Matchmaker 12: December

I stopped for lunch at my favorite hole in the wall, and while I waited for my salad to arrive, I pulled out my phone, flicking through my notes until I found Brooklyn's number. I smiled as I pressed the button to dial, remembering the tingle I'd felt in my manhood when I'd seen her for the first time.

"Brooklyn Lancaster."

I decided to go full official business for this call. "Ms. Lancaster, this is Officer Ryan Husher, Chicago PD. I spoke to you about the theft of your Audi."

"Yes, Officer Husher, I remember."

"I have some good news and some bad news."

"Okay. I assume the good news is you found my car. What's the bad news?"

"The bad news is it's in police impound, and it isn't going anywhere under its own power."

There was a moment of silence. "What happened to it?"

"Someone crashed it. Badly."

"Shit... sorry."

I smiled. "No need to apologize. I said the same thing when I saw it, and it wasn't even my car."

She sighed. "So what happens now?"

"Now you fill out the paperwork to have your car released to you. Since there's no active crime involving your car, you can pick it up any time. Because the car was stolen from you, the department will waive the impound fees for the first five days, but after that, you'll have to pay twenty dollars a day for the first five days, then thirty-five dollars a day after that. Also, since the car was stolen, you won't have to pay the towing fee."

"You said I couldn't drive it?"

"I haven't seen it myself, but from the pictures, I'd say no." I licked my lips. "Listen, I know some people in the business. I'll be happy to help you get something worked out before the city starts charging you."

"You don't have to do that. You've done so much already."

"I don't mind. I can pick you up after my shift today, if that works for you. We can go to the impound yard, I'll help you with the paperwork, and we can get your car. Do you have a body shop you use, or would you like me to recommend someone? I know a good place."

She was quiet for a long moment. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

A smile tugged at my lips. "All part of the service, Ms. Lancaster."

"You're going to have to stop calling me that if you're going to do this much to help me."

"Okay, Brooklyn. Pick you up at your house around four-thirty? Impound closes at five, but if we hustle, that should be enough time."

"You're sure you don't mind?"

"Not in the least."

There was another pause. "Then I accept. After all this... mess... I'll take you somewhere nice for dinner, as a thank you."

"No need for that."

"I insist, or no deal."

I chuckled. "Okay. Fine. Dinner."

"And I don't know anything about this stuff, but you trust this place?"

"Yes. He did all the work on my car."

"What happens when the car gets there?"

"He'll look it over and write an estimate to repair it. Honestly, I'd be surprised if the car isn't totaled. Either way, he'll write the estimate, give it to your insurance company, and then your insurance company will write you a check for the value of the car or what it costs to have it repaired. He'll take care of all that for you. He's a good guy. You can trust him."

"If you trust him, that's good enough for me. Thank you."

I nodded in thanks as my salad appeared in front of me. "See you in about four hours."

There was no safe parking on the street in front of Brooklyn's house, so I drove around to the back and parked in her driveway. Her house wasn't tiny, but it was on a tiny lot. The lot was only twenty feet or so wider than her house, which itself wasn't very wide. My house was about thirteen hundred square feet, and her house was probably a little bigger than mine since it had a daylight basement, but at least I had a yard. There was a narrow strip of grass along the sides of the house, and not much more in back because of the driveway.

Of more interest was the house itself. I didn't know when it was built, but it was clearly older. When I'd walked through it, I could tell it had either been lovingly maintained or carefully restored, with gorgeous wood everywhere I looked. I followed the stone path along the side of the house to the front and rang the bell.

I especially liked the front of her house. There as a swath of green, well-maintained grass, with a huge, gnarled oak that loomed large over the house. The rest of the landscaping was colorful, mature, and equally well maintained, with the flagstone path along the side of the house curving around the corner to the front door before continuing to the street in front. The house itself was painted an almost dove grey with darker trim, had two large bay windows with a rich red door between that made me think of eyes and nose, and pointy dormers above that reminded me of ears. Overall, I thought the front of the house looked like a surprised cat, but it was a charming place with loads of character.

The door opened and I turned my attention away from the house. "Ryan. Come in. I'll be ready in a moment."

