“After my Jameson-esque takedown?”
“What have I started?” She pressed her forefinger on his lips and continued,
explaining the DMV trace on the silver minivan that made Glen Windsor a probable. “
I couldn’t be certain, but I figured, if he was setting me up, I could get there
early enough and get in position to take him.”
“And if it hadn’t been a setup by Rainbow?”
“Then, worst-case scenario, I could still apprehend Salena Kaye.”
He processed it and said, “Well done. Very Nikki-esque.”
“Don’t even.”
“Hinesburg, though… Man.”
“I have to admit, I feel sort of blindsided, too. I guess I started to have
inklings that I must have denied—I mean she was a flake—but that security video
from Coney Crest was the big domino, knocking down all the others. Every one of her
cute little screwups and oversights started looking more like sabotage: telling me
Wynn’s bomb was a timer when it was a remote…”
“Because she triggered it…”
“Screwing up the tipster call from the rent-a-car guy who spotted Salena Kaye…”
“So she could warn her…”
“And on and on.”
“It’s ingenious. Incompetence masking subterfuge. And there she was, hiding in
plain sight in the middle of your bull pen.” He reflected and said, “One good
thing. You flushed out the mole. No more looking over your shoulder before you say
something.”
“I sure hope not.” She shaded that thought and got his attention.
“What?”
“Know how Callan got to the heliport so fast? Yardley Bell told him about my meet.
”
He thought about that. “How would Yardley know?”
Nikki gave him an appraising look. “You tell me.”
“Wait, you don’t think I—Nikki, seriously?” She said nothing, one part
interrogation technique, the other not wanting to think it was so. “Hey, I will
admit to a lot of things. Yes, I went to Nice with her. Yes, I told her when I was
trying to track down Tyler Wynn through his… through his wine and custom shoe
purchases.”
“And about the jerk chicken pop-up stores.”
“Yes. But when you tell me something is between us, it stays between us.”
“Then how did Yardley know?”
“No clue. But I can look you square in the eye and tell you it wasn’t me?”
They held each other’s stare. After a few seconds her phone buzzed with a text.
“Is that my lie detector result?” he asked.
“Don’t need one. Lucky for you, pal, I trust you.” She held up the phone. “Glen
Windsor’s out of surgery. Want to come?”
“You bet.” Rook stood up and got out his cell. He gave Heat a sly grin and said,
“Let me call Yardley first.”
The uniform stationed outside Glen Windsor’s private room on the second floor gave
Rook an appraising once-over as they arrived just before midnight. “It’s all
right, she’s with me, Officer,” Rook said. The cop actually laughed and, following
Heat’s nod, gestured them both to pass.
They found the prisoner with his bandaged leg up on a pillow, watching NY1 news on
the overhead. He didn’t seem surprised by Heat’s visit but said, “Wow, Jameson
Rook, too. Am I going to be featured in your next article?”
“Absolutely. I’m doing one on excrement.”
“You’ll pardon me if I don’t get up.” He tugged at the manacle that cuffed him
to the bed rail. “But I can still wave hello.” He gave Rook the finger and
laughed. Nikki switched off the TV. “Hey, come on, I’m the lead story. I want to
see it again.”
“You’ll be hearing about it for some time, Windsor,” she said.
Rook added, “Like the rest of your life.”
“Hey, why the disrespect, Rook? It’s not like you’re the one I was trying to
kill.” He grinned. “Allegedly.”
As Heat drew over a chair she eye-signaled Rook to ease up, and he took a spot
leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb. “How’s the leg?” she asked Windsor.