“ Si.” She laughed, remembering how long it had been since she’d done that.
Rook set the pitcher he had mixed on the tiles and, as he salted two glasses, said, “Consider the potential irony. Four weeks surviving nighttime jungle landings in the cargo bays of unmarked planes, multiple detentions by corrupt border guards, getting roughed up in the trunk of some paranoid Colombian drug lord’s El Dorado by his crackhead flunkies, only to be gunned down in my girlfriend’s apartment.”
“No laugh, Rook, I was feeling jumpy. I think someone was following me tonight.”
“Seriously? Did you see who?”
“No. And not a hundred percent sure about it.”
“Yes, you are,” he said. “Should you call Montrose?”
There was a time that’s exactly what she would have done. Detective Heat would have let her captain know and then vehemently declined his offer to park a cruiser out front (which he would have done anyway, ignoring her protests). It wasn’t the uncertainty about the tail that stopped her, though. It was the uncertainty in the face of him questioning her judgment and leadership. Plus her own awkwardness dealing with the captain with so many suspicions swirling. “No,” she said. “It’s too weird with Montrose now. Kind of tense.”
“With Montrose? And you? What’s going on?”
The day had been such a grind, and this respite was such a welcome oasis, she said, “Way too much to get into now. I’m not shutting you out, but can we leave it until tomorrow?”
“Absolutely.” He held up his glass. “To reunions.”
They clinked salut and sipped. The taste of a margarita would always remind her of the first night they had sex in the summer heat wave. “Hope you learned your lesson about sneaking in here without a heads-up.”
“You gave me a key. And what kind of surprise would that make, if I called?”
“The surprise would have been yours if I’d had company.”
He served the food, placing the cut rolls of sushi on her plate and then his with chopsticks. “You’re right. That would have surprised me.”
“What?” she said, “You mean, surprised if I had been with someone?”
“You wouldn’t be.”
“I sure could.”
“Could, yes. Would? No. That’s not who you are, Nikki Heat.”
“A little presumptuous.” She ate some of the ceviche, and as she tasted the citrus and cilantro, relishing how it made the fish even fresher, Nikki reflected on how close she had come to bringing Don home with her that night. “And how do you know that’s not who I am, Jameson Rook?”
“It’s not about knowing. You can never really know someone. It’s really about trust.”
“Curious. We’ve never really defined our…”
“… Exclusivity?” he said, finishing for her.
She nodded, “Yeah, that. And yet you trust me?” He chewed a Green Envy and nodded back. “And what about you, Rook, am I supposed to trust you?”
“You already do.”
“I see. And how far does this trust extend?” she asked, chopsticking a dab of wasabi for her next victim. “What about travel? What’s it called? The Hundred Mile Rule?”
“You mean the one that says you can do whatever-meaning whoever-you want if you’re more than a hundred miles away? The variation on the ‘What Happens in Vegas’ Rule?”
“That’s the one,” she said.
“Since you brought it up, the places I’ve been, situations do present themselves. Do they ever. And yes, I absolutely subscribe to the Hundred Mile Rule.” She set her chopsticks on the side of her plate, parallel to each other, and studied him. He continued, “But here’s the thing. According to Rook’s Rule, no matter where I am in the world, a hundred miles or a thousand, Mile Zero starts here.” He poked two fingers on his chest.
Nikki thought a moment, then picked up a piece of sushi with her fingers. “When I finish this Samba roll? I want you to pretend Mile Zero is a beach in Fiji… And we’re on it alone.” She popped it in her mouth in one bite and flicked her eyebrows at him while she chewed.
The next morning “brisk walk” took on a literal meaning as she and Rook picked their way over ice patches on the way to the subway in minus-two degrees Fahrenheit. At least the smack of cold in her face helped wake her up. Heat had to tear herself out of that toasty bed with him to make her breakfast meeting on time. He helped by getting up with her and brewing coffee while she showered. When she stepped out, he was packing up gear so he could get to his loft in Tribeca and a day of writing. The deadline for his arms smuggling article loomed, and he told her that on its heels he owed the proofread galleys for his ghostwritten romance novel, Her Endless Knight.
