Sarah gaped at her. "So did I." She leaned in.

"How old are you?" they asked simultaneously.

Sarah laughed, and Rae rubbed her eyes. "Tell me," she insisted.

Sarah leaned back indignantly. "You tell me how old you are."

Rae hung her head. "Christ, you're odd... I'm forty-seven."

Sarah sighed unhappily. "I'm fifty-one. I can't believe we went to the same grammar school. I wish I would have known you. Heavens, you were a baby."

Rae grunted. "This is much better. I don't think I could have made love to you knowing we shared the same nuns."

They stared off into s.p.a.ce, avoiding each other as they took a sip of beer.

"You're right. This is infinitely better," Sarah said as they touched their bottles in agreement.

They spent the remainder of the afternoon rummaging through the files. Rae was trying to sort out the employees for her security check. She kept the file on Mike Porter separate.

Jane had called and informed them that the wake was to be the next day at Barr Funeral Home in Rogers Park. Sarah and Rae knew where it was. The funeral, of course, was the day after. Amy's parents had come in from Michigan. It was to be a small quiet service.

"How is everything? Do you still think Amy was murdered?" she asked, and Rae paced up and down.

"Yeah, Jane. I do, but I've got too many loose ends. I need a common thread."

Then Jane asked a curious question. "Will you call your friend Detective Grainger? She's been so helpful. I don't expect her to come, but I thought she'd like to know."

Rae agreed to tell her. She noticed a sad, faraway tone in her voice. "Everything all right, kiddo?"

There was a pause for an instant. "Yes, of course. I, well, I'll see you all tomorrow."

Rae couldn't help but hear her voice crack with emotion. "Okay, Jane. Don't worry. We'll all be there. I'll call Delia."

She put the phone down and stared at it. Then explained Jane's request. "Don't you think that's odd?"

Sarah smiled slightly but said nothing. Rae watched her curiously.

"Okay, what's going on in that literary head?"

"I don't think it's odd at all. Jane Whiting may be young but smart. I don't get the connection between her and Pam. I don't know. It's probably my Irish imagination."

Rae smiled affectionately. "More than likely, you Irish nut. Now come over here," she said firmly, and Sarah raised her eyebrows as she slowly walked over to her. Rae looked up and put her arms around her waist. "I do love the feel of you."

Sarah looked down, running her fingers through Rae's soft blond hair. She then pulled her head back and looked into her blue sparkling eyes.

"Here I thought you loved me for my mind," she said fondly, then realized what she said. She quickly recovered. "I didn't mean you loved me. I just meant jokingly."

Rae agreed hastily. "Oh, I know, I know. I didn't think you meant love as in love, love." She stopped, knowing she sounded stupid.

"No, no. I didn't mean love, in love," Sarah agreed, then stopped, also realizing the stupidity of the conversation.

They burst into laughter. Then stopped and looked into each other's eyes.

"Well, now that we know we're not in love with each other," Rae said.

Sarah heard the question in her voice and saw the helpless, vulnerable look on her handsome face. She also saw a woman struggling with her past, desperately trying to let it go and finally live. s.e.x between them came wonderfully easy. However, Sarah knew she was falling in love. It was a struggle for Rae, who Sarah was sure, was used to living on the run, taking the physical pleasures when and where she could. Commander Rae Jefferson took no prisoners.

Sarah smiled at the helpless pose as Rae looked up into her eyes. Sarah roughly tousled her hair and smiled. Cupping her face, she kissed her tenderly.

"Take me to bed, Commander," she said in a lilting seductive voice that sent shivers down to Rae's toes.

Rae stood, not losing eye contact. Sarah gave her a skeptical glance. "Don't you dare try to pick me up."

Rae laughed heartily and dragged the laughing woman all the way down the hallway.

Chapter 19.

Delia absently guided the shopping cart through the produce section of the neighborhood grocery store. She picked up a couple of tomatoes, some carrots, and lettuce and tossed them into the basket next to the bottle of wine. All at once, she got a pang of loneliness. "I'm tired of cooking for myself," she grumbled as she guided the wobbly cart down the aisle.

She thought of Rae and Sarah and smiled affectionately. If anyone deserved to be happy, it was Rae Jefferson. Sarah was just the thing she needed and at the right time. Rae was sliding into a dark abyss with no way of getting out. As she strolled down the aisles, Delia heard a familiar voice and looked up.

It was Jane Whiting and that Rodriguez woman. Jane stood there, almost cornered, as Pam argued with her. Yikes, Delia thought. As she tried to make an about-face, she heard Jane exclaim loudly.

"Will you stop this? You're driving me crazy. I was not flirting with the stock boy. My G.o.d, Pam. Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds?"

This had all the markings of a good old-fashioned marital spat. Delia had seen enough of them. She then noticed the stock boy in question make a beeline for the manager. Delia sighed and figured she'd step in before they were both completely embarra.s.sed.

She left her cart and walked up to them. "Well, good evening. A little late shopping? Me too. I just got off work and realized I had nothing in the house." She smiled as Pam shot an angry look at her. Jane let out a sigh that Delia could only describe as relief.

"Detective Grainger," she exclaimed, completely embarra.s.sed.

"Miss Whiting." Delia smiled and looked at Pam. "Miss Rodriguez."

Pam nodded, still furious. "Detective."

The conversation sounded like something out of Dragnet, Delia thought.

With that, the manager walked over and stood nearby. Delia turned to him, and he sighed gratefully when he recognized her.

"Hey, Bob," she said and winked.

