Deadly Heat



Rook picked up a nanosecond before the voice mail dump. “Sorry, couldn’t hear the

ringer, it’s so noisy here.” It sounded like a saloon in the background for a good

reason. “My Hollywood lunch segued into Manhattan happy hour.”

“How’s that going?”

The long squeak of a heavy door filled Heat’s earpiece. The background din on Rook

’s end quieted and his voice echoed in a vestibule. “It’s too bad you’re not a

media whore, Nikki. Between the two of us, we’d clean up.”

“Help yourself. I’m calling because I won’t be able to make seven-thirty with

Puzzle Man tonight.” Heat told him about the unexpected call from Salena Kaye and

the proposed surrender meeting.

When she finished, Rook said, “Of course you told Kaye you wouldn’t show.”

“I did.”

“And yet, you’re informing me you can’t make our meeting. What the hell are you

doing?”

“I’ve been thinking it over, and I have an excellent hunch why Salena reached out.

I need to see this through.”

“A hunch? Flaky hunches and wack theories are my department. Are we going to be one

of those old couples with matching track suits and his-and-hers aluminum foil hats?



“As long as we don’t start to look alike.”

“And I can’t talk you out of this?”

“No more than you can convince me to let you come. She said alone, and this woman’

s got experience and a secret agent’s radar. She’ll know if I’ve got backup.”

Nikki chuckled. “And besides, what are you going to do, squirt her with one of your

fountain pens?”

He paused. “You should at least call Callan.”

“No.”

“He not only has a stake in this, too, he’ll know how to back you up, undetected.

Did you hear him talk about his surveillance dome over Tyler Wynn the other night?”

“And how did that work out?” She let that sink in and continued, “Rook, listen to

me. There are too many leaks screwing everything up at every turn. I’m not telling

anyone.”

“You sure?”

“And neither are you. I mean it.”

“Fine. What do I tell Puzzle Man?”

“Tell him to figure it out.”

“Zinggg. Do you at least have a plan?”

“I do.” Then she said, “And I’ve got until eight-thirty to come up with it.”




According to the Web site for the East River Heliport, New York City ordinances

closed them for air traffic at 8 P.M. daily. Heat made a check of the time. Almost

six. She didn’t stop to close the window on her monitor. She rolled her chair away

from her desk, made a holster check, grabbed her jacket, and hurried to the door.

She got to the hall, stopped, and made a U-turn and came back into the bull pen.

“You all right?” asked Hinesburg.

“Uh, yeah, just a little hassled for time.” Heat unlocked a drawer and took out an

extra clip for her Sig Sauer. “Oh, Sharon?” she mimed a phone with her thumb and

pinkie. “Check the hard drive, will you? Make sure that phone call recorded? And

nobody else goes near it.” Then she left. She didn’t look back. She didn’t even

take the sheet from her pad on which she’d written the time and place of her

meeting.

Somehow Nikki didn’t think she’d forget.