“I feel like I just had one of those,” she said as they kissed at the stairs leading down to the 6 train at 23rd.
“Any complaints?”
“Only one,” said Heat. “It is about to end.”
Nikki made one more survey of Park Avenue South and was satisfied she wasn’t being followed. And as Rook stood holding the cab he had hailed, waiting in the street while he watched her, his pause confirmed Nikki’s suspicion that his early rise to get to work was an excuse to escort her without saying so. The sidewalk rumbled like distant thunder below, and she could hear the screech of the subway braking as it slowed at the station. She gave him a head nod and hurried down to meet it.
The deli Zach Hamner had chosen couldn’t have been more convenient. The Corte Cafe storefronted her subway exit on Lafayette between Duane and Reade, right across the street from the Municipal Building and, just behind it, One Police Plaza. Heat pushed through the glass door behind a trio of construction workers who tossed their hardhats on a table and swarmed the counter, calling out orders for breakfast burritos and ham amp; eggs on a kaiser. She didn’t know Hamner, but the skinny guy in a black suit and gold tie at a window table was a good candidate. He stood to wave at her with one hand; he held his BlackBerry to his ear with the other. As she stepped over, he said into his phone, “Listen, I gotta go, my breakfast meeting is here. OKlaterbye.” He set the phone on the table and extended a hand. “Detective Heat, Zach Hamner, sit, sit.”
Nikki took the chair across from him and noticed he had ordered for her. Coffee and a plain bagel with two plastic pots of cream cheese. “Coffee should still be hot,” he said. “It gets jammed in here, and I didn’t want us to spend our whole morning in line behind the construction goons.” At the table beside them, a hardhat with a brush mustache looked up from his Sudoku, buck-snorted, and then went back to his puzzle. If Zach Hamner noticed-or cared-he didn’t let on. “Anyway, glad you could make it. Hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.”
She felt the side of her coffee cup. It was cool. She tried not to begrudge the extra hour she might have had with Rook, not to mention getting a jump on her case work. “I’m an early riser,” she said. “Plus you were pretty insistent.”
“Thank you,” he said, making Nikki wonder if there had been some unintended flattery in her tone. “I reached out to make sure we had the opportunity to connect early in your process. Not just to let you know we’re here-that Legal is here-if you need an assist along the way, but also because we think it’s important to have a relationship with the up-and-comers of the department.”
Heat was getting the picture fairly quickly… How could she not? Zach, this-what did he say his title was?- Senior Administrative Aide to the Deputy Commissioner for Legal Matters, was a career networker. One of those functionaries who ate and slept the job, basked in the reflected glory of his boss, and drew power from the proximity he forged with the upper ranks. Hence the royal we. She decided he probably kept a picture of Rahm Emanuel taped to his bathroom mirror so he could see it when he shaved.
“You should know I have briefed the deputy commissioner on your stellar test score. I also slipped in a copy of that magazine piece on you. He’s quite impressed.”
“That’s nice to know.” She tore off a bite-sized piece of bagel and, as she smeared some cream cheese on it, continued, “Although, you know, if we do only get fifteen minutes, I hope those were mine.”
“Interesting. I assumed that you had maintained a close relationship with the press.” If he only knew, thought Nikki. She flashed on the wake-up surprise she had given Rook that very morning. Hamner continued, “From the article, I got the impression you knew just how to handle that reporter.”
“It’s a skill I’ve learned to develop,” said Heat, suppressing a smirk. “But I’m not one for the limelight.”
“Oh, please, we’re grown-ups here,” he said. “Ambition isn’t a dirty word. Not at this table, I assure you.” Clearly, she thought. “Your decision to take the lieutenant’s test, was that not ambition?”