He smiled and nodded, hoping she had it under control. "Detective Grainger, how are you? You just get off duty?" he asked affably and glanced at Pam, who was still doing a slow burn. Jane was mortified and hung her head, hiding her eyes.

"Yeah, protecting the community is a tough job." She sighed dramatically.

Bob chuckled, and Jane shot her a curious look. Then for some reason, she burst into laughter. All three of them looked at her.

Bob looked as though he wanted to run. Pam still glared.

Delia could do nothing but laugh along. "What? I do protect the community." She chuckled, and Jane laughed even harder.

Bob patted Delia on the shoulder. "And the community is grateful," he said with relief and walked away.

"Does that mean my groceries are free?" she called after him, and Jane tried to stop laughing but couldn't. "I guess not."

"All right, stop it, for chrissakes," Pam whispered to Jane. "Let's go. It was nice seeing you," she said to Delia, who nodded and watched Jane.

She hoped Jane was just crazy enough to think she had a great sense of humor-no luck. It had been her experience that when someone laughed so hard at seemingly nothing, crying came next.

The crying started.

Jane covered her face with her hands and wept quietly. Instinctively, Delia knew she didn't want to make a scene and ached to sob openly. Inexplicably, she wanted to go to her and put her arms around her.

Pam groaned. "Jane, please," she said helplessly and looked around.

Delia really didn't like this woman. She wasn't concerned before when berating her partner in a store. But now, she was worried about making a scene.

"Look, why don't you both go outside? I'll get your groceries," Delia offered.

Pam made a move to Jane, who shrugged her off and walked away. "Leave me alone," she cried as she pa.s.sed both of them.

Pam, red-faced, stood there while Delia tried not to show any signs of disgust. You deserved that one, my friend, she thought sadly. Pam fumbled an apology and walked away, leaving the cart behind.

Delia shook her head as she saw them out the store window. Pam pleaded her case as Jane wiped her cheeks. She stood bravely up to her and said something, then walked away. Pam made a move to her and shouted something, m.u.f.fled by the gla.s.s windows. Pam turned in the other direction and walked away.

"Ah, true love." Delia sighed and looked in their basket. She picked up some imported cheese and gave it a look. "Hmm," she grunted and tossed it into her own cart.

As she opened the trunk of her car, she heard a voice behind her. She whirled around to see Jane Whiting standing there, hugging herself and shivering. "Geezus, don't do that! Never sneak up on someone. Are you insane?"

Jane winced apologetically, still shivering.

"Where's your other half?"

"She went home, I hope. I... Could you do me a huge favor? I hate to ask you, but I left my purse in her car. Would you mind just dropping me off at her place? I'll call a cab from there."

Delia raised an eyebrow. "You don't live together?"

Jane snorted sarcastically as she sniffed. Delia rummaged through her pockets and handed her a handkerchief. Gratefully, Jane accepted it and blew her nose. Delia winced as Jane handed it back to her.

"You keep it. I insist," she said as if Jane handed her a tarantula.

"No, to answer your question. We do not live together. I stay with her when I don't have cla.s.ses. I live in Evanston, off campus." She rubbed her forehead.

Delia watched her sadly. "This has been quite a week for you, hasn't it?"

Jane looked at her, touched by her sincerity. She took a deep, quivering breath and nodded.

Delia could see the waterworks starting again and got her into her car. "Okay, let's get your purse."

They drove in relative silence as Jane looked around her car. "Is this a patrol car, Sergeant?"

Delia chuckled. "No, it's mine. I'm a detective, not a patrolman. Actually, I'm not a sergeant. Someday, though," she said hopefully as she drove.

Jane stole a glance at her. She was very nice and very attractive. Delia was a couple of inches taller than she was, and Jane noticed her smile from the first time they met. It engulfed her face and seemed to come from her soul.

"You're in the navy, as well?" She put her head back. "Turn right."

Delia nodded, watching the road as she drove. "Yep, the Reserves. I stayed in. Rae retired."

"Do you agree with Rae? That Amy was murdered?" She almost couldn't get the word out. Delia glanced at her and nodded.

"I'm not sure, Miss Whiting. But when Rae gets her mind set, it's hard to argue with her."

"And she's usually right?"

"Yeah. I have to agree, though. There's too much going on, but the police have determined it was an accident. So Rae will have to do this on her own. She's used to that."

Jane watched her for a moment. "I think you can call me Jane if you'd like. You admire Rae, don't you?" she asked, looking at her.

Delia, watching the road, grinned and nodded. "She's the best. If you're ever in a jam, she's your girl."

Jane looked down at her hands, playing with the handkerchief. "Oh, I don't know. You seemed to be in the right place at the right time tonight."

For an instant, Delia shivered at the softness of her voice.

"It's right here," Jane said.

Delia pulled in front of a brick bungalow and put the car in park.

"Thanks again," Jane said.

Delia reached over and took her arm. "I'll wait for you and take you home."

Jane smiled and patted her hand. "No, thanks. I'll get a cab. I don't want any more fighting. I'll..."

"I'll wait for you and take you home," Delia repeated.

Jane let out a sigh of resignation. "Are all 'someday detective sergeants' this stubborn?"

"Only the good-looking ones," Delia said; she frowned when Jane laughed out loud. "It wasn't that funny."

Jane got out of the car and closed the door. She bent down, and Delia opened the window. "Thanks, but I'm taking a cab. I can be stubborn, too." She smiled and walked away, leaving Delia watching her with a worried glance.