Read The First Rule of Ten for Free Online Page B

too.”
    “I don’t care if she’s the radiant goddess Tara incarnate. I’m not interested.”
    For the past six months, since she quit her job to have and raise the twins, Martha has been on a one-woman tear to fix me up with a new girlfriend. I finally caught on after the third “accidental” drop-in of an available female right around the first course of yet another supposedly relaxed family dinner.
    Bill sighed.
    “I’ll be sure Martha makes it clear you aren’t looking for a mate. Anyway, Julie’s almost as gun-shy as you. She’s coming off a disastrous breakup with a crazy sommelier. You don’t want to know.”
    “No, I don’t.”
    “Come for dinner, Ten. Martha misses you. Hell, another day or two, and I may even start to miss you. Anyway, you haven’t seen the girls in months.”
    I heard the crunch of tires turning into my driveway. This hideaway home of mine was becoming a regular Greyhound bus station.
    “I’ll call you back,” I said.
    I crossed to the window. A black-and-white pulled up, followed by a dusty sedan so nondescript I immediately made it as an unmarked police vehicle.
    I recognized the local cop the minute he clambered out of the car and hitched up his pants. He was middle-aged, built like a cement wall, with a permanent look of disappointment etched into his features. I’d seen him around. His main beat seemed to be traffic citations, handing out greenies to entitled yuppies making illegal U-turns around town.
    Hey, I’d be disappointed, too. A traffic beat isn’t exactly the pinnacle of police work.
    I didn’t recognize the plainclothes detective. He was bone-thin, with a hawk face. His suit was in serious need of a visit to the dry cleaners.
    They ambled toward my back door.
    I tucked my T-shirt into my jeans. Pulled it out again. Smoothed my hair. Noted the flicker of nerves in my chest.
    Remarkable. I’d only been a civilian for a few days, but apparently that’s all it took to cross the invisible boundary separating the rest of the world from law enforcement. I was no longer a member of that exclusive club. I wasn’t sure I liked the feeling.
    They clomped up the back steps and rapped on the door. I opened it and extended my hand.
    “Ten Norbu.”
    Hawk Face gripped hard. “Detective Terry Tatum,” he said. “This is Officer Morris.”
    Morris’s handshake was damp and halfhearted. I refrained from wiping my palm on my jeans.
    “I’ve seen you around town,” I said to Morris. “What’s up?”
    Tatum stepped in before Morris could reply. Interesting. Must be two jurisdictions.
    “We’re hoping you can help us with an investigation,” Tatum said. “But first, I guess congratulations are in order. I hear you just put in your papers.”
    “Word gets around fast. What division are you in?”
    “Sheriff’s Department. Fifteen years on the job.”
    “My sympathies,” I said, which elicited a tiny, tight smile from him. There’s no love lost between the LAPD and County.
    I gestured toward the kitchen table. They sat.
    “Want a cup of coffee?” Dumb question. They were cops. Of course they wanted coffee.
    I busied myself setting out two mugs, filling them with the strong Arabian brew left over from breakfast and stored in a carafe. I tend to make a lot of coffee. I don’t always drink it all, but I like knowing it’s there. As I set down the mugs, I mentally ran through my cold cases, trying to work out what brought them to my house.
    I came up blank.
    “So, what’s the investigation?”
    Tatum and Morris exchanged glances.
    Tatum again spoke first. “There was a woman in a beat-up Volkswagen seen coming up your road yesterday. One of your neighbors thought she might have turned into your driveway.”
    “Barbara Maxey,” I said. “She was looking for her ex-husband, Zimmy Backus.”
    I gave them the quick sketch of my brief interaction with her, leaving out my little frisson of attraction.
    Morris scribbled in a small notebook. His writing was spiky