Espresso Shot

last night, and you can understand how his worries would extend to the woman in his life.”

“Oh, sure,” Lori said, nodding.

Sue Ellen shrugged. “No problem.”

I could feel Matt’s muscles tensing under my hand. I wrapped my fingers around his arm and squeezed. Just shut up and let me talk.

“Anyway, the thing is, when he laid out his concerns to me, I thought you two should know about them, as well. As the detectives on the case, you want to be aware of all possible leads, right?”

Sue Ellen stared. Lori gave a weak nod.

“Now, if I were in your shoes, I’d be looking at that guy from the White Horse, the one who almost assaulted Ms. Boggs right before she was shot.”

“We are,” Lori said. “The bartender remembered him departing right after you, Mr. Allegro, and the victim left. He ID’d the customer from a mug shot. We have prints off a glass, too. When we get the guy in here, we’ll want you two to attend a lineup and pick him out.”

“The scumbag’s got a history of assaulting women,” Sue Ellen added. “This is the guy.”

“Have you arrested him?” I asked.

Sue Ellen frowned. “We haven’t caught up with him yet.”

“His girlfriend kicked him out of their West Side apartment two weeks ago,” Lori said. “She’s got a restraining order against him, so he’s been crashing with friends, and there’s no permanent residence or place of employment. But we’ll get him.”

“You can bet on it,” Sue Ellen added. “It won’t be long.”

“If he’s your guy,” I said meaningfully. “See, there are a few things that keep bothering me about this man.” I paused and waited.

Lori and Sue Ellen both leaned forward.

“What things?” Sue Ellen asked.

“The shooting was at night,” I said. “And the shooter fired from at least a block away. The witness called you to confirm it, right? His name’s Barry?”

Sue Ellen frowned. “How do you know about Barry?”

“I talked to him last night at the Blend. I’m the one who told him to call you. He said he heard the sound of the single shot right below his window, two and a half blocks from the Blend, which would put him a block and a half from where the victim was hit. Then he heard footsteps walking away right after the sound.”

“That’s right.” Lori nodded. “We have his statement.”

“Well, even if that tequila-soaked loser wasn’t too drunk to pull a trigger and hit a target in one shot, at night, from over a block away, then why did he walk clear of the scene?” I wrinkled my brow as if completely perplexed. “Wouldn’t a guy like that—angry and frustrated and half-drunk—wouldn’t he have run away after a crime of passion like that?”

Lori shared a glance with Sue Ellen.

“And another thing,” I said. “Hazel Boggs was done up to look exactly like Breanne Summour. Walking beside Matt with her arm wrapped around his, she could easily have fooled someone gunning for the famous editor.”

Sue Ellen shifted in her chair. “Okay, Cosi. We get your point. The suspect from the tavern may not be our perp; although, you have to admit, he looks real good for it. But your conclusion that the intended victim might be some other woman...” She shook her head. “It’s a long shot.”

“But we’re very glad that you let us know,” Lori quickly added. “Any information you can remember about last night is going to be helpful to us...”

Blah, blah, blah... I thought. The rehearsed patter for witness dismissal: i.e., You’ve been very helpful. (Not!) Now please go because we have to pursue a real lead.

I couldn’t hold it against either of the detectives. Considering the attempted assault on Hazel minutes before the shooting and the sleazy profession she was in, I would have been pursuing other leads, too.

Sue Ellen and Lori stood up from the table. That’s when I noticed someone had been leaning against the doorjamb—a very attractive someone.

He was two inches taller than my six foot ex with a lantern jaw and a street cop stare, which was currently fixed on me. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up, and his service weapon was tucked into a leather holster hanging from his rock-solid shoulders. His sandy-brown hair had just been trimmed, his hard jawline closely shaved. The slightest tang of citrus aftershave slipped into the room. I could practically taste him.

My green eyes locked on his arctic-blue gaze, and for the slightest moment of time, an almost tangible spark of energy seemed to connect us.

“Hi, Mike,” I said.

Nine

Lori Soles and Sue Ellen Bass turned and looked toward the door. So did Matt. For a brief moment, utter stillness descended over the small space. Then my ex-husband smirked, leaned back in his metal chair, and folded his well-developed forearms.

“If it isn’t Officer Quinn,” he said. “What poor slob did you mistakenly arrest today?”

“You volunteering, Allegro?” Quinn’s eyebrow arched a fraction. “We have room in the holding cell.”

Sue Ellen laughed. “If you need help cuffing this guy, Lieutenant, call me.” She jerked her thumb in Matt’s direction, threw him a flirtatious wink, and walked toward the doorway.

“By the way,” she told Quinn, passing him on her way out, “I have a bone to pick with you.”

“Me?” Quinn said.

“Yeah. What’s this ‘banned from the building’ crap I’m hearing in the squad room?”

Quinn raised his palms. “I don’t have any problem with you, Bass. It’s Sergeant Friar you should be bitching to.”

“Did Friar call me a bitch?!”

“Uh-oh,” Lori said.

“Don’t twist my words,” Quinn warned. “It’s just an expression.”

Sue Ellen tugged the lapels of her blazer and crossed her hunter-green arms. “It’s a simple question. Did Rocky Friar call me a bitch or didn’t he?”

Now Quinn looked like a doe caught on the West Side Highway. “Talk to Friar.”

With a pissed-off exhale, Sue Ellen strode back into the squad room, Lori Soles on her heels.

Quinn shook his head then sauntered into the room. I liked watching the man move. His tall frame was well muscled, but he was more lanky than brawny, and he operated with the patient ease of a stalking wolf. Without making a sound, he slipped into a seat at the metal table. His dress shirt was slightly wrinkled, his bronze and maroon tie well loosened.

I met his gaze again and pointed at the doorway that Sue Ellen had just stormed through. “What was that about?”

Quinn exhaled. “Oh, Bass got herself involved with a detective in the Fifth’s squad. They were under the radar for months. That was fine when Rocky Friar was living in Staten Island, but then he moved into my apartment building...”

Quinn lived in Alphabet City near the Ninth Precinct in a converted warehouse filled with divorced cops. The owner was a retired NYPD detective who believed guys on the job who got thrown out on the street by their wives should have a place to bond. A few months back, Quinn became one of those guys when his wife left him for a younger Wall Street whiz, and their jointly owned Brooklyn brownstone was put up for sale.

Quinn shook his head. “Someone spilled to poor Friar that Bass has slept with almost every man in our apartment house. He hit the ceiling.”