TwelveChicago › Wednesday, December 3, 2008 › 10h20
A chill ran up Jayson’s spine when Ricki stepped into his office; he hadn’t seen her in uniform in months. From across the black marble tile, she embodied the Force like a model officer, with an aura of intimidation about her. Her blond hair was tied back in a ponytail, the hair equivalent of sweatpants. She wore limited makeup — police policy, no doubt: mascara, blue pencil eyeliner, lip gloss. She wore layered police-issue clothing: white shirt, blue tie, blue crested bomber jacket over a Kevlar vest that concealed her small breasts. The secrets beneath the blues were her own, he knew: white cotton boy-panties and sports bra, a red rose tattoo high up on her right thigh. He wondered who else knew her secrets. He extinguished the though
