“Of course I’d cooperate with an official investigation,” she said. “But an official, bona fide investigation would walk through the front door, not resort to carjacking and intimidation. This is official? All I see is a rented warehouse and two cowboys in a trailer with a science kit. If this is official, Agent Callan, go through channels at One Police Plaza and I’m all yours. Otherwise, it’s you, me, and a throwdown with some folding chairs.”
Agent Callan closed the file and tapped his thigh with its edge while he chewed the inside of his mouth. He glanced at his partner, who only nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Go.” But as they collected their luggage, he added, “Oh, and Rook. You can claim protection under the Constitution. But let me warn you. Considering what you two are messing in, you may find that protection sorely lacking.”
They decided to eat in that night. Heat wanted to work and they both craved some of Rook’s famous pasta carbonara. As Nikki pored over notes at the dining table in his loft, Rook got to slicing and dicing on the other side of the counter. “Do me a fave?” he asked. “Careful where you step. My little Scotty dog statuette that lives on the table by the couch may be an earthquake casualty. It’s MIA—Missing in Aftershock.”
“Oh, poor Scotty … I’ll keep an eye out.” She bent and walked the area without finding it, and ended up in the kitchen. “Mm, bacon smells great. How soon?”
“When the water boils. And please, do not watch that pot.”
Too late. She was already reaching for the lid. “Seems like a lot of water.”
“On the Food Network, Alton Brown specifically says not to cook pasta in less than a gallon.” He took the lid from her and replaced it. “Why don’t I grate my Parmigiano-Reggiano while you relax and find a killer. Deal?”
While he cooked, the squeak of her marker on the whiteboard they had nicknamed Murder Board South mixed with the chop of his chef’s knife on the Boos Block. “Pop quiz, Rook. What have we learned from our DHS carjacking?”
“You mean, besides that automobile travel with you is repeatedly fraught with peril? We’ve learned that we are on to something. Otherwise, you don’t get that kind of attention.”
“Including eavesdropping on our conversations and tailing us in Paris. You did recognize Callan’s partner, didn’t you?”
He looked stumped but tried to cover. “Uh, sure. He … I have no idea.”
“Wake up, Rook. He was the guy in the blue suit outside the cafe the other morning acting like he was killing time rolling his own cigarette. Did you see how he looked away tonight when I made him?”
“Ah … sure I did,” he lied.
“Homeland Security is nervous about something. And for all their snooping, our interrogation tells me whatever that is, they still haven’t cracked it.”
“No kidding. Every question he asked told us what they don’t know. And did you see his face when you mentioned Seacrest? And what’s with the swabs?” He looked through the steam rising from the pot to see her circling “DHS Swabs?” on the whiteboard. “So what’s got them operating at DEFCON One?”
“I don’t know, but I say, let’s keep doing what we’ve been doing because it’s working.”
He fanned the spaghetti in the roiling water and gave her a self-satisfied grin. “You mean like going to Boston and Paris?”
“Yes,” said Nikki. “Those were great ideas I had, weren’t they?”
“Brilliance,” said Rook, “brilliance.”