I followed Brooklyn into her house. She was dressed much more casually than when I'd met her the first time. Then she had been wearing a charcoal dress with a deep maroon jacket that was elegant, classy, and still business like. Today she was wearing a striped grey and black skirt and a white sleeveless top with small ruffles at the shoulder. What I knew about women's fashion I could easily scribble on my thumbnail, but she was equally stunning dressed up or down.

I knew from her case she was a year younger than my own forty-four years, but she easily looked ten or fifteen years younger than that. She was trim and athletic and obviously took good care of herself. She wore her light brown hair a bit longer than shoulder length, and she had the most beautiful dark eyes. Though she was slim through the hips, and not as heavily breasted as some, there was no mistaking she was all woman.

She disappeared up the steps, I heard a toilet flush, and a moment later she appeared again, her purse slung over her shoulder. "Ready."

I escorted her out through the garage. Inside was a new, silver A3. "Yours?" I asked with a nod at the Audi.

"Rental. Want me to follow you?"

That was the last thing I wanted. "Why don't you ride with me? I'll bring you home."

"After dinner, right?"

"After dinner," I confirmed.

She settled into the seat of my patrol car. The last time she'd been in my cruiser, conversation had been a little strained. We were still getting to know each other, but conversations flowed a little easier this time. We talked about my job, how I enjoyed what I did, and I found out she ran a small recruiting firm out of her house. That explained the office setup in what appeared to have been a den.

I pulled into the impound yard just minutes before five. Jerry's Towing was already there, waiting on us. I pulled to a stop beside the office. "Go on into the office. I'll get Jerry started loading your car."

"Can I see it?"

"Sure, if you want. It's not pretty."

I paused, stepping up on the fuel tank of the roll back, and told Jerry which car he was picking up. I then led Brooklyn to her sad looking Audi.

"Oh my," she murmured.

I nodded. "Yeah. They really did a number on it."

The car looked even worse than in the pictures. There was no way this car wasn't totaled. The left front suspension was completely missing, probably dragged off when they tried to load the car onto a rollback to haul it to the impound lot. The entire left side of the car was caved in, and every other panel on the car, save the roof, was as least dented. It hurt me to see such a nice car destroyed like this.

"Can your guy fix this?"

I slowly shook my head. "I don't think Herr Audi himself can fix this, but either way, we need to get it out of here so you're not paying storage fees."

She wasn't happy, and I didn't blame her. She turned away as Jerry backed his truck up to the car. I followed her into the office, she signed a few pieces of paper, and the car was released. As we exited the office, Jerry was still winching the car onto his truck, the sound of tortured metal loud as the car scraped onto his rollback.

"Now what?" she huffed.

"Now Jerry will take your car and drop it off at Steven's. He's expecting it. Tomorrow he'll look at it, and you'll receive a call either tomorrow or Monday."

She held my gaze for a moment. "Why are you doing this?"

I shrugged. "Why wouldn't I?"

"It's not your job?"

"I'm not doing it because it's my job. I'm doing it because you seem to need a little help." Her face hardened, and I could tell she didn't like me implying she was helpless. "Have you ever had to deal with something like this before?" I asked, trying to head off the brewing storm.

"No."

"I have. I've known Jerry since we were kids, and Steven... he painted my car and did a great job. He's a little guy, so I try to throw business his way when I can."

She held my gaze a moment longer before her face softened. "Well, thank you. It's nice of you to hold my hand through this."

"My pleasure."

"Are you ready for dinner? Anywhere you want to go."

"Do you mind if we go home first, so I can change into something less... official."

"That's fine. Where do you live?"

"Addison."

"That's north of here, right?"

"Out near O'Hare, yeah. Besides, if I can pick, the place I want to go is not far from where I live."

She waved her hand in the direction of my cruiser. "Lead on."

As we made the forty-minute drive to Addison, she was quiet. "You okay?"

She looked at me and smiled. "Yeah. Just bummed about my car. I liked that car."

"I suspect you'll be getting a new one."

"Maybe, but I liked that car. I loved the green and I've never seen another one like it."

"Maybe they still make it in that color."

"Maybe." She glanced at me. "Do you really think my car is totaled?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I do. It's in rough shape. Think about it. Do you really want the car back? Who knows what hidden damage may have been done to it? If it were my car, I'd be praying insurance totaled it, and even if they didn't, I'd drive it straight from Steven's to the dealership to trade it in."

