“Junk drawer,” he said, pointing under the silverware drawer.
She found a rubber band formerly holding the ads in his Sunday paper, slicked her hair back and secured it with two quick movements. Lightning cracked through him, halting movement and breath for a heartbeat, then another as their eyes locked. He resumed breathing when she broke away to gather the dirty plates and silverware from the dining room table and slide them into the soapy water he’d run to do dishes.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said.
“I need to do something,” she replied.
Framed that way, he was okay with it, so she washed, he dried and put away. While the sink drained, she went into Luke’s room and returned with her iPhone. She swiped and tapped at the screen, then lifted the phone to her ear.
He raised an eyebrow in question.
“My contractor,” she said. “I need him to replace the glass in my windows. I can’t live here forever.”
“East Side guy?”
“Of course,” she said.
He cleared his throat. “A cop I know does renovation work on the side. I called him before you got up. He can install new glass Monday after work and he’ll keep it quiet. I just need to call him back to give him your approval.”
Slowly she lowered the phone and tapped the screen to end the call. “Because you don’t want the whole East Side to know about the shooting.”
“Until we have a better handle on the investigation, yes,” he said quietly.
“How did you keep it out of the paper?” she asked. “Anybody with a police frequency app on their smartphone can monitor the radio.”
“Do you have any idea how often we respond to a ‘shots fired’ call on the East Side? Multiple times a night,” he said. “No one’s going to pay any attention to what happened.”
She rubbed her thumb across her iPhone as she considered his words. “And that’s why I’m here, not at Caleb’s office strategizing a lawsuit. Go ahead and call your friend.”
He didn’t push, just wrung out the dishcloth and draped it over the faucet, then made the quick call. When he turned to face her again, she was still staring at him, that assessing look in her eyes.
“You’re handling this much better than I am.”
“I’ve known from the beginning who I am,” he said with a shrug.
“Somebody shot at us last night!”
Oh. That part of “this.” “Not my first time at that rodeo,” he said bluntly.
Eve narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth. “About that—” she started.
The doorbell rang. Eve looked at him. He waited, then his cell phone, clipped to his belt opposite his gun, buzzed. He flipped it open. “It’s them,” he said, but he still peered through the blinds before opening the door.
“McCormick said you live on the most boring street in all of Lancaster,” Sorenson said as she slipped through the door, then nodded at Eve, hanging back by the dining room table. “I called in Carlucci to take over. He’s great at sitting on his rear end, and McCormick would rather be back on the street anyway. Ms. Webber.”
“Detective,” Eve replied politely, then turned to Hawthorn. “Ian, you jerk. You are so on my shit list.”
Her scathing glare slid right off the LT. “It was the right thing to do, Eve. We didn’t know what you could handle, and we never thought it would turn out like this.”
Eve opened her mouth to argue, but Sorenson stepped past Hawthorn and drew Eve into the living room, quietly asking how she was feeling, if she needed anything from her apartment. Hawthorn looked at her, then at Matt, shook his head, but said nothing.
Eve spoke from the dining room. “Ian, Detective Sorenson asked if I’d identify some people you’ve photographed with Lyle.”
Matt recognized the technique. Start with something simple, giving names. Nothing incriminating or snitchy in that request, but it would make it harder for Eve to break the flow of the conversation if it took a more participatory turn.
“We’d appreciate it,” Ian said gravely.
“Do you want your brother here for this conversation?” Matt said. Because it was the right thing to do.
Amusement flared in her eyes. “I think giving Caleb a couple of days to calm down is a good idea.”
No one disagreed with that conclusion. Matt felt the vibe shift as Sorenson and Hawthorn incorporated this conversation into their judgment of Eve’s shrewdness. Hawthorn headed for the dining room and Sorenson sent him a look that read Damn, Dorchester. His return look conveyed See what I’ve been up against for the last two weeks?
Hawthorn shifted a thick folder and a laptop to the table and began unwinding the power cord. “You’re well connected to the East Side. We usually have to piece together networks and relationships after several arrests, and information from East Side informants is sporadic.”