Robert B. Parker's Debt to Pay by Reed Farrel Coleman

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    Luther “Suitcase” Simpson had a sense of where he wanted it to go from the first time he had seen Elena Wheatley all those years ago. Now he was sure of where it was going and he was sure life was too short to spend another minute apart from her if he didn’t have to. He wanted to share his joy with the world and the rest of his life with Elena.
    He stepped around the cruiser and up the walk. The beads of sweat on his brow had nothing to do with the heat of the day. He knocked at her door, not wanting to let himself in. He hadn’t let her know he was coming. He was about to knock again when the door pulled back. Suit beamed at the sight of her in a bathrobe, her wet hair dripping onto her shoulders.
    â€œLuther . . . this is a happy surprise,” she said, smiling, waving him inside. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. “Is everything okay?”
    â€œFine, good. Everything’s good.” His voice was brittle.
    Elena threaded herself between his big arms and pressed her body close to his. The light coconut-and-floral scent of her conditioner filled up Suit’s head and he was lost for a second. Then Elena tilted her head back and said, “So what’s up, Officer Simpson?”
    He didn’t speak, plunging his right hand into his pocket, fishing for the ring. Then, just as he was about to pull it out of his pocket, the radio crackled.
    â€œSuit.” It was Molly. “Get back in here. Now.”
    He dropped the ring into his pocket, raised his right arm, and pressed the talk button on the mic on his shoulder. “But I’m—”
    â€œRight now, Suit. Jesse wants you in immediately.”
    â€œRoger that.”
    â€œWhat’s that about?” Elena asked.
    Suit shrugged and kissed her hard on the mouth. “I’ve got to go.”
    â€œI love you, Luther.”
    He smiled at her, kissed her on the top of her head. “Me, too. Very much.”
    Back in the cruiser, he patted his pocket and hoped it would go easier the next time he tried to propose.

TWENTY-ONE
    H e had called Healy, but hadn’t explained why he’d asked him to come to the station house. After talking to Healy, he’d called back the Boston Homicide detective to apologize for hanging up on him. Jesse made a perfectly reasonable excuse about an emergency situation popping up just as he’d called. The detective seemed only too willing to accept the little-town chief’s excuse and rushed him off the phone without bothering to ask why he’d called in the first place. That suited Jesse fine. The bigger issue was that Jesse suddenly knew things that other cops would want to know, but he wasn’t sure he could risk telling them . . . at least not yet. That was where Healy would come into it.
    Suit, still wound up over having nearly proposed marriage, was annoying Molly, eating donuts, and drinking coffee. Suit was basically his old self now that he was back on patrol again, but Jesse worried about him. He had always worried a little more about Suit than he did about his other cops, even before the shooting. Suit was a living example of the adage that men grow old, but never grow up, and his still-boyish face only served to drive the point home. He was a kid in a big man’s body. The question in Jesse’s head was, Whatwould happen if Suit ever had to pull his weapon again? Would he hesitate? Worse, would he be too quick to shoot? The department shrink had given Suit a clean bill of health, but Jesse worried just the same. Back in L.A. he had seen what violent encounters could do to even the most experienced cops. Shooting another human being, even one as detestable as Mr. Peepers, comes at a price. Getting shot yourself comes with an even bigger price.
    When Healy showed up, Molly called in to Jesse to let him know.
    â€œYou and Suit come in, too. Tell Suit to bring in two extra chairs.”
    Healy was in golfing mode today but