She held my gaze for a moment. "I hadn't thought of that. Maybe your right."

"I am. Trust me."

I pulled into my drive and pushed the button to start the door rumbling up. "Is that a Mustang?" she asked as the car parked in the garage appeared.

"Yeah. A '69 Boss 429. It belonged to my mother's grandfather."

"Did you fix it up yourself?" she asked as I crept into the garage.

"Yeah, most of it. It was a real pile when I got it. Steven fixed the rust and painted it."

"It's beautiful."

I smiled. I liked that she appreciated the car. "Thanks. I'm going to change and then I'll be right out. Can I get you anything?" I asked as I led her into the kitchen.

"No, but thank you."

"Then make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back."

I quickly changed out of my uniform and into street clothes, transferring my pistol into a hidden holster that I tucked into the back of my jeans. She was way over dressed for where I wanted to take her, but I didn't think I could talk her out of her clothes. I smiled as I buckled my belt. If I could talk her out of her clothes, I'd be more interested in eating something other than a burger.

When I stepped into the family room, she was studying a few pictures scattered around the room. "Cute girl. Yours?"

I nodded. "Cassidy, my daughter. She's sixteen now." I could tell she wanted to ask but was too polite. "She lives with her mother in Florida."

"Oh."

"Yeah. We divorced about eight years ago and she moved back to Florida to be—" I made air quotes "—near her family. What she really wanted to be was near the guy she was banging."

Her face twisted in sympathy. "That sucks."

"Yeah, it did. I should have known something was up from all the trips she had to make home for family emergencies."

It had stung like a bastard when I came home from work one day only to have Steph slap me with divorce papers, but I was over it now. I'd fought for Cassidy, but my sometimes erratic work schedule and the inherent dangers of my job had worked against me. I'd been forced to settle for getting Cassidy two weeks at the start of summer, a week at Christmas, and I called her every Sunday night without fail.

"I'm sorry."

"Yes, well, shit happens, you know? Do you eat meat?" I asked, forcing a change of subject. The last thing I wanted to talk about tonight was my failed marriage.

"Sure."

"Do you trust me?"

She smiled. "Implicitly."

"Then you're in for a treat," I said as I placed my hand on her back and nudged her toward the garage, testing the waters to see how she'd react to my touch. She didn't recoil in horror, and my smile grew slightly.

Ryan pulled his Mustang out of the garage, blipping the throttle to make the car bark and growl. The car was beautifully made, but I had the sense there was a lot more to his old Ford than met the eye. My Audi was fast, damned fast, but it was like a cheetah... grace mixed with power. With its deep, rumbling idle, this car struck me more like a bear... massive power and all the subtlety of a brick to the side of the head.

The car fit him. Dressed in jeans, loafers, and a white button front shirt, Ryan was a walking wet dream. His current shirt didn't fit him as snuggly as the t-shirt had, but I knew what was under there all the same. Like his car, he also had a slight swagger that was like catnip. He may not be a billionaire, but he was as sure of himself as any man. I had little doubt that in any competition that didn't involve comparing bank account sizes, he could very well come out on top against anyone.

"How long have you had the car?" I asked, forcing my thoughts away from Ryan before I found myself sitting in a puddle of my own making.

"About twelve years. Like I said, it was a real pile when I got, and I spent the next ten years restoring it, working on it when I had the time and money."

"It's beautiful."

"Thanks. I spent a lot of time with this old girl after Steph left. This car and the gym, they were my life for two or three years. The car to take my mind off Cassidy, and the gym..."

That explained his body. "The gym?" I prodded.

He glanced at me. "The gym to work off the anger."

I surreptitiously looked him over again. He must have been really upset. "I'm sorry."

He smiled at me. "Not your fault, and as I said, I'm over it now. The only time I get pissed off anymore is when Cassidy has to go home to her mother." He glanced at me again. "Don't get me wrong, Steph's a good mother, but she still cheated on me and took my daughter away."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I changed the subject. "Where am I taking you to dinner."

"Burgatory."

"Purgatory?" I repeated, not understanding.

