Magozzi was trying to look professional and a little mean. A really good-looking woman with BBC all over her microphone was in his face, asking if these were the two perpetrators who had engineered and planted the boxes that had had the world holding its breath all day. 'No comment,' he said, pushing past her gently while dozens of other voices yelled out questions. He leaned toward Gino and whispered, 'I told him to comb his hair, and believe it or not, he pulled a comb out of his back pocket. Looked like Fonzie next to the jukebox, sweeping back the strands, getting ready for the girls.'
'He's pushing sixty, Leo. He's no Fonzie.'
John was trailing behind a few steps. Even in this media age, the Bureau still clutched at the threads of dignity from times past, avoiding the limelight. Hungry reporters and camera operators looked at him curiously, wondering if he was a person of importance, then turned away as if he were an unknown escort on the red carpet, not worth the film.
City Hall was blessedly quiet when they finally managed to get their prisoners inside, but behind closed doors, you could hear the muffled sounds of celebration. A lot of off-duty cops had stuck around after their shifts to revel in the happy ending to a nightmare day, clap each others' backs like the warriors they were, and get the latest gossip.
'We're going to have to give the Chief a couple minutes, John,' Magozzi said. 'Will you and Haig take the prisoners down to a holding cell?'
'My pleasure.'
McLaren ran into them in the hallway on the way to the Chief's office. 'Swe-eet,' he greeted them. 'Well done, guys.'
Gino always tried hard to play the curmudgeon, but nobody could ever accuse him of being unfair or ungracious. He reliably gave credit where credit was due, and today was no exception. 'Are you kidding me, McLaren? We were just your delivery boys. You had the sharp eye, Monkeewrench had the brains, and we had the courage to go bust a couple Clearasil geniuses who puked the minute they saw a cop. Kind of like
'Man, I wish I'd been there. Did they really puke?'
Gino smiled. Yes, they did puke, and oh, it was pretty, my friend. A sight to behold. Normally, you don't want to see recycled candy bars and nachos, but this was very satisfying'
McLaren gave them both high fives. 'Cool. Well, I'm outta here. Just wanted to stick around long enough to give you props.'
'Likewise,' Magozzi said. You want to catch a beer with us later?'
His pale face turned slightly pink, and then he grinned. 'Sorry, guys, but I've got a real cutie lined up for dinner.'
Gino nodded his approval. 'No shit? Way to go, dude.'
Johnny's grin got bigger. 'JDate rocks.'
'I hope like hell you told her you were a Belfast Catholic before you agreed to meet her.'
'I know her story, she knows mine. Everything's kosher.'
'Hey, at least you're working your way into the lingo. Best of luck, friend,' Gino said, meaning it.
'Thanks. And hey, speaking of cuties… there's a profiler from the FBI somewhere around here waiting for you. That's some hot property.'
'Chelsea Thomas,' Magozzi informed him.
McLaren's red brows lifted. 'Ah, so you know her. Lucky you. She's way outta my league.'
Gino shrugged. 'Oh, I don't know, McLaren. She might be the kind of woman who picks the ugliest Christmas tree on the lot or adopts the blind, one-legged puppy at the pound.'
'Rolseth, you are such an asshole. Anyhow, have a good night, guys, and wish me luck.'
Chelsea Thomas was waiting for them outside the Chief's office, and she did look hot… and different. She was dressed in a suit, but it wasn't a Fed suit. Magozzi was no fashionisto, but he knew really great, expensive clothes when he saw them – Annie Belinsky had schooled him in that.
'Detectives. Excellent work today.'
Her smile was infectious, and Magozzi and Gino both succumbed. 'Yep. Everybody did their part, and it turned out great.'
Yes, it did. You can't imagine how important this is as a deterrent. What kind of impression did you get from talking to them?'
Magozzi thought about that for a minute. 'Actually, they weren't the monsters I was expecting.'
'New kind of monster,' Gino said. 'Stupid little bastards with too much alone time and no sense of consequence who think they can get away with anything'
Chelsea nodded. 'Their brains aren't fully developed at that age. Actually, they're boys, so their brains never fully develop.' Her smile flashed again.
Magozzi's brows lifted. 'Wow. You're in a great mood.'
'Aren't you?'
'Absolutely. Want to grab a beer with us later?'
'I'd love to, but I have to get to the airport. The Director wants me on the morning talk-show circuit tomorrow to get as much publicity on this as possible. Save the interview tapes for me, will you? And congratulations again.'
Gino looked over at Magozzi. 'We're zero for two on the happy-hour buddies. I think we're stuck with each other.'
'I think we're going to be stuck here all night, anyway.'
Chapter Thirty-seven
Grace was standing at the marble counter in Harley's kitchen, picking her way through a chicken pot pie – she was eating purely for sustenance, not pleasure, so it seemed appropriate that she do it standing up. Huttinger's hard drives had arrived, and they were all staring down a long night's work.
She looked up when John Smith walked in a few minutes later. He was clearly exhausted, which was understandable, and yet there was something almost peaceful in his face, as if gravity had granted him a temporary kindness.
'You've had quite a night,' she said, laying down her fork. 'We caught the news. Congratulations.'
'None deserved. The credit belongs to all of you and your extraordinary software, and to Detectives Magozzi and Rolseth, of course. They're quite an impressive pair.'
Yes, they are. But I'll bet they didn't feed you,' she raised her plate in an invitation. 'There's more in the oven if you're hungry.'
'What about the others?'
'They ate earlier.' She started to move toward the oven but he stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. 'Don't interrupt your meal. I'll get it, and thank you very much. It smells delicious. When on earth did you find time to make this today?'
'I make them in advance, and keep them in Harley's freezer for nights like this.'
He asked for permission to sit after he'd filled his plate, and Grace pulled out stools for both of them. They sat side by side, looking straight ahead, eating in a silence that was oddly comfortable for two people who didn't really know each other at all.
'I have a boat,' John said abruptly, ruining everything.
Grace chased a piece of carrot around her plate, letting the statement hang there. Damnit. And it had all been going so well. She should have known he'd turn out to be just like everyone else. It was one of the reasons she avoided people. 'Hello' always turned into some inane conversation that would interest her not at all. What did she care if he had a boat? Now he'd tell her how long the boat was, what he'd named it, where he parked it, or docked it, or whatever it was you did with boats, as if all this information would be important for her to know.
'This is important,' he said, which was almost as weird as saying 'I have a boat.'
She looked up from her plate, annoyed with herself for being a little curious. 'I have no interest in boats,' she
