Whitfield was involved.
Alex stayed quiet, observing that her conversation and questions were directed entirely at Hamilton, and that apparently she hadn’t noticed that Hamilton was mostly returning noncommittal answers and seemed subdued.
“And so what about France?” she said. “A guy that wealthy probably takes the Concorde all the time.”
“That doesn’t seem likely,” Hamilton replied.
“Okay, so he has his own jet. I’m just saying that travel between here and France would not be a problem for this guy.”
When they reached the homicide bureau parking lot, Hamilton pointed out his car-a black Jaguar XJ8.
“Nice ride,” Alex said as he pulled up next to it. “That’s a rental?”
“Yes, Hertz at LAX,” Hamilton said and held up a key with a rental tag on it.
“My tax dollars at work, or did you trade in frequent flyer miles for the upgrade?” Alex asked, but Hamilton got out of the car without replying.
Alex glanced around to see where Ciara had parked. He had just realized that he didn’t see Ciara’s car, when Hamilton opened Ciara’s door. She started to get out, too.
“Ciara, wait,” Alex said, “I need to talk to you for a few minutes-if you don’t mind?”
Hamilton stood there, eyes narrowed.
“Sorry, Hamilton,” Alex said. “It’s about an earlier case. I promise it doesn’t have anything to do with this one.”
“Sure,” Hamilton said.
“I might take a trip up to Malibu later on,” Alex said. “Want to come along?”
Hamilton shook his head. “I think jet lag has finally hit me. I’m going to turn in early and try to make a more clearheaded start tomorrow.”
“Sure.”
“Ciara,” Hamilton said, “you need a ride home?”
“I’ll give her a lift,” Alex said. “You get some sleep and we’ll see you in the morning.”
He hesitated.
Ciara glanced at Alex, then said, “Alex is right. See you tomorrow.”
As Hamilton drove off, Alex realized that he had never been to Ciara’s house. Over the last year, within a week or two of being partnered with anyone else, he had known exactly where his partner lived, and usually they had gone out for a beer together, or had spent some other time together after work. That hadn’t happened with Ciara.
“Long Beach, right?” he asked.
She smiled. “Right city. Are you going to take a wild stab at one of the dozen or so exits?”
He felt his face redden.
“Atlantic Avenue,” she said.
They hadn’t gone far before she said, “It’s none of your business.”
“Hamilton?”
“Right.”
“If you’re thinking of having a relationship with him-”
“I’m not,” she said quickly. “I enjoy talking to him, that’s all.”
Alex was silent. He found himself comparing Hamilton’s age to hers. Not fair of him, he knew, but couldn’t help wondering what all Ciara and Hamilton had in common. And why, apparently, she felt more relaxed around an FBI agent than him.
“Alex-really. Don’t do this.”
“What?”
“Go all protective on me.”
“Can’t help it. Is that so bad?”
She didn’t answer.
“Maybe I’m jealous,” he said.
“Jealous!”
“Sure, why not? I don’t mean-not in that way. Just makes me realize that a guy who blew into town yesterday has better rapport with my partner than I do.”
She bit her lower lip. “That’s my fault.”
“No. John made me realize the same thing when we were down at Shay Wilder’s place. My uncle probably knows more about you than I do.”
“We haven’t been working together all that long.”
“More than a damned day. That’s all it took either one of them to get you to come out from behind the barricades.”
“The barricades…that bad?”
He shrugged.
“Look, it was easier to let my guard down with them. They’re not really in-house. They didn’t meet me knowing that everyone else in the bureau hated my guts.”
“That’s not true.”
“I came to you as a problem child. No use denying it.”
“Maybe you weren’t the problem. Hey, listen-let’s not talk shop. That’s what always happens.”
She smiled. “Oh, so you were bullshitting poor Agent Hamilton?”
“You know I was. He does, too. Cut it out. Tell me-I don’t know-tell me about your sister.”
She was quiet for so long, he almost wondered if he had accidentally stumbled on to some taboo subject.
“Laney’s the reason I’m a cop.”
He waited.
“Her attackers were never brought to justice, so I figured the only way I could deal with my anger over that was to catch people like them. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get lucky one day and just happen to round them up, too.”
“You have a description of them?”
He saw her struggle for a moment before saying, “My sister is one of those victims who was never able to describe her assailants. You know how much patience some cops have with victims like that.”
He did know. It wasn’t hard to get so caught up in trying to catch the bad guys that you focused only on what could help you do the job, even if it meant turning away from the victim’s misery if it wasn’t going to provide a lead. Especially when you’d had a steady diet of misery for a few years. John had talked to him about it, warned him. “Some days you are going to be tired and frustrated and fresh out of sympathy,” he had said. “If you ever want to make a cop hater out of somebody, go ahead and show it.”
“So,” Alex said now, “does your sister approve of your career?”
“Maybe you should meet her,” she said.
“Sure, I’d like that.”
“We’ll see if you do. We’ll pick her up on the way to my place, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
“You have much in the trunk?”
Surprised, he said, “No.”
“Good. We’ll need the room for her wheelchair.”
“Okay,” he said mildly.
She smiled. “Alex Brandon will present a lecture this evening on how to remain calm while your hair is on fire…”
“Ciara-”
“…and you are simultaneously being pursued by a swarm of bees. Killer bees.”
He smiled. “Well, what good would it do you to panic in that situation?”
That made her laugh.
