Holiday Grind

her—”

“That’s not hard to believe. Matt said he saw you twice in restaurants with a gorgeous redhead—he didn’t know Leila’s name, but he remembered her from a Victoria’s Secret cover fifteen years ago.”

“Well, all that physical beauty attracted the wrong kind of male attention, too. She’d gotten herself a genuine stalker. A real creep. I was still in uniform back then, assigned to her case on a stakeout shift. I caught the guy, put him in jail, and then she called me for a date.”

“Okay, I get it. Police badge as knight’s shield—”

“It was role-playing for both of us. I liked the role of hero, protector. And she’d become skittish of male attention after the creep almost raped her. She clung to me, we dated for a while, got married. Everything was hunky-dory for a few years. Then I got promoted, earned my gold shield, we bought a brownstone in Brooklyn, and she woke up one day, realizing she was changing diapers in a borough that wasn’t Manhattan, married to a civil servant who had a demanding job. She wasn’t strong, Clare, and she was used to another kind of life—parties, travel, shopping excursions, male attention. What she got were crying babies and a stressed-out husband who lived for his job. So she began to cheat. It went on for years. I put up with it, told myself she deserved better. I expected her to leave me at some point, and finally she did.”

“But now she wants you back?”

“Not to marry.”

“I don’t understand. I thought she was happy, got what she wanted. Isn’t she engaged to some Wall Street whiz, a richer, younger guy—”

“Yeah and he’s lousy in bed because he’s selfish, just like her. Guys with no-limit credit cards expect the women they’re wining and dining and footing the bills for to deliver. Leila’s getting bored with getting him off and getting little in return of any consequence—a closet full of shoes and handbags, a trip to a spa, or an overpriced restaurant meal. She’s finally getting old enough to understand what’s truly valuable in this life. She’s comprehending what she lost when she dumped me. She wants my love back, Clare.”

“Oh, God.”

“You have to understand, she got used to the pattern. She’d cheat with some rich guy—use him to party in Manhattan, get back to that carefree life she’d had at nineteen—and then she’d come back to my bed. Cheat and come back. I’d always be there for her, always forgive her. This week was the first time she ever heard me tell her to take a hike. She can’t have me and she can’t believe it. But I don’t want her anymore. I want you, Clare. See, I finally realized that maybe I deserve better.”

I shook my head. “All those mysterious phone calls that made you turn into a zombie—”

“They were from her.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me what was happening?”

“Leila’s poison, Clare. I didn’t want her to poison us—”

“Aw, Mike. That’s just a cop-out.”

“No! I have to deal with her if I want to see my children. But her calls and demands and complaints are my problem, not yours. You and I weren’t getting enough time together as it was—I didn’t want the time we had poisoned by discussions of Leila and her drama-queen act.”

“But if she’s your problem, she’s mine, too. I thought we were in this together. Until tonight, I thought you trusted me...”

Quinn studied me for a long, silent moment. Seeing the pain on my face, he finally seemed to get it. “I’m sorry, Clare. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you. I thought what I was doing was shielding you.”

“No, Mike, what you were doing was shutting me out. It’s your knee-jerk solution to crisis. You shut down emotionally, throw up a firewall—”

“I’m a cop,” he said quietly. “That’s what we do. We don’t...” He shook his head.

“You don’t let it all hang out. Yeah, I get that. It’s your conditioning, what’s required to survive the job. But if you want our relationship to survive—”

“I do. Please don’t doubt it.”

“Then you have to let me be a part of your life, share what comes at you—the good parts and the embarrassing parts and the toxic parts, too. It’s all or nothing.”

“All, Clare,” he said without taking a breath. “I want you in my life. Don’t you understand? Without you, I don’t have one.”

“That’s very sweet, but you do, Mike. You have your work—you’re absolutely devoted to it—and you have your kids. Molly loves you; Jeremy looks up to you so much. You have your mother who gave you that cherry cordial recipe—”

“You need to meet her.”

“I’d like to. I mean, the cat’s out of the bag now, right? I just met your cousin the fire captain, the other Mike Quinn.”

Mike scowled at that. “Let’s discuss him another time.”

“Okay, as long as you understand what I’m asking.”

“I do, Clare. Please, can we get beyond this now?” He paused, exhaled, ran a hand through his hair. “Have you eaten?”

“No. I’m starving, but I don’t want to stay here tonight.”

Mike’s face fell. “Clare, please...”

“Just drive me home, okay? I need to process all this.” I headed for the front door. “I need some time, Mike. Give it to me. Please.”

Quinn didn’t say a word, just worked his jaw, rubbed the back of his neck, and nodded. Then together we walked out the door.

Thirty

As we climbed into Quinn’s car, I noticed him give a quick wave to someone across the street. A short, loud whoop replied, and I realized Sergeant Franco had stuck around, waiting for a signal from Mike to depart. Now his blue sedan sped away, heading uptown.

“He’s going to the Dickie interrogation, isn’t he?” I said.

Quinn nodded. “They probably have him in custody by now.”

“I wish I could be there, too.”

Quinn started the car. “I doubt very much a man like that’s going to confess to anything, Clare. He’s got a lot of money. He’ll lawyer up.”

I slumped back in the seat, and we both fell into an unhappy silence for the rest of the ten-minute drive. When we pulled up to the Blend, the lights were still burning. Esther and Vicki—a barista team once more—were just getting ready to close up shop. (As it turned out, Vicki Glockner wanted to make some extra cash over the holidays, and I badly needed another trained barista. So we’d agreed to give our working relationship one more try.)

Boris Bokunin was inside, too, waiting for his Best girl to finish her shift.

As Mike pulled to a stop by the curb, I automatically reached for a handbag that wasn’t there. That’s when I remembered—

“My keys!”

“You don’t have them?” Quinn said. “Oh, that’s right. Your bag’s in that locker. Should we drive to the Public Library?”

“No...” My bag wouldn’t help me. I’d given Matt my key to the duplex. “I was going to pick up the spare at your place, but then I found Leila, and...”

Quinn reached out and put his hand on my leg. “Come back to my place, sweetheart. Just come back.”

“You have a key to my duplex, don’t you? I gave you one.” Quinn stiffened. “Yes.”

“Can I have it back, please?”