“That’s not a denial, Detective.”
Catching her fingers, he brought them to his lips. “I didn’t want her dead, okay? I didn’t want anything from her.”
She reminded herself to breathe. “Did you argue about the restraining order she requested?”
“We might have. I know she wanted me to obtain it no questions asked.”
“Surely she knew that was impossible…” A cloud of doubt scudded in. “What do you mean, you might have? Don’t you know why you argued?”
Turning her hand over, he ran his thumb lightly across her palm. The shiver that skated along her spine had as much to do with apprehension as desire. “What aren’t you telling me, Jacob?”
He held her gaze, but his lashes fell to shield his expression. “I remember meeting her for lunch, and I know we talked about a restraining order. It’s leaving the restaurant when things start to get…blurry.”
Romana’s latent cop sense kicked in. She curled her fingers around his. “Define
He stroked the skin on the back of her hand. “Hazy, as in unclear, like a slow spin through a black hole.”
Concern had her capturing his chin. “You have blackouts?”
“Had them six years ago, for a three- maybe four-week period.”
“Did you tell Stubbs or Canter?”
“Canter and I have several post-Academy issues, and the code book is Stubbs’s bible.”
“Doesn’t mean he’d have crucified you. Why a month’s worth of blackouts?”
The lines around his mouth deepened. “Long story short, six years ago, O’Keefe and I pursued three homicide suspects on foot to the waterfront. It was early December and icy. O’Keefe went down. I kept going. I lost sight of one suspect, but the other two were visible and, by the time I reached them, penned in by a high warehouse fence. The one closest dropped his weapon when I approached. The other didn’t. I heard O’Keefe shout, but didn’t turn fast enough. The third guy blindsided me. When I regained consciousness, two of the suspects were gone and the one I’d managed to graze was on the ground, howling that he was bleeding to death.”
“Let me guess. When the paramedics arrived on scene, you sent the runner to the hospital but never considered going there yourself.”
“Something like that.”
She shook her head. “Men.” Then on a note of exasperated amusement. “Cops.” The humor faded. “Untreated concussions have been known to cause blackouts, Jacob. You must have realized you needed attention after your first one. Or was the restaurant the first time?”
“Fifth.” A crease formed between his eyes. “I think.”
Okay, this wasn’t good. But it didn’t necessarily damn him, either. It was simply another knot.
A limb caught her hair, causing several decorations to jingle. The approaching server apologized and helped her untangle. Transitioning smoothly, he recommended the house chili with wild rice and a bean and herb salad.
By the time he left with two full orders on his pad, Romana had her hair smoothed and her doubts firmly locked away.
“You should have said something-” she stabbed Jacob’s chest to emphasize her point “-long before you reached number five. Did O’Keefe notice anything?”
“Yeah, he told me I looked like crap and suggested I get a vitamin shot.” He nudged aside his empty glass. “O’Keefe was going through a messy divorce, Romana. He’d lost the custody battle. His father had been killed in a motorcycle accident a few months earlier.”
“His father was a biker?” she interrupted. “I mean…” She frowned. “I thought when O’Keefe said his dad rode bikes he meant ten speed or mountain. Hell.” She visualized O’Keefe’s face on the dark wood tabletop. “I’m not much of a friend, am I?”
Jacob almost hid his smile. “You said yourself, you don’t pry. O’Keefe doesn’t really talk about his private life. He’s even less forthcoming about his father’s death.”
Which wasn’t quite the point. Any way Romana looked at it, she should have known.
She took an absent swipe at the air-and realized her thumb was covered with tree sap.
“Having a bad karma day.” She rubbed at the sap with her napkin. “I need soap and water.” As she slid from the booth, she patted his cheek. “Think explanation for five unreported blackouts, Knight, and I’ll be right back.”
There were only two people in the women’s washroom, a mother and daughter who appeared to be having a
Romana tuned them out and set her mind on Jacob. He didn’t remember leaving a restaurant with a woman who’d wound up dead two days later. He thought he remembered why they’d argued but wasn’t sure.
Like the conversation Patrick had overheard, those facts couldn’t have come out at the hearing. There’d have been headlines if they had. So did that make Jacob a liar, or did it mean that the overall picture was intact and only the details were fuzzy?
Her head buzzed with possibilities, far too many to sort through in a washroom where a teenage girl’s voice was growing louder by the second.
“Let it go, Lacy,” her crimson-faced mother finally ordered. “You’re embarrassing both of us.”
Romana could have told her that very little embarrassed a police officer, past or present, but she stopped herself and used the air machine to dry her hands. She was re-shouldering her purse when the door shot open and a man in full Santa costume rushed in.
He didn’t hesitate, merely flicked a glance at the women in the corner then lunged at Romana, his nearest target. He had her arm wrenched painfully behind her back before she could dip a hand into her bag.
“Mom?” The girl sidled behind her mother.
“It’s okay,” Romana gasped as her arm was yanked higher. “He wants me, not you.”
“Smart lady,” the fake Santa growled in her ear. “Pretty, too. Bad-luck, good-luck scenario for me. You!” He jerked his whiskered chin at the frightened pair. “Lock yourselves in a stall, and stay there. You-” he returned his mouth to Romana’s ear “-come with me.”
She was trained, Romana reminded herself. One unguarded moment, and she could take him down.
“Where are we going?” she asked and was rewarded with a crack in the region of her elbow. But he had hold of her other arm as well, she realized through the pain, so if he was carrying a weapon, he wouldn’t be able to access it easily.
“Rear entrance,” he snarled, then more softly, “Quiet, now, gorgeous. We’re gonna leave here like mice, you and me. Open the door and take a peek outside.”
Adrenaline pulsed through her. She reined it in and exhaled. “I need my hand.”
He squeezed her hard. “Screw with me,” he warned, “and I’ll snap your elbow like a twig.”
Then he shifted his grip.
The instant her wrist was free, Romana used her boot on his instep, spun out of the arm lock, brought her knee up between his legs and mashed his nose with the heel of her hand.
Blood spurted. Santa howled and stumbled headfirst into the door. When it crashed open, the impact sent him staggering backward into the sink.
“Let it bleed,” Jacob advised from behind the barrel of his police special. He held out a hand in her direction. “Romana?”
“Sore arm.” She gave it an experimental shake, then curious, bent to inspect the seething Santa. “Critch?”
When he didn’t respond, Jacob lowered his gun to a point below the man’s Santa buckle. “Lose the whiskers, pal, unless you’d rather lose a vital body part.”
Bloody fingers gave the beard a yank.
Not Critch, Romana realized. Close-he had the rangy build and rugged features-but this man was younger, and not as tough as he’d wanted her to believe.
She tried a question while he gulped air through his mouth. “Do you know Warren Critch?”
He started to swear, but swallowed the worst of it when he saw Jacob’s face. “No.”
One-handed, Jacob hefted the man to his feet. “Romana?”
“Dialing.” She used her cell phone and at the same time knocked on the closed stall door. “It’s okay.You can come out.”
The daughter was slumped like a rag doll against the metal wall. Only her mother emerged.
