Loose thoughts started to ping, but Heat didn’t like hunches. Facts were her
friend, and she could have used some. She thought a long moment. Then she steeled
herself and picked up the phone.
When Bart Callan answered, he seemed surprisingly cool to her. At prior meetings,
including the visit she’d just made to the Department of Homeland Security, the
agent had not only pressed her—relentlessly—to join his investigation team, he’d
wrapped his outreach in something more. The vibe Heat got was personal. She believed
Special Agent Callan wouldn’t have minded getting intimate. So when he said he was
kind of busy, Nikki felt taken aback. And what else? Maybe a little disappointed?
But then he fell into form. “I’m in the swamp and up to my ass in alligators, but
I could meet you later. Want to hook up for a cocktail?”
She said yes. And then felt guilty. And then wondered why.
Heat wanted to meet someplace packed and noisy, but Callan had an interview on the
Upper East Side and chose Bemelmans in the Carlyle, to her chagrin, a softly quiet
bar with leather upholstery, dreamy lighting, and worst of all, intimacy. She gave
him the long arm when they shook and let him take the banquette. Normally she liked
a view of the door, but a chair made her feel less trapped. She ordered a wine
spritzer, a drink Nikki despised, but she needed a clear head and didn’t want to
send a false cue with a gateway cocktail. He surprised her, going for a mineral
water. His second surprise was getting right to business.
“You’ll be happy to know we scored some surveillance pics of Salena Kaye following
her escape from that chopper.”
“That was quick,” she said, remembering the checkin she’d made on her way out of
the precinct house, of poor Raley still poring over miles of security video.
“Facial recognition software. I’ll zap you copies.”
“Great. Where did you pick her up?”
“Coming off the Q train in Coney Island. Speculation is she either operates out of
there or had a meet. We’re checking car services and other resources we have. If I
told you more, I’d have to, well, you know the rest.” He smiled and she felt
uneasy. After the waiter came with the drinks and left, he said, “Kaye must have
put up quite a fight to get away from you.”
“Please, I feel guilty enough. My combat skills have gotten a little rusty lately.
”
“The Navy SEAL?” he asked. “Tragic. His name was Don, right?” God, this guy did
his homework. Callan knew her murdered friend Don had been her close-combat sparring
partner. Nikki studied the DHS agent, wondering if he also knew that she and Don
once had a nostrings sexual relationship. The ex-SEAL used to call himself her
trainer with benefits. If Bart Callan knew about that part, he didn’t let on. So
she couldn’t tell if there was deeper meaning when he said, “Listen, if you want a
new partner, I love a good workout.”
Her gaze left his to dwell on the walls of the bar, which she recognized had been
illustrated by the same artist who’d drawn the Madeline books. “I called because I
want to hear again about your contact with my mother,” she said, glancing back his
way, glad now to be on her ground. “A few weeks ago you said something about an
informant.”
“There’s not much more I can tell you.”
“Then tell me again.”