Tonya Muir - Exposure Season 1

"Ha, ha, very fucking funny," I call as she turns to go to her office.

Gail comes in. She’s in an absolute panic as she lays a few files on my desk and hands me my tea. "I’m sorry. I’m running a little late today."

"Relax, I just got here too." I settle into my chair and turn on the TV’s. I sip my tea and watch the morning news while I wait for Harper. She finally comes back in and takes a seat on my couch. She glances up at one of the screens and gestures to it.

"Turn that up. That’s Ted Brice. He’s a detective on the LAPD and a buddy of mine."

I raise the volume on the TV and Harper scoots forward watching and listening to the report about a body that had been found in one of the parks.

Ah, real news.

* * *

Tonight I’m sitting at a table in The Rio, not at the bar. It’s Wednesday. Poker night.

To my left is Gary. For all his failings with women, he’s a terrific poker player. He always has the same damn expression on his face no matter what the hand he’s dealt. He’s sitting with a majority of the cash in front of him right now. I intend to rectify that situation soon.

To my right is Bear, a.k.a. Ted, the one who was on television earlier today. He got his nickname because he’s a big fella and quite hairy. Teddy Bear. He’s a pretty good poker player, but he tends to whistle when he has a really good hand. None of us have ever bothered to point out that fact to him, though.

Our fourth is Justin, another detective. He’s another good player, but tends to be a bit overly aggressive. But, his money is good and I like taking some of it every week.

We’ve been playing for about an hour already. Justin pulls out a cigar from his jacket pocket and takes an appreciative sniff. "Anyone?" he asks, offering another wrapped one out to us.

"Sure," I say, taking it. I don’t smoke cigars often, but tonight I really want one. "Thanks." I remove the wrapper, bite off one end, and light up.

"That was a helluva thing today, Bear," Gary says dealing out the next hand. We play five card draw. Nothing wild; no weird shit like deuces wild if you hold a one-eyed jack. Simple and pure poker.

Bear nods solemnly. "Yeah, pretty girl. Kinda like the ones you go for, Harper: blonde, all-American, athletic. She was a grad student at UCLA."

"Boyfriend do her?" I ask. Most women know their murderers intimately.

"He’s got a rock solid alibi. Was in a lecture hall with two hundred students at the time of her murder."

"It’s easy to slip out of a lecture like that," Gary observes.

Bear chuckles, "Not when you’re giving it." He calls Justin’s opening bet.

"Well, maybe not," I counter. "I remember my art history professor slipped out one time. He pre-recorded his comments on the slides he was going to show us. He gave some opening remarks, then he had a grad student put in the tape and work the projector." I call as well, tossing a Susan B. Anthony into the pile.

"God," Gary interrupts, "you Louisianians are corrupt even in education."

"Well, hell, yes. We require it. I don’t trust a man I can trust."

We all laugh at the absurdity of the statement. Gary folds, and looks to Justin to see if he wants any new cards.

"Nah, he was right in front of the kids the entire time," Bear tells us. "He’s a grad student in the math department. Teaching calculus. He was standing by a chalkboard in clear view of a couple hundred witnesses."

"Two," Justin says, laying down two cards and picking up the two new ones that Gary deals him. He puts them in his hand and almost reorganizes them.

Hmm … a good hand, at least something matched up or fit in.

"Three," I say, holding on to the two aces I was dealt previously. In turn, I receive another ace and two eight’s.

Bear takes two cards. "The murder seemed personal though, like the perp knew her, had a grudge against her."

"An ex-boyfriend?"

"We’re looking into it, but, that’s what it seems like." Bear looks around and then leans forward. "None of this is public," he warns.

Over the years, our foursome has developed a strong code of silence. All we have to say is something isn’t public and none of us will repeat what we know. Gary and I have enjoyed the insight into investigations, and the scoops when we can go public. In return, Justin and Bear have heard comments from witnesses they wouldn’t have otherwise. In this strange world we live in, people would rather talk to a reporter than a cop. Go figure.

"He cut her hair before he killed her."

"This is a makeover gone bad?" I joke, although it isn’t funny. Sick fucker killed a vibrant twenty-four year old. "He shave it off or something?" I add two more dollars into the pot, calling Justin’s new bet.

"No. She had it long, almost to her hips. He cut it shoulder length. We’re trying to find out if she wore her hair shorter in the past. See who her boyfriend was then. Maybe he was trying to recapture the past."

"Bastard."

"Yep, that he is," Bear agrees. He folds.

"Straight, jack high." Justin reaches for the pot.

"Keep your hand off my money. Full house." I lay my cards down and begin raking in the money.

Bear looks at my cards. "Dead man’s hand. Not a good sign, Harper."

I snort, "I don’t believe in signs."

That’s a fucking lie. I’m from New Orleans and grew up with a blend of Catholicism, voodoo and good old superstition. If it is a sign, I’m fucked.

Some weeks, nothing seems to go right.

<fade out>

Scenes from Next Week’s Must Read TV:

<fade in>

The mourning news. That’s what I call the early broadcast because they routinely just recap all the murders which took place the night before.

<cut to>

I glance to my left as a very attractive woman steps onto the treadmill there. She looks over and smiles at me as she sets her timer and the machine comes to life.

Oh, she could make me come to life too.

<cut to>

She holds up her hand and nods. "I’m sure of it. I know how the business works, Kelsey. Okay, let me try to simplify your life. I’m attracted to you. I think you’re attracted to me, and I would very much like to spend the night with you. I’m not asking for a commitment or a long-term relationship. But I do hope to see more of you."

