Chapter Nine

I squinted at my watch in the alternating flashed of light and realized that almost 20 minutes had gone by.� There may have been initial reports of gunfire, but nothing seemed to be going on now.� I decided to check up on Rooney. � I figured I could say I was official, or something, and point out my staff shirt.

My timing, as usual, was superb, and I rounded the corner just as the two paramedics were wheeling out a stretcher.� It came toward me, feet first, and something about the Reeboks sticking out the end seemed familiar, so I kept looking.� My eyes swept up over the rest of the stretcher, and the dark spots seeping though the white covering assembled themselves into a complete picture in my mind, as I realized that the spots were blood!

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew the sheet away from the top, and the white face beneath was one I knew.� I caught my breath.

"Damn, Jayne," was the voice at my back. � "I told you to stay in the car."

I whirled around and disgraced myself by semi-swooning into Rooney's arms.� But I quickly recovered and pointed at the still figure."

"I know," Rooney soothed. "It's rough to see your first body, but if you'd stayed in the car..."

"No, no," I managed to get the words out. � "That's not it.� Don't you see?� I know him!"

Nobody else was paying attention to my outburst, but Rooney took charge, as usual.� He steered me away and back toward his car, passing a uniformed cop.

"Secure the scene, Jack," he told him. "The guys are just about finished."

Without another word, he commandeered my arm and marched me to the car.� Unceremoniously, he helped me inside.

"What was that, again?" he asked at last, when he had joined me inside.

"That guy," I gulped.� "I know him from work.� His name's Derek Martin.� Is he dead?"

"Deader than a doornail," Rooney replied bluntly.� He started the car and headed toward my place.� We didn't say anymore until we arrived at my door.� Once inside, Rooney went right for the phone.� I didn't eavesdrop on his conversation, I was too busy making myself a scotch on the rocks, double.

"This Derek Martin," Rooney said, as he joined me at the counter and lifted the bottle to pour one for himself.� "Do you know much about him?"

"Not really,� He lived somewhere in town, I guess.� He works in the QC lab at Potts Labs.� That is he did, well, he just got suspended.� He was here only yesterday to bring me his plants.� Oh, my heavens, I didn't water them.� Do you think they're dead, too?"� I was babbling on, and Rooney put his finger over my lips to silence them.

Then he raised my hand and put the glass to my mouth. � "Drink," he commanded.

After a few sips, I felt a little more steady, and I let him lead me to the couch.� I guess we talked about Derek some more, and I told him what I knew, that Derek was an orphan with distant relatives somewhere in Nebraska. � Except for what I knew about him at work, there was little more to add. � Rooney just kept murmuring encouraging words, and lifting my hand with the glass to my lips, and finally the little dead spot in my gut began to take on a warm glow.

I don't remember exactly how things progressed after that, but Rooney put his arm around me, just to comfort me, and then his gun got in the way, so it took it and his jacket off.

Then, his hand was touching the staff logo on my shirt again, so gently, and suddenly, I was awfully warm, and his unbuttoning the shirt and removing it seemed perfectly natural.� The next thing I remember was his lips on mine, and how sweet and tender they were.� Somehow, we found our way to the bedroom, and his lips were compelling, and I abandoned all dreadful thoughts to pleasurable ones.

When my eyes next opened to the shrill ringing of my alarm clock, a shaft of sunlight was streaming through my window and highlighting the dark tan of the naked male body next to mine.� I saw something tiny moving on his flanks, and I peered more closely.� One of my little black and orange lady bugs was parading up and down the length of him.� That's for good luck, I reminded myself.

For a moment, I recklessly thought of putting my lips to the spot, but my serious morning self asserted herself, and I reluctantly put idea out of my head.� He was so soundly asleep that he didn't awaken when I got out of bed, nor when I went about the business of getting ready for work.� I longingly thought of staying home, but homicide or not, Tater would be expecting me to cover for him for the rest of the week.

Genevra was waiting by her dish when I went into the kitchen to make coffee.� By the time I'd returned to take Rooney a cup, he was gone, but I could hear the sound of the shower.� I went back to sit at the kitchen table and wait for him to appear.� When he did, he was fully dressed in his clothes of yesterday.� As our eyes met, it was with the slightly embarrassed look that two first-time lovers give each other on the morning after, but I smiled, and he returned it warmly.

"More coffee?" I asked as I lifted the pot above the empty cup he carried.

He nodded.

We sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, sipping coffee, before he spoke.

"Jayne," he began, "I hope you didn't think I took advantage..."

I looked up to meet those clear blue eyes fixed on me, eyes that you could drown in, and I felt myself slipping away.� So I rushed into speech.� "You don't have to explain, and neither do I.� It just, was. � I'm not about to look for any commitments."

"It isn't that, " he said taking my hand from across the table.� "I appreciate you just the way you are, Jayne."

"Thanks for being there," I told him.� I looked up at the clock to avoid further discussion.� I wasn't sure just what direction I wanted this conversation to take, just then.� "I've got to be at work in half an hour.� Would you like some breakfast?"

"No, but thanks, anyway."

"Do you mind if I ask you something, about last night?"

He gave me a questioning look.

"I mean, about Derek.� Was he shot?"

"Several times, as a matter of fact, close range."

"Any suspects?"

"Nobody saw anything, of course.� The apartment seemed to be ransacked, but his landlord had no idea what might be missing."

"It's so crazy, why would anyone want to kill Derek? � He was just a kid."� I shook my head, stood up and went over to the sink to rinse out my cup.� Rooney joined me and handed me his mug.

"I've got to be going, too," he said.� He gave me that crooked little grin, and then tipped up my chin for a kiss.

"Now, this is crazy," he said, after he kissed me. "A nice level-headed Irishman like me, getting mixed up with the likes of a Jayne Deaux."

"Don't let my French grandmother hear you say that," I teased.� "She always warned me about Irish men.� Even more dangerous than the French, I understand."

"Could be," he answered, and kissed me again.

He put on his gun and his jacket, and I shuddered � little, remembering last night's violence.� Picking up my briefcase and keys, I headed for the door, and he followed.

"I'll call you soon," he said as he left me at my car."

I smiled up with silent joy.� "O.K.," I said, and left for Potts Labs.

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