"Burgatory," he replied with a smile. "Damned fine burgers paired with hellishly good beer."

I snickered. "Seriously?"

He nodded with a smile. "Yeah. A friend of mine owns the place. He opened about five years ago. He home brewed the best beer I'd never tasted, and I finally talked him into going into business. He's still really small, only six hundred barrels a year with eight employees, but I know he'll eventually go big. He still brews the best beer I've ever tasted. His Purgatory Orange is incredible."

I grinned. "Seems like you know everybody."

He shrugged. "I know a few people. I've lived around here my entire life. Greg and Jerry I've known forever. We went to high school together. Steven, I met him when I was looking for someone to paint my car. If you ever need a plumber, I know a good one, and there's a florist on my beat that has some amazing arrangements," he continued with a teasing smile.

I grinned in return. "I'll keep that in mind."

A few minutes later he pulled into what appeared to be some type of converted commercial structure from the fifties or sixties. Made from concrete block painted black, the building rose to the height of two floors with the glass covered front showing huge brass kettles on one side and a restaurant on the other. Lit with red and orange neon, the place was busy, and I could see happy couples laughing inside. He parked his car and led me to the door.

"Ryan!" a man called from behind the bar, raising a hand in greeting as we entered. "Long time no see, pal. Who's this lovely creature?"

My face began to burn as Ryan steered me toward the man. "Greg Smollette, Brooklyn Lancaster. Brooklyn, Greg," Ryan said, making the introductions.

I extended my hand over the bar. "Nice to meet you, Greg. Ryan's been telling me about you."

Greg smiled. "He's a lying P.O.S."

I snickered. "He said you made the best beer in the world."

Greg beamed. "Like I said, Ryan's a stand-up guy and you can trust him."

"We're going to grab a table. Bring her a sampler, and you know what I want," Ryan said, putting his hand on my back to nudge me away from the bar.

Burgatory wasn't large, with much of the space taken up by the brewery, but the brass plumbing behind the wall of glass that separated the restaurant from the brewery made for interesting décor. I glanced around as we settled into a booth.

"I like it."

"Wait until you taste the beer." His face clouded. "You do drink beer, right? I should have asked first."

I smiled. "Occasionally. I'm more of a wine person, but I'm willing to keep an open mind."

"Okay, good. If you have any taste for beer at all, I'm certain you'll find something you like."

"And the burgers? I hear they're damned good."

He chuckled. "Pretty damned good."

Before I could respond, an older but still pretty, busty waitress in a low-cut top appeared with six small glasses in a wooden frame. Underneath the glasses was a laminated card with the name of each beer and a brief description. She slid the sampler tray in front of me.

"Ryan. How've you been?" she asked as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her into his side. She draped an arm around his shoulders and leaned close. They were clearly very comfortable together.

"Not bad. How're you?"

"Hanging in there. When are you going to stop by and see us again?"

"Don't know. Been busy. You know how it is."

"Yeah, I know." She smiled at me. "Enjoy your sampler," she said as she slowly pulled out of his embrace.

I'd known Ryan maybe six hours, but the green-eyed monster scratched at the lid of its box all the same. "Friend of yours?" I asked, my tone light.

He smiled. I don't think I fooled him at all. "You could say that. That's Ellen, Greg's wife." He tapped the orange beer in the middle. "Save that one for last."

My face heated again and I felt like a shmuck. I pulled the first beer from the rack, Purgatory Light, a light IPA with a smooth floral start and a clean finish, according to the card under the glass. The glass held just enough beer for a good taste. I smacked my lips. It tasted like beer, no better, no worse.

"It's okay," I said with a shrug.

He smiled slightly but said nothing as I tried the next, and then the next, working my way down the rack, skipping the Purgatory Orange as he suggested. Some I liked okay, others I was neutral on. None were bad, but none were as good as he made them out to be. Then again, I wasn't a beer connoisseur, and for all I knew, they could all be fantastic. Midway through the tasting, we placed our burger order with Ellen, and now that I knew who she was, her familiar friendliness with Ryan wasn't so off putting. I'd never admit it, but when he'd hugged her the first time, I'd assumed they were lovers, either past or present. Ellen was a little heftier than me, but Ryan struck me as the type to go for women with big boobs over my average sized breasts.