Saturday, May 14, 2016

The Colors of Hate - 24

Dean couldn’t help the pang of hurt he felt, even though he couldn’t deny the validity of Kirby’s words. His voice was bitter as he told them, “Feel free to use the office. I have to get back to rehearsals.” He walked quickly from the room, resisting the temptation slam the door like a petulant child.

As he strode down the hall to the auditorium his thoughts were in a whirl. He couldn’t decide if he was upset because of what Kirby had said, or because it was Kirby who had said it. Which is ridiculous. Why would it matter which one thought I shouldn’t be there But he knew why and it surprised the hell out of him. Somehow, in the brief time he’d known him, he’d come to think of Kirby as a friend—not just a cop who was trying to solve Ange’s murder. He’d opened up to him, which was something he never did. Thanks, Dad. Thanks for making me look at everyone as a potential enemy.

He pulled open the door to the auditorium angrily.

“Damn it. Hold on will you.”

Dean spun around to see Kirby standing there shaking his head, and growled out, “Why? I have a job to do and so do you. Go do it and leave me be.”

“Dean, come on, you know I was right. This is not the place for us to talk about it. If you hadn’t gotten on your high horse, if you’d have let me finish, I’d have suggested we go some place else. When you’re free that is.”

“Oh.” Dean looked down, unable to meet his eyes now because he felt like a fool.

“I was thinking, and Reid agrees, that my apartment would work.”

“Rather than a…a coffee shop…or something?”

“Well if that would make you feel more comfortable.”

“I… No. Your place is fine with me. But I don’t know when I’ll be finished here.”

Kirby nodded. “We have to go back to the station house anyway. So"—he checked the time—“do you think you’ll be out of here by say eight or nine?”


“Okay. So we’ll plan on eight and if it’s going to be a lot later call me. You have my number.”

“I will.” Dean started to open the door again then realized he didn’t know where Kirby lived. He turned and started to say, “Where do you…” only to find Kirby handing him a card on which he’d written his address.

They both laughed, Kirby saying, “I’m not really a mind reader.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Dean replied, pocketing the card. “I’ll see you later then.”

“Counting on it.”

Dean wasn’t certain, but he thought there was something in the tone of Kirby’s voice and his smile which were a bit more personal than business. He smiled back and finally stepped into the auditorium. I’m…reading things in where I shouldn’t.

He really hoped he wasn’t.


  1. Oh we have a hot head on our hands! Excellent! Kirby will have his hands full. Thanks for making the weekend much better.