for dwelling too much on hypotheticals these days.
Neither of them said anything for a few moments, content to sit in a comfortable silence as they nursed their drinks.
Then Carla found herself opening her mouth to make a suggestion.
“I can keep an eye on Betsy, if you want? Make sure you don't have to worry during working hours at least.”
Spark reignited.
But Lisa waved her off.
“You don't have to do that. It's on me to sort her out.”
“There's a lot of things I don't have to do. For instance, I don't have to listen to a gobby teenager tell me how to run my business. I also don't have to spend my evenings cheering up the local copper.”
But somehow she found herself doing it just about every other day.
She liked it.
Carla threw her a pointed look, brooking no arguments.
“I'm offering because I want to. And I'll make any such offer to whom I like, when I feel like it."
The detective bit her lip, barely suppressing a smirk broad enough to send the brunette mentally scrounging for a pair of sunglasses with how she lit up.
“I see.”
Raising her glass to her mouth, she paused.
“Feels like I'm unfairly benefitting from your generosity though.”
“Why don't you let me worry about that?”
Cheeks blurring pink as the embers started to die out, Lisa nodded in acceptance.
“Okay.”
Leaning back from the table, she appraised the woman in front of her to find those green eyes searching her.
Thoroughly.
Carla was about to ask what was on her mind when the blonde spoke up.
“You're wrong, y’know.”
Folding her arms, the factory owner mimicked her posture.
“You don't make everything worse. Exhibit A.”
Lisa gestured to herself with a ‘here you are’ flick of a hand.
“One thoroughly cheery copper. Mind you, you might need to send my colleagues photographic proof that it's possible. I've a feeling some of them have me down as some sort of closeted sociopath.”
Carla burst out laughing.
“Ooh, to be a fly on the wall of that station.”
Lisa sighed long-sufferingly.
“You'd be bored to tears.”
“I'd have you though, so I'd get by one way or another.”
Lisa tilted her head, unconvinced.
“You say that now.”
Then, mischief rippled across her bright features.
She reached into her pocket.
“Here.”
“Wha-”
Lisa tossed something at her that she caught with surprising deftness.
A £1 coin.
“For your LA collection plate.”
Rolling her eyes playfully at the detective's silliness, Carla shook her head at her.
“You basically just told me I wasn't making it worse. Doesn't count.”
Throwing it back to her, Carla found herself pondering the truth of those words.
She watched as her keys sailed into the air before being swallowed up by the inferno, flames melting them into a molten mass of something unfamiliar.