“Have you looked into whether he was connected to the Mara Salvatrucha gang? The MS 13s supposedly called a hit on all NYPD cops about a year ago,” he said. “And, breaking news from my recent arms trip, the cartels are giving paramilitary training to MS 13 gangsters to fight their drug war in Mexico.”
“I’ll check that out tomorrow.” She slid off the bar stool and excused herself. A few seconds after she disappeared down the hall, she called out, “Rook? Rook, come here.”
When he reached the bathroom, she was standing near the window. “Have you been in here since you got here?”
“I think the answer is evident in the lowered toilet seat. No.”
“Look at this.” She stepped to the side, indicating water drops from melted ice dotting the windowsill. She pointed to the latch. It was unlocked. “I always lock that.” She grabbed a flashlight from the cabinet under the sink and shined it on the latch. A minute abrasion in the brass tongue gleamed where it had been jimmied. It was nothing Nikki would have noticed had it not been for the droplets.
Together they made a survey of the apartment. Nobody was hiding and nothing was missing or out of place. Mindful of the careful snoop somebody had performed at the rectory, Heat took extra care to notice the little things. Nothing was disturbed. “You must have scared him off when you came in, Rook.”
“Ya know, my days of droppin’ in unannounced may be over.”
They locked up and went downstairs to tell The Discourager, who was parked across the street. “Want me to call it in?”
“Thanks, Harvey, but I’ll do it in the morning.” The last thing she wanted then was an evening of bright lights and forensic dusting. It wouldn’t kill Rook and her to use the other bathroom for one night. “Just wanted to give you the heads-up.”
Rook said, “Hey, Harvey, don’t you ever sleep?”
The veteran cop looked at Heat. “Not after today, I don’t.”
Nikki took what she insisted was a well-deserved bubble bath in the guest tub while Rook did the dishes. He waited for her in the living room, surfing ESPN, missing football season, glad MLB was days away from Pitchers and Catchers. At eleven, he switched off the TV. “You didn’t have to do that for me,” she said.
Nikki was in a robe, her hair wet, and looking comfortably dazed by the hot bath. She folded into him on the couch, smelling faintly of lavender.
“I think we already know the lead story,” he said.
“Yup. Precinct Captain dies in apparent suicide.” She turned to him, just inches away. The relaxation left her face. “They’d be wrong. He never would have done it.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Same reason I knew he didn’t kill Graf.”
“Which is?”
“He was Captain Montrose.”
The instant she said it, the doors to all the compartments Heat had so carefully closed off flew open. The seals broke, and a day of emotion-from the flight for her life in Central Park to the trauma of Captain Montrose’s death-rushed out to seize her. Rook watched the wave take her. She quaked and her eyes dripped tears. Then she cried out, throwing her head back in a release that startled even her. He opened his arms, and Nikki grabbed him desperately, clinging to him, shaking, sobbing and sobbing, as she had not in ten years.
NINE
W hen Heat came out from her shower the next morning and found Rook on his computer at her dining room table, she came up behind his chair and placed a hand on each of his shoulders. “There’s something not fair about a world where you get paid all that money for a job you do in your underwear.” At her touch Nikki felt the tension melt from his muscles. He dropped his hands off the keyboard, bringing them around behind her, gently gripping the back of her thighs. Then he rocked his head backward, resting it between her breasts, and peered up at her.
“I could lose the underwear if it would make you happy,” he said.
“That would make me very happy, but I just got a text that I’ve got a drug dealer coming in to be interviewed.” She bent to kiss his forehead. “Plus I have my oral boards today. Last hurdle before the lieutenant promotion.”
“I could help you with that. The orals.” She just stared at him, and he turned to her with a face of innocence. “What?”
“Tell me, Rook, is there a single word in the dictionary a guy can’t turn into something salacious?”
“Quatrain. Big points at Scrabble. Zip when it comes to double entendre, and I have tried. Oh, how I’ve tried.” Then he said, “With all that’s happened, couldn’t you get a postponement?”
“I could.” It was all on her face. Nikki was not going to let down. “But I won’t.” She gestured to his MacBook. “I thought you finished your arms smugglers piece. Is that your next bodice ripper, Miss St. Clair?”
“Nothing so lofty.”
“What is it?”
“Rather not say just yet.” He closed the lid and stood to face her. “Bad luck.” Then Rook drew her to him and they kissed. He was tender and gentle, comforting. “You doing OK this morning?”
“No, but I’ll get through.”
“There’s French Roast on.” Rook made a move toward the kitchen, but she clung to him and held him in place.
“Thank you for last night. You were… a friend.”
“Anytime, anywhere, Nikki Heat.” And they kissed again.
She dressed while he poured her coffee and squeezed them both some juice. Nikki reappeared looking puzzled and holding up her cell phone. “Want to hear something odd? I just checked my office voice mail. One of the messages was from the travel agent I referred Captain Montrose to. She said she can’t believe the news, especially since she just talked to him yesterday. He booked an island cruise.”
“Yesterday?” When she affirmed, he clapped his hands once and said, “John le Carre!” He read her bewilderment and added, “You know John le Carre, right? Spy Who Came in from the Cold, Constant Gardener… Oh, and A Perfect Spy -transcendent, best ever! But.. . John le Carre’s first novel was Call for the Dead. This secret agent is found. Suicide, they say. But that theory unravels because he left a wake-up call the night before. See the logic? Who leaves a wake-up call if he plans to kill himself?”
“Right,” she said. “And who books a cruise? Especially Montrose.” She frowned. “Now? And alone?” She had started to mull the oddness of that when he interrupted.
“I’ll be dressed in two seconds.”
“For what?”
“To come with you,” said Rook. “We have to get to work. This suicide theory is full of holes. Oo, sorry. Poor choice of words, forgive me, but I’m getting fired up.”
“Well, take a breath. We went over this. Your ride-along days are over. I can’t have you tagging along now. There’s too much going on.”
“I won’t be in the way.” Her stare forced him to admit, “Much.”
“Not happening. Besides, it’s too complicated now. I’m under a lot of attention and it might appear unprofessional.”
“Why? Lieutenants have boyfriends, too.”
“Maybe, but not working cases with them.” She watched his jaw flex. “Why is this such a big push for you?”
“Because of yesterday. I want to keep an eye on you.”
She moved close and held him. “Rook, that is so very…”
“… Sweet?”
“I’ll go with stupid.”
The seal was off the door to the glass office, and the two Men in Black from Internal Affairs were waiting for Heat when she entered it. “You can close that,” said Lovell, the angular one with the sharp, pterodactyl features,
