“True, but they were supermodels or smokin’ hot actresses and there was the potential for sex afterward. Not that I ever took one of them up on it.” And then he grinned. “Two of them, yes. One, no.”
Nikki shook her head and then put the bracelet on her wrist and held it to the light. She studied it some more, then took it off. When she picked up the pouch, he said, “Before you put that away, humor me. Did you notice whether your mom, or Nicole, or anyone else was wearing that bracelet or one like it in any of the old photos?” She gave him a look of approval but he seemed wary. “Does this reaction mean my free pass is still in effect and you’re only humoring me, or did I just have an actual good idea?”
“I’m going to go get the box, what do you think?” She disappeared down the hall but then came back out empty-handed. “It’s gone.”
“What’s gone?” He followed her back into his office. She pointed to a file drawer.
“I put the box in there. It’s gone.” He started to reach for the handle and she stopped him. “Don’t. In case we need to dust for prints.”
“Are you sure they aren’t somewhere else?”
“Those pictures were important to me, I know just where I put them. And that drawer has a big empty space where they were this morning when I closed it.”
Taking care not to touch anything, they made a quick survey of the loft. Everything seemed in place, and there was no sign of a forced entry from the door or the windows. “Maybe I should cancel my dinner with Wally.”
“Nice try. We both have things to do. Let’s lock up and have evidence collection sweep it in the morning. We can sleep at my place tonight.”
Rook thought that one over a moment. “OK, but if anybody knocks on your door, you’re answering it.”
Heat arrived at Cafe Gretchen first, and even though the April air in Chelsea that night carried a brisk chill, in memory of Paris she defiantly chose one of the open sidewalk tables and ordered a latte while she waited for Carter Damon. Nikki was glad for her few moments of solitude, but they were anything but relaxing. The theft of the photos had unnerved her. She also wondered why Damon needed to see her on short notice. Maybe his guilt over basically phoning in his investigation had gotten to him and he wanted to make up for it. She tried to let go of her edginess by watching the evening strollers up on the High Line across Tenth Avenue from her.
The High Line represented everything Heat loved about New York: a bold idea done big and done right, and open to everybody. The half-mile, unused elevated railway spur had been a rusting urban eyesore for years until someone got the absurd notion to transform it into a linear aerial park. They cleaned it up, incorporated the rail tracks into the pedestrian walkway, added benches at vista points, then lined it, beginning to end, with diverse greenery including tall grasses, sumac, birches, and meadow plants. It had just opened the summer before, but already it had become such a pedestrian Mecca that the city was at work constructing an extension scheduled to be completed by the next summer.
Nikki scanned up and down the sidewalk. No Carter Damon yet. The waiter delivered her latte, and she watched the steam rise and curl sideways above the thin cuff of foam rimming the espresso. She raised the cup for a sip. It was still too hot to drink, so she pulled it back to blow on it.
And when she did, she saw the red laser dot appear on her cup.
SIXTEEN