SK01 - Waist Deep by Frank Zafiro

cautious, guarded expression that she’d had when she arrived, only now there wasn’t a smile to mask it.
    “I know there’s no chance for us,” I told her. “Not after all that’s happened. I know where I’m at right now would be a deal breaker all by itself. That’s not even counting what happened on the job or between us. So—“
    “Do you think that’s what it’s about?” she snapped. “Where you are now?”
    I nodded. “Yeah. I do.”
    Katie shook her head. “You’re still a selfish bastard,” she said, her voice low er . Caution had given way to anger and a blush of red lit up her cheeks. “Nothing’s changed.”
    I didn’t answer. It was easier that way.
    “But you’re right,” she said, the anger rising in her voice. “There’s no chance for us. I could’ve told you that four years ago. But I thought maybe we could still be friends.”
    “Women always think that,” I muttered. “But it doesn’t work like that.”
    Katie shook her head in disgust. “And for men, if you’re not having sex or trying to have sex, then there’s just no point, is there?”
    We sat in silence for a long moment. I wondered if she was right about what she said.
    Katie took a sip of her tea and looked out the window toward Sprague. I looked at the soft hollow of her throat and remembered kissing it. The scent of her hair.
    “You really think we can still be friends?” I asked quietly.
    Katie didn’t look at me. She slid out of the booth. “I guess we’ll see,” she said before walking out of the diner.
    I followed her with my eyes and felt a stab of sadness at how erect she stood as she strode confidently away. I stole a glance at the curve of her hips just as the diner’s door swung closed behind her.
    “I guess we will,” I said to no one and no one answered me.

20
     
     
    Phyllis re-filled my coffee and took away the tea cup , which was still nearly full. I pushed my thoughts of Katie as far away from the front of my mind as I could and I opened the folder that she’d brought for me.
    Keeping her out of mind was nearly impossible as I thumbed through the pieces of paper inside the folder. She must’ve received my voice message almost immediately and gone straight to work. There were notes on some of the items, and they were grouped together by subject.
    I took a deep breath and rubbed my eyes. She put some effort into this. And now, just like that, she was gone again. A familiar aching in my chest flared and pulsed at the thought.
    I took a sip of my hot coffee and swallowed too soon. My throat burned and my eyes watered. I brushed at my eyes and turned back to the file.
    Matt Sinderling had nothing more than traffic tickets on his record, which didn’t surprise me. Katie had written only one word in red ink below his entries. “Comp?” meaning complainant.
    Good guess, chica.
    Gary LeMond was also clean. Not even a traffic citation. I noticed that he’d been fingerprinted, but Katie had circled the entry and made a note that all teachers are required to be printed for their teaching certificates.
    Kris Sinderling had just one entry. My stomach sank when I saw the type-code for the entry.
    PROST , it read.
    “Great,” I muttered. Prostitution.
    It didn’t make sense. How does a girl like Kris go from wanting to be a movie star, and probably having the tools to make it happen, to working on the streets? That was a Los Angeles story maybe , but not a River City story.
    The entry wasn’t a formal charge or even an arrest, though. It was an FI, a field interview. That mean t a cop had stopped her and figured that pr ostitution was what she was up to. He just didn’t have enough probable cause to make an arrest , so he did an FI .
    Even so, she was a runaway. Why didn’t he take her into protective custody and call her parents ?
    I looked at the date and realized the contact had occurred before Matt had reported her as a runaway.
    I pressed my lips together. Fine, she wasn’t a runaway.