“You must be talking about the chief of police,” she said, deciding to be straightforward despite her audience. The senator was the one who’d brought this up.
“Chief Jordan isn’t your biggest supporter.”
“Not because he’s afraid I’ll turn into some sort of vigilante, if that’s what he told you,” she scoffed. “He doesn’t like the scrutiny I bring to his force.”
“He’s not the only one.”
“I don’t care if the whole force doesn’t like it. Shining a spotlight on crime is bound to make certain folks uncomfortable, even some who aren’t criminals. But Sacramento needs to look at what’s going on before we can take steps to improve things.”
Mrs. Denatorre smiled as if pleased with her answer, but the senator wasn’t finished with her yet. “There’s a lot of personal sacrifice involved in being the advocate you are,” he pointed out. “Last night probably wouldn’t have happened if you were in another line of work.”
The eyes of the group once again shifted to her, but Skye steeled herself against the added attention. “We don’t know whether last night was a consequence of my work or an attempt at revenge by the man I helped send to prison for putting a knife to my throat. And even if it was a result of my efforts at The Last Stand, that doesn’t mean I asked for it. If you’re going to take that line of reasoning, what provoked Burke’s original attack? I was twenty-six years old and an account executive for Wear Well Carpet—hardly what most people would consider a risky job—unless you’re severely allergic to carpet glue.”
His eyes twinkled as he clapped softly. “Impressive.”
“See what I mean?” His assistant jumped in, wearing a proud smile.
“I do, Bill. You’re right. She’s formidable.” The senator rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Getting involved with her—with The Last Stand—could turn out to be a political hot potato, but I think I’m a pretty good judge of character. And I like that she’s willing to stick her neck out for her ideals.” He reached inside his suit coat and withdrew a business card. “Call me this week, Ms. Kellerman,” he said, handing it to her. “I’ll ask the mayor to join us for lunch and we’ll see what we can do to help.”
Skye was so shocked it took her a moment to respond. By the time she stammered a thank-you, he and his party had already started toward the tables. Only Mrs. Denatorre glanced back to smile at her.
“I can’t believe it!” she breathed to Charlie.
“Believe what?” he asked, completely indifferent.
“We’ve got him! He’s taking me to lunch.”
“Of course he is. Republicans are big law-and-order types. Justice, not mercy. That’s their motto. My ex-wife is like that,” he said and immediately launched into a story about how his ex had promised to forgive him for the mistakes he’d made in their marriage, then left him anyway. But Skye wasn’t really listening. She was too excited. She pulled Charlie along as she made a beeline for Sheridan, who was sitting with Jonathan at one of the dinner tables.
Coming up behind them both, she bent to whisper in her friend’s ear. “Guess what I just landed?”
Sheridan and Jonathan both twisted to look up at her, and Skye flashed the senator’s card. “Lunch. With Denatorre and the mayor.”
“You’re kidding!” Sheridan exclaimed. But if she or Jonathan made any further comment, Skye didn’t hear them. She straightened as two people she hadn’t expected to see moved into her line of sight. One was a tall black detective she recognized as Tiny.
The other was David.
As soon as he saw Skye, David knew he’d made a mistake in showing up at the fund-raiser. She was wearing a slinky green dress that hugged her body in all the places he dreamed of touching—more than a slight distraction. And with her hair up she looked prettier than ever. He almost grinned; as elegant and feminine as she was, especially in that gown, she could probably bench-press more weight than most men in the room and run farther if not faster.
Tiny nudged him, and David realized he’d stopped moving. “What?” he said, suddenly irritable because he’d spotted the man in the tux at Skye’s side—Charlie Fox—and immediately disliked him.
“I thought we were going to find a seat.”
“We are,” David said, but that meant pulling his gaze away from Skye and her companion so he wouldn’t walk into anyone, which wasn’t easy.
Tiny chose two seats near the back. When they sat down, the others at their table nodded politely and made introductions. Then the caterers brought out the salads. But it wasn’t five minutes later that David decided to relocate. He knew he’d be better off staying where he was, but there was a single seat open at Skye’s table, and he intended to fill it.
“Some date you are,” Tiny grumbled when David leaned over to tell him what he was going to do.
David lowered his voice so Tiny was the only one who could hear him. “You don’t need me. You’ll have your hands full mixing and mingling and looking for anyone who doesn’t fit in.”
Tiny cocked his head at a challenging angle. “I’m not worried about what’ll be filling my hands.”
David quickly formulated a good excuse for wanting to be closer to Skye—it was easier to keep track of anyone who came into contact with her, easier to monitor everything that was said. But he couldn’t fool Tiny so he didn’t even try. “If we slip off together, come after me before I do something I might regret.”
“Don’t depend on me. You know what I think.”
Actually, David didn’t. Tiny rarely shared his personal thoughts or feelings. “That I’m getting too emotionally involved?”
“That’s an outdated opinion.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ve been fighting this long enough. You need to decide which you’d regret more—taking what you want or giving it up.” Tiny’s tone suggested it was that simple. But it wasn’t simple at all. Wanting Skye, and succumbing to that want, went against everything he believed in—keeping the promises he’d made to Lynnette, sticking with her through thick and thin, being a good father, maintaining some self-respect.
He stood up. “Like I said, come get me.”
Tiny turned up the palms of his hands. “Sorry, buddy, you’re on your own.”