Gabriel Velasquez enjoyed these predawn hours as much as he could recall enjoying anything in his life. Time spent on his knees beside Annie, making funny, soothing noises and waiting until she rewarded his efforts with a smile, even though he knew her reaction resulted from gas rather than amusement.
He often wondered what the other cops would think if they saw him in these moments. They’d give him shit for it—that he knew. Gabriel had spent years cultivating something of a tough-guy, no-nonsense reputation among his fellow officers. At the same time, he assumed that everyone made animal noises and rolled on the floor with their newborns. If they didn’t, they definitely should.
His phone rang before seven. He grabbed it quickly so it wouldn’t rouse Ella from the few hours of sleep she enjoyed each day.
Only his captain would be calling at this ungodly hour. And he’d be doing so only if he wanted Gabriel to run point on an important new case.
That was the last thing Gabriel wanted today. Six months ago, he would have crawled through broken glass to be put in charge of a big case. But now, with a new baby and a sleep-deprived wife, he’d gladly let someone else in the unit have the honor.
“Absolutely,” was what he said instead in response to Captain Tomlinson’s request. You did not get promoted by turning down high-profile cases, after all.
Gabriel had made lieutenant five years earlier. All indications were that he was on the fast track to captain and a precinct of his own to run. After that, who knew how high he could climb? The Commissioner Velasquez jokes that had been made since he was a rookie didn’t sound so silly now.
“Excellent,” Tomlinson said. “Asra can back you up. Show her how to run a first-rate investigation. That way, when you’re sitting in my chair and you need to assign someone to get the Chief off your ass, you’ll have someone as good as I do.”
Gabriel smiled at the compliment. “Thanks, skip.”
Tomlinson was a navy man, having served a tour of duty in the first Gulf War. He preferred to be called skip or skipper, even though, as Gabriel understood it, Tomlinson had been only an ensign in his navy days.
“I don’t have to tell you that the press is all over it.”
Tomlinson was right. He didn’t have to tell Gabriel that.
Despite the many crime dramas set in New York, Manhattan had one of the lowest crime rates for a major US city. Barely enough murders to fill a full season on network television. Fewer than thirty murders for all of last year. Those would hardly be compelling viewing, and certainly not whodunits. Ten had been gang-related, and half that many involved a drug deal. The rest were either the result of some other type of criminal activity or domestic violence cases.
All of which meant that Gabriel would likely be arresting a spouse.
Two hours after Captain Tomlinson had given him the assignment, Gabriel was behind the wheel of his NYPD-issued unmarked Ford Fusion with Asra Jamali riding shotgun. The traffic was stop-and-go, partly due to the falling snow but mainly because that’s the way traffic always moved in Midtown Manhattan.
Gabriel knew next to nothing about his new partner other than the fact that she had earned her gold shield about three years ago and was Muslim. Although the ranks of Arab American cops had been growing steadily since 9/11—enough that the department had amended its no-beard policy to allow for religiously observant Muslims to serve—Muslims were still something of an anomaly in the NYPD, and female Muslim officers were rarer still. That Asra had also made rank meant that she was likely in a class by herself.
The other thing he knew about her was that some of the cops referred to her as Jasmine, the name of some Disney princess. They claimed it wasn’t racist because it was a compliment. Gabriel knew better. He’d endured being called Ricky Martin and hearing chants of “Livin’ La Vida Loca” for a good part of his early career.
He suspected that he was as much a mystery to Asra as she was to him. Likely all she knew about him was that he had run the investigation into the murder of Charlotte Broden a few years back, and once it was solved, he’d started dating the victim’s sister. At least the relationship was no longer considered scandalous now that he and Ella were married and had a baby.
They rode up Park Avenue, barely saying anything to each other. At around Grand Central, the silence was broken by the ring of Gabriel’s phone.
“My wife,” he said. “I need to answer. We just had a baby.”
Asra smiled as if to say that he didn’t need to explain.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said into the phone.
“Annie misses her dada,” Ella said. “I thought I’d put the phone up to her ear so she could hear your voice.”
Gabriel knew it was Ella who missed him. She’d been half-asleep when he brought Annie into bed and said he had to go to work. He understood how isolating it was for a new mother to be alone with a baby. He sometimes said that he envied all the time Ella spent with Annie, but the truth was that he’d been happy to return to the job, much as he knew that Ella was champing at the bit to return to the DA’s office as soon as her three-month maternity leave ended.
“I’m in the car on my way to a crime scene,” Gabriel said. “But a quick call with Annie would be great.”
He heard Ella’s voice, now sounding far away. “She’s on.”
“Hi, sweetie,” he said, his voice a few octaves higher than usual and feeling self-conscious about being “Dada” inches away from Asra. “Are you and Mommy having fun? Daddy loves you so much.”
He heard nothing from the other end. Then Annie started to cry.
Ella’s voice got louder