<fade out>

Looking down at the timer, I drop my head a little, ten more minutes. Christ, I’m not sure why I’m on a treadmill at this hour of the morning. I have the day off and some part of me told me that an early trip to the gym would be good. I need to hurt that part of me.

No, what I need to do is learn to relax. Right. Like that’ll happen anytime soon.

I look up at the TV screen and see that it’s tuned to my station. The early morning anchors are delivering the news. The new guy, Jack Towne, isn’t half bad, but the woman has to go. Jesus. Fake breasts, fake nose, fake chin, and not a damn bit of brain stem activity taking place. The volume is down so as not to interfere with the music playing through the gym. They do have the closed captioning on, though, and I read as I continue my walk to nowhere on the treadmill.

The mourning news. That’s what I call the early broadcast because they routinely just recap all the murders which took place the night before. True to form, No Brain is introducing a segment on a body found on the beach. Another young woman, mid-twenties, petite, attractive and blonde.

Jesus. This is what, number two or three?

The police aren’t confirming it publicly, but our sources tell us it’s the work of a single killer. Apparently, he likes blondes. All of the victims were raped before their death. But, other than the victims’ physical characteristics and the rapes, the cops aren’t acknowledging any other similarities.

I sigh, thanking God I’m not a homicide cop. My job is hard enough as it is. I’d hate to get yanked out of bed in the middle of the night to go look at dead bodies all of the time.

I glance to my left as a very attractive woman steps onto the treadmill there. She looks over and smiles at me, setting her timer so the machine comes to life.

Oh, she could make me come to life too.

Tall, lean, dark hair down to her very shapely ass, toned in all the right spots. Oh God! I drop my head as I look to the timer again.

Seven more minutes.

"Excuse me?"

I look over to my newly arrived companion. She grins a little as she looks to me with almost shy reserve. "Yes?"

"You’re Kelsey Stanton, aren’t you?"

"Last time I got my driver’s license that’s what they told me." I smile back.

"I hope you don’t mind, I just wanted to tell you that I unh…well," she takes a deep breath and shakes her head a bit, "I really admire the work you do."

"Thank you. I appreciate that. We do try."

"You manage to get yourself in some pretty interesting situations."

Oh, if you only knew.

"Yeah, well, my field director/shooter has a real knack for getting us into trouble." I can’t help but laugh a little, as my mind runs quickly through all the stories Harper and I have done in just over two months together.

"Do you enjoy it? Doing those kinds of stories would scare me senseless."

"I don’t know if enjoy is the right word. I always enjoy living through them. Are you in the field?"

"Oh no, not me." She shakes her head again as she extends her hand. "I’m sorry, I’m Susan Hamilton." She has soft hands, but a firm grip. "I’m a doctor. Pediatrician."

"Nice to meet you." Very nice, actually.

I notice she holds my hand just a tick longer than necessary, before releasing it and gripping the rails of the treadmill. I recognize that white-knuckle death grip.

Four minutes left.

I’m not sure why my hand reaches out and adds another ten minutes, but it does. Oh hell, I know perfectly well why I did it.

Have I lost my mind? I’m imagining things here, most likely. I do not need to get laid that badly.

Like hell I don’t. I was willing to sleep with Harper. This can’t be any worse.

I spend another few minutes chatting with her and trying to get a better feel for my chances here. God, it’s been a long time since I’ve done this. But you know some of the things that Harper said in Omaha made sense. How long can I go on fooling myself?

My extra ten minutes pass pretty quickly. I step off, taking my towel and wiping down my face and neck, and I head over to the juice bar for a bottle of water. As I take a seat, I continue to watch her in the mirror. I notice she’s glancing my direction with a little grin too. This could be good.

Susan and I end up having breakfast together. She is absolutely delightful. I really enjoying talking with a normal, sane, rational human being.

Funny, I didn’t notice before, she has blue eyes. I shake my head as an image starts to take form. No. I refuse to let this be ruined by her.

"Listen." I put my mug down and hope I’m not about to make a complete fool of myself here. I lean forward a bit, resting my elbows on the table. "I have tickets to the symphony tonight. If you’re not busy…"

"I’d love too," she answers before I can even finish the sentence. "Maybe dinner before or drinks after? Or both, if we’re feeling daring."

"That would be very nice. Can I pick you up or would you rather meet somewhere?"

She reaches for her purse, pulling out a card and writing her home number and address on the back. "What time is the concert?" she asks as she hands me the card.

"I’m not sure. To be honest, I hadn’t planned on actually using the tickets."

"Well, tell you what," she says as she pulls her purse strap over her shoulder. "Why don’t you check and give me a call and we’ll go from there? My cell phone number is on the front."

"Great. I’ll talk to you soon."

"I’m looking forward to it, Kelsey." She gives me a wave as she heads out of the restaurant.

I flip the card slowly in my fingers after she’s left. It’s clearly her business card, giving the address of her practice and the names of the other pediatricians there. The back of the card is written in bold strokes, indicating a strong hand. I like strong hands.

Now I have to go buy symphony tickets. I sure hope they’re in town.

* * *

Dinner was very nice. The symphony was terrific. Drinks at the bar after were even better, but the bottle of wine we’re sharing now is the absolute best part of my evening. Even sitting, as we are, on opposites ends of my couch, talking and sipping the wine, this is the most relaxed I’ve been in weeks.