“Come on, this is nothing. You meet, you discuss. It’s a dance. Nothing is
set—or will be—without talking it over with you. You have my word as a member of
the press.” He laughed, trying to lighten the load with that.
She dismissed it with a hand wave, just to have it go away for now. The whole notion
still chapped her, but Nikki made a tactical surrender because she couldn’t bear
the strain of one more ounce of conflict in her life. But she knew this tin can was
only getting kicked down the road. “I get it. Fine, really.” She stood and hugged
him. “After spending a night on the couch here, I’m going home to turn in early,
so why don’t I see you in the morning?”
He leaned in. She gave him an office-appropriate kiss, watched him go out, and sat
five minutes just to meditate herself calm.
Nikki came home with a to-go bag from Duke’s around the block. During a comfort
supper of Ma’s Macaroni and KC Sloppy Ribs, Heat caught some baseball on TV. After
her bath, the fans were just getting to “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” and she
cocooned on the couch wrapped in a throw blanket while she battled sleep trying to
stay awake for the late innings. Sleep won.
The phone woke her. She muted the postgame report and picked up her cell. The ID
said “Unknown Caller.”
“You had to know you’d be next,” said the Darth Vader voice.
Rainbow.
Jolted, her heart pounded. She stood, pulling her bathrobe around herself, a primal
reflex. “You’re calling after office hours,” she said, trying to mask the
vulnerability she felt with some edge. The home call to her personal cell had done
its job. He’d spooked her.
“Maximizing time,” he said. “Who knows how many hours you have left? Well…” He
chuckled. “Actually, I do.”
“You’re going to be disappointed.”
“Could be,” he said. Even through the electronic scramble, she could hear the
earnestness of his admission. “You’re a challenge, Heat. Like I said, you’re
smarter than the others.” He paused slightly, then added, “But know what? It makes
me wonder.”
“What do you mean?”
“That you still don’t know. That’s what I mean.” Then he hung up.
Heat felt like she should do something, but what? If she called to report this to
Irons, he’d smother her with a protection detail or, worse, sideline her entirely,
as he had a month ago with the enforced psych leave. Calling Detective Feller came
to mind, as did Raley and Ochoa—all of whom had shown at one time or another what
it meant for one cop to have another’s back. But she didn’t want to set off alarm
bells or distract them from their work chasing leads. Same with calling her local
precinct. The Thirteenth had covered her front door before with a blue-and-white,
but once again, that could send ripples back to Captain Irons. Rook? She checked her
watch. Almost 11 P.M.
She speed-dialed him, knowing he’d be more company than protection, but company
would do nicely. He picked up on the third ring. “Hey, what’s going on?” Rook
spoke in a low voice, subdued, the way she had seen him take calls when he was
somewhere he couldn’t really talk.
“This a bad time?”
“No, not at all.” She could hear silver clanging and table conversation, something
like “Nathan would be perfect casting, if he’s available.” Nikki sensed his palm
cupped around the mouthpiece. He said, “Just doing some spitballing with the Castle
Rock folks. Can I call you in ten or fifteen? You gonna be up?”
“That’s OK, stay on your meeting. I just wanted to say good night.”
“Good night to you, too.” She could hear the way he tried not to sound stilted—
and his disappointment that he did nonetheless.