Page 14 of Manner of Death
She rolled her eyes and dropped into her desk chair but said nothing more.
Bashir watched her for a moment, then shook his head, pulled on his glasses again, and went back to the report he’d been reading. Not that he could concentrate. The conversation with Detective Villeray had already left him somewhat off-balance, and now there was Tami’s prickly attitude toward the detective. That was seriously weird. Though…
Okay, no, it really wasn’t. Because while Tami was very good at her job, she had some issues with personal boundaries. In particular, it was no secret that she had a thing for Bashir or that it had ended her engagement. When Tami had come into work last year with red eyes and no ring the Monday after her now-ex-fiancé had confronted Bashir, Bashir had sat her down and made it clear in no uncertain terms where the lines were.
“I’m gay,” he’d told her. “And even if I wasn’t, I don’t date coworkers, especially not subordinates. We’re colleagues, and maybe friends, but that’s it.”
He didn’t know if her heartbroken expression had been because he’d rejected her or, well, because she’d just had her heart broken by the man she’d been planning to marry. Either way, they’d come to an understanding that had allowed them to continue working together.
Sometimes he wondered if that part—continuing to work together—had been a wise decision. Today was one of those times.
Well, it was what it was. If nothing else, he supposed her attitude would make the detective think twice about trying again.
That thought gave him pause. Usually, he’d be all over a buffer between him and someone whose advances he wanted to reject. Especially when the guy was absolutely off-limits thanks to minor details like “he’s a goddamned cop.”
But this time…
Bashir suppressed a groan, took off his glasses again, and rubbed his eyes. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he almost regretted turning down Detective Villeray. Almost. The man was anything but unattractive, and Bashir had to give him credit for being ballsy enough to ask, even if he hadn’t been as slick about it as he’d probably intended. Suuure, he’d “accidentally” left his phone in the morgue. Because that was a normal thing to do. Most people outside the death business were way too squeamish to put a personal effect on any surface in a morgue, never mind forget it, never mind voluntarily walk back into the morgue to retrieve it. Even the most grizzled cops who’d seen everything under the sun—like the ones who routinely attended autopsies, which many of the detectives did—weren’t fond of this place. They sure as shit wouldn’t relish the idea of carrying around an object that had spent time here. The one other time someone had left a phone in the morgue, Tami had called their desk to let them know, and they’d said, “You know, I really need to upgrade anyway and everything’s stored on the cloud. Just, uh… get rid of it, I guess.”
It was a nice phone, too, but whatever.
And yet Detective Villeray…
Hell. Maybe I should give him a chance.
No. No. Fuck, no. He was a cop. Bashir was done dating cops. He wouldn’t even date someone who worked with cops. Like that seriously hot diver they sometimes called in to recover bodies? Nope. Not gonna happen.
But he’s hot. And he’s into me. And—
And clearly Bashir was just frustrated because he still had blue balls from last night.
Ah. That was it. This wasn’t mutual attraction. It was a nasty case of datus interruptus.
Maybe Max would be game for a hookup. They obviously weren’t compatible for a relationship if Max couldn’t handle Bashir getting dragged away in the middle of dinner, but some guys would still be down with a roll in the hay with no strings attached.
Of course, Bashir’s phone was almost guaranteed go off at the most inopportune moment. Always fucking did. Like that time last fall when Bashir had been plowing a gorgeous bartender over the back of a couch, and right when things were getting good—
His shrill ringtone startled him so bad, he dropped the report he’d been reading.
Then he swore under his breath and snatched up the phone. The caller ID had more curses tumbling from his mouth in all the languages he spoke.
Dispatch. Because of course it was.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he accepted the call. “Dr. Ramin.”
Another death scene. Because of course it was.
By the time Bashir arrived at the scene, he was in an exceptionally foul mood. Not that death scenes brought him any particular joy, but there were a lot of people trying his patience today, and he was at that point where he would’ve sworn he was hangry, except he’d eaten. No hangry, then—just bitchy.
Most of it had come from his cranky colleague. Boyce had already been none too pleased about taking on a couple of “boring” autopsies that had been on Bashir’s schedule this morning. For a while, it seemed like he’d gotten over his bullshit from this morning. Then he’d gone to lunch, where he’d apparently spent an hour getting himself all worked up again. Right about the time Bashir was getting ready to come to this scene, Boyce had stomped back into the morgue in a pissy mood.
“You can’t just pawn everyone off on me!” Boyce had declared. “I’ve got a full schedule too!”
“And I have an emergency call,” Bashir had responded. “I’m the only one who can go, so—”
That had been a mistake. Boyce ranted, loudly and at length, while Bashir tried to tune him out. This was exactly why he tried not to bring up the morgue’s hierarchy. Few things grated on Boyce more than reminders that Bashir was both the county medical examiner and a forensic pathologist. While Boyce was a pathologist himself, he’d chosen not to pursue the forensic pathologist designation, which was why he’d been passed over for the role of M.E. and Bashir was hired instead. Sometimes that meant he was stuck taking on Bashir’s workload when something demanded the M.E.’s presence.
The thing was, Boyce wanted to be the one going to death scenes and being involved in the cases he thought were “exciting.” He resented—he fucking hated—being Bashir’s backup. And in fact, it would’ve made everyone’s life easier if he could’ve taken some of the more complicated cases that Bashir did, but no, that wasn’t how this shit worked.