Ice Blue by Emma Jameson Read Free Book Online Page A

reason for being alive, and I love it. Other times, I
come home to Ritchie and Henry, and we have a fun dinner and a few
laughs, and I go to bed thinking they’re the absolute best things
in my life. But neither feeling sticks around for long.”
    Hetheridge, unwilling to make insincere small
talk about a situation he could hardly imagine, said nothing. They
settled into an easy silence, journeying over the river and back
into South London, neither compelled to speak until Hetheridge
pulled up in front of Kate’s building.
    “You remembered how to get back without
turning on the GPS,” Kate said, unbuckling her seat belt.
    “Detective,” Hetheridge said, touching his
forefinger to his temple.
    “See you at seven.” Climbing out of the car,
Kate reached up to undo her tight bun, pulling her hair free in
thick, matted strands. She closed the car door behind her, took a
step toward her building, and then turned back, opening the door
again.
    “By the way,” she said, leaning back into the
Lexus, “if you were engaged to Madge Comfrey twenty years ago, I
was indeed alive at that time, thank you very much. I happen to be
thirty-one years old.”
    “I’ll make note of that.”
    She waited, then asked, “How old are
you?”
    Hetheridge smiled. “In a week, I’ll be
sixty.”
    “Ah. An age referred to, in the common
parlance, as fifty-nine. Fine. Thanks for sharing. And don’t worry,
I wouldn’t dare call you Tony. But you can call me Kate,” she said,
and closed the door.

Chapter Six
    Kate made it back to New Scotland Yard by
7:03 am. Hurrying into the lobby with breakfast, a large coffee
heavily dosed with artificial sweetener and creamer, gripped in one
hand, she swerved around two human road blocks and made for an open
lift.
    “One more!” she called to the navy blue suits
and frowning faces that occupied the half-empty elevator. No one
moved, and the doors began to close.
    “Wankers,” she muttered, throwing herself
toward the lift. Her left hand shot into the shrinking space
between doors and wall, and the mechanism halted, opening again.
Kate’s shoulder bag rocketed backward as she entered, smacking the
nearest navy-suited man, and the slick bottoms of her pumps threw
her off balance, almost sending her into the arms of a scowling,
thin-lipped woman. Relieved to still be in custody of her coffee,
Kate repositioned her handbag, corrected her posture, and smiled at
her reflection in the lift’s highly polished metal doors. She’d
worn her best suit – a gray pinstriped jacket/skirt combo with a
hint of pink in the weave, and a bit of black lace peeking out at
the cuffs and hem. She’d even gone so far as to wear those
hazardous black pumps, which were already pinching her toes. She
looked pulled-together, competent, professional.
    “Tarted up for your next cock tease?” a voice
said in her ear.
    She half-turned to see Superintendent
Jackson, one of the navy suits, directly behind her. His face
looked fatter than ever. A crumb of something white, probably
pastry, clung to the corner of his moist pink mouth.
    “Just on my way to Hetheridge’s office,” she
said sweetly.
    Jackson snorted. “He’s gone soft in more ways
than one. Tough sell for the likes of you.”
    The lift dinged, and the doors opened on
Kate’s floor. Crossing the lift’s threshold, she put her shoulder
against its retracted doors and fixed Jackson with a pleading
look.
    “Now that I’ve been reassigned, I just want
to take a moment and publicly ask your forgiveness for saying you
had a small penis. A man’s penis size should never be mocked in the
workplace. And the way I squeezed my fingers together to indicate
something itty-bitty, or just stuck out my pinky finger to
symbolize you,” she continued, demonstrating both actions, “was
inexcusable. Please forgive me, and understand I’ve learnt my
lesson.” With that, Kate released the doors and stepped back. The
doors shut, and Superintendent Jackson’s spluttering