“What about Scarlet?” Nick asked.
“Like she never had a drop to drink,” I said. “Her stomach and liver must be made of cast iron.”
“Well, rise and shine,” Nick said. “It’s almost noon and y’all are supposed to fly back this afternoon. I don’t like sleeping alone.”
“I’m not too fond of it either,” I said.
“I got in touch with Miami PD this morning,” Nick said. “Detective Ryan Orlando is your contact. He’s expecting you.”
“Wow, thanks,” I said. “Being married to a cop comes in handy sometimes.”
“I live to serve,” he said. “Hurry back. Someone delivered a NAD Squad shirt to the door dressed like Gandalf. Scared the hell out of me.”
“I’m impressed you know who Gandalf is,” I said. “You’re a closet nerd.”
“Hush, and get home quick. The neighbors are creeping me out.”
He hung up and I rolled to the edge of the bed and put my feet on the floor. I was expecting the nausea to come, just like it did every morning, but I felt…good. I got out of bed and showered and dressed with an extra pep in my step.
When I came out of the bathroom, Kate was still fast asleep. I went over and held my finger under her nose to make sure she was still breathing, and satisfied, I knocked on the connecting door between my and Scarlet’s rooms.
She pulled the door open, and never in a million years would I have guessed she’d spent the night drinking and dancing. She was up and dressed in another tracksuit, this one yellow with rainbow-striped piping, and her bright white shoes. Her hair was short and hot pink today.
“Nice hair,” I said. “Whose is it?”
“Madonna,” she said. “That Shakira hair gave me a headache. Besides, I gave it to some nice man named Tony last night. He really admired it, and I like to donate to the arts.”
“I didn’t think you’d be awake,” I said.
“Been up a couple of hours. I was just coming to get you to see if you wanted breakfast. I ordered enough for all of us.”
I stepped into the room and the smell of cooked meat assaulted me. I slapped a hand over my mouth and ran back to the bathroom.
“Does that mean you don’t want breakfast?” I heard Scarlet yell through the bathroom door.
Half an hour later, I made a second attempt at leaving the room. Scarlet had finished breakfast and Kate was buried under the covers with her pillow on top of her head.
“Never met a Holmes who couldn’t hold her bacon,” Scarlet said.
“I think this baby is trying to kill me.”
“Now that sounds like a Holmes,” she said. “What are we doing today?”
“We’re going to the police station,” I said. “Leave your Uzi here.”
“You’re no fun,” she said. “What if we get in a gun fight?”
“Then the hundreds of cops surrounding us will protect us with their guns,” I said.
Scarlet snorted. “Shows what you know.”
After I checked Scarlet for weapons, we took an Uber to the police station. It was a huge white building of modern architecture and curves and windows. We made our way to the front desk and I asked for Detective Orlando and gave my name and ID. No one asked for Scarlet’s ID, which I was grateful for. I was pretty sure she was still wanted for questioning in Ugly Mo’s murder, and she did have that restraining order in Miami. There was no telling what her police record looked like, and in hindsight, I probably should’ve left her at the hotel. It was like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
“Man, did this place get a face-lift since the last time I was here,” she said.
“And there you go,” I said, figuring I was right to worry.
The sergeant at the front desk directed us to the second floor, and we got on an elevator crowded with cops and a guy in cuffs who smelled like he hadn’t had a bath in the last year.
“These cops get younger every year,” Scarlet whispered. “That fella there doesn’t look old enough to drive. How’s he able to carry a gun and I can’t?”
“Because he’s a cop,” I told her.
“I could be a cop if I wanted, but they got age discrimination,” she said. “What’s the smell? Is that me?”
“It’s not you,” I said, holding my breath. I was pretty sure my stomach couldn’t get emptier than it was, but I didn’t want to take a chance, especially in an elevator full of people.
When the elevator doors opened, everyone rushed out in a whoosh, and Scarlet and I followed behind them to a big open area that was loud and chaotic, with rows of desks and glass partitions. The view from the second floor showed a view of downtown Miami and palm trees. All in all, I wouldn’t have minded seeing that view every day.
There was a man standing in the middle of the aisle. He was a couple of inches taller than me and maybe a decade older. He was Hispanic and his hair was speckled with silver. He wore loose linen pants in khaki and a matching suit jacket in silk with the sleeves rolled up. His badge hung around his neck from a gold chain and I could see his weapon under the jacket.
Scarlet elbowed me in the side. “It’s just like Miami Vice up in here,” she hissed. “Look at that woman’s shoes. Completely impractical if you’ve got to run down a perp. Lordy, why is that handsome man staring at us like that? He is good looking, and he doesn’t look like an infant like those cops downstairs. They must put all the seasoned cops on the second floor. You think he’s married?”
“Does it matter?” I asked, curious.
“Of course,” she said. “I’d never lure a married man away from his wife. Now, if a man decided to leave his wife for me then I’m in the clear and that’s on
