“You’d be better off in Boston with your parents.”
Ah, they were back to the safety issue. She tucked her hair behind her ears, tugged on a black hat. “Only in your eyes. In mine, I’d be exposing them to danger.”
“He wants me more than he wants you.”
“Again, your opinion. I figure if I so much as try to leave the city, he’ll turn on my brothers, or worse, their kids.”
“Romana…”
“Not running, Detective. Accept it.” Her lips curved. “On a more salient note, in case you haven’t noticed, you’re standing next to a cobalt-blue Porsche. That car is the same color as James Barret’s eyes, which is undoubtedly why he bought it.”
“And you know that because…”
Her smile deepened to a tease. “I guess that means I either know him well enough to be aware of his vanity, or Fitz told me.”
At his vaguely suspicious look, she sighed out a laugh. “Fitz had a crush on him as a kid. Her father’s an upholsterer for Barret Brown Furniture. A younger James Barret used to give her candy, and bat his baby blues at her. If she says he and Belinda were involved, they probably were. One thing Fitz can do better than anyone I know is ferret out information that she feels is relevant to her life. Don’t say it.” She deflected the obvious question. “Fantasies are as relevant to a lot of people as reality is.” She should know, Romana reflected with a shiver. She was standing three feet from hers.
Beyond a faint twitch of his lips, Jacob didn’t react. He simply held out a hand for her to precede him.
She told herself to focus, not be sucked into an emotional whirlpool. It would be so easy to fall for Jacob Knight, to let herself want him in a way that, sadly, she’d never wanted her ex-husband. Big girl, big desires, she reflected with a twinge of regret. But Santa couldn’t make everyone’s Christmas wishes come true, and even if he could, Jacob was still a dark horse with the department and a largely unknown, albeit incredibly sexy, commodity to her.
“Ro!” Any hope she had of avoiding Fitz died as her cousin swooped in, out of breath and pink-cheeked. “You have to help me. James wants to talk. Don’t know why, but I can’t say no. The thing is, I managed to drag Patrick here tonight, and I don’t want him to disappear while I’m gone. So I need you to-oh.” The fingers she’d wrapped around Romana’s arm loosened, then did a speculative tap dance. “Hello, Detective Knight. I didn’t see you.” But now that she had, she took a long, assessing look. “Talk about coincidence. I ran into your old partner last night at Franconi’s. He was alone and lonely. We had beer and pasta together.”
“He’s missing his daughter.” Jacob surveyed the park scene. A crease formed between his eyes when his gaze reached the pond.
Romana followed his gaze. “What? Is it Critch?”
“No, it’s a guy from Vice dressed like a jack-in-the-box.”
“Charlie,” she corrected. At his uncomprehending look, she grinned. “He’s a Charlie-in-the-box. Island of Misfit Toys, Knight.”
“You need kids,” Fitz said, then snapped her mouth closed. “Or not. Uh, Ro, could you… She’ll be right back, Detective.” She nudged Romana toward a cluster of benches, wiggled her fingers at a man seated on the farthest one and didn’t release the breath she’d evidently been holding until Jacob moved away to set his forearms on the makeshift guardrail. “Can’t believe I said that,” she muttered. “Dumb, dumber, dumbest.”
Romana didn’t correct her. Tonight wasn’t about fixing misconceptions, it was about exposing a murderer-and keeping Warren Critch away from the people she loved.
“Talk to James,” she told her cousin. “I’ll distract Patrick.”
Fitz started off, but backpedaled to drill a warning finger into Romana’s arm. “Only distract, okay? No making him think things he shouldn’t.” She fluffed her curls. “You could talk me up a bit, though, if the opportunity arises. I mean, honest to God, Ro, if the guy was a horse, I’d figure he was gelded.”
“Nice image,” Romana murmured. “Thanks, Fitz.”
As she picked her way through the snow, Romana noticed that Jacob was already surrounded by a flock of girls. All wore bright-green jackets, which would make them members of the performing high school band.
“What is it about cops and hormonal teenagers?” Patrick wondered aloud when she came within earshot. He lounged on the bench with his head resting on the back and a cup of something hot in his hand. “It’s like they have radar. Cop in the vicinity. Line forms to the left, girlfriends.”
“Cynic.” Romana dusted snow off the seat beside him. “They probably think he’s a hot guitar player.”
“I spotted the badge on his belt loop from here, Romana. He’s the big
The night air had a bite, like Patrick’s tone. Romana turned up the collar of her coat and wished she’d worn heavier clothes.
With a crooked smile, Patrick produced a thermos from the snow beside him. “A red-headed elf told me to come prepared. Hot chocolate?”
She blew on her gloved hands. “Smart elf. I’d love some.”
“Myself, I’m a warm-weather man.”
“How warm?”
“I was born in Houston. This white stuff’s acceptable on Christmas Day, but otherwise I’d pass.”
“Not into winter sports, huh?”
“I’m not into any sports, unless you include channel and web surfing.”
He sounded completely bored. Romana’s female pride would have been stung if she hadn’t known he used the same dull tone with everyone. It might not be kind, but she had to wonder what Fitz saw in him.
Oh, he was handsome enough in a scruffy, mismatched sort of way. He also had height, a good inch over six feet, which was about the same as Jacob, actually. His features were strong and his eyes dark brown, a match for the perpetual tangle of his hair. Romana suspected the stubble he wore was intended to be sexy, but all she wanted to do was find him a razor.
Funny she never felt that way about Jacob…
“Houston Control to Professor Grey.” Patrick waved a steaming cup under her nose. He lowered his hand in disgust. “Oh, God, you’re staring at the cop, aren’t you?”
“Well, I did come with him.”
“You need to watch your step,” he said. “Knight’s not what he appears to be.”
Romana took a cautious sip of her drink. As she’d anticipated, it was heavily laced with rum. “Neither’s your hot cocoa, Patrick. Why the red flag?”
“It’s the same flag Belinda held up a couple of days before she died.” At her questioning glance, he shrugged. “We worked together. We talked.”
“Only talked?”
Patrick’s laugh had an edge. “Okay, right, here we go. I knew when Critch was released the whole question- and-answer thing would erupt again. We were friends, coworkers. She was married. I respected that. She respected my respect… And you can eighty-six the look, Romana. Don’t you have any male friends? By that, I mean the kind of friends whose sole purpose in life isn’t to jump your bones?”
“We were talking about Belinda’s bones, Patrick, not mine.”
“We were talking about Jacob Knight initially. The guy’s trouble in caps. You want it straight, that’s exactly what Belinda said.”
Romana blew on her cocoa, squashed the uneasy prickles in her stomach. “It sounds like you and Belinda had some pretty involved conversations.”
“You do that when the alternative is to let it sink in that you’re slicing up dead organs while extracting bodily fluids.”
“You didn’t have to choose forensic pathology, Patrick.”
“My father was a mortician. My mother was a morgue attendant. What else was I going to do? I’m John Patrick North, only son of Mr. and Mrs. Coffin and Slab.” He laughed without humor, raised his cup in her direction and drained the contents. Sadness replaced the laughter. “We were friends, Belinda and me, and whether you want to hear it or not, I believe Knight killed her.”
Summoning an easy smile, Romana passed him her drink. “Spoken with great conviction. But you haven’t
