Heat used the time they were in the second bedroom for Rook’s interview to pluck some wipes from the box and clean herself off. As she dabbed her forehead, it occurred to her that Lauren probably had heard from her boyfriend Miguel that he and Sean had picked up Rook in the Roach Coach on the way there, and leaving the towelettes was her attempt to let her neaten up before he arrived. Scrubbing something crusty off her chin, Nikki turned to the back hallway, figuring it would be a short conversation since Rook didn’t even know Don had existed. That would certainly back up the answer she gave when Caparella had asked Heat if she was in any other relationships besides the one with the victim. He’d made a note when she mentioned Rook’s name, but she said, “He didn’t know him. Far as I know, he didn’t even know about him.”
If she had been in the other detective’s shoes, she would be asking the same questions—as he put it, covering the bases—but Heat wholeheartedly believed she was the target, not Don, who had fulfilled the wrong-place-and-time maxim in the most tragic fashion. The awkward part of the interview for her had been filling her colleague in on what she knew about Don, which amounted to so little, it might have come off like a dodge of the question: ex-Navy SEAL; single, so he said; they’d met at her gym two years ago when she signed up for hand-to-hand combat training; he was her instructor; the two began meeting outside formal classes for one-on-one workouts and then a beer after. And then a casual … physical … relationship. The other detective paused, frowning at his notepad, either processing, judging, or fantasizing, she couldn’t tell. Nikki knew it wasn’t the sort of thing easily explained to a disinterested third party, and his reaction made her worry anew how Rook—a decidedly interested third party—would react.
Nikki had moved things off Don and filled Detective Caparella in on the twin murder cases she was working and her belief the killing was meant to shut her down. “Any idea who would do that?” he asked.
“Detective, I’ve spent ten years trying to answer that question. Trust me. My life is about nothing else but finding that out and bringing him down.” Appearing satisfied, he made a few more notes, asked her to e-mail him a copy of the case files that were relevant, and that was that.
Lauren Parry wrapped her exam in record time and managed to get Don’s body removed before Rook could emerge from the back bedroom and be confronted again by the nude mystery man on the floor. “How did it go?” Nikki asked when he finally appeared.
He gave her a cool, appraising stare. “Only tough as hell.” He bit off the words. Rook’s initial relief had been joined by an anger that floated a mere inch beneath the surface. “You know how hard it is to find fifty different ways to say, ‘I don’t know’? And I’m a fucking writer.”
A ballistics technician passed by to flag a hole where lead shot had bored into the oak bookcase beside them. Heat drew Rook over near the piano to find as much privacy as she could in a room full of detectives and evidence collectors. Even though he went along, Rook’s arm felt stiff to her, and she said, “I know this is a big piece to swallow.”
“Big? For once, Nikki, I am speechless.”
“I get that, but …”
“But what?” His hurt, confusion, apprehension, and—yes, anger—came all rolled up in two small words.
“This isn’t what it looks like.”
“That’s usually my line.” But he wasn’t amused. “What is it, then?”
“Complicated,” she said.
“I can do complicated.” He waited, but she didn’t speak. Nikki was flat-out at a loss as to where to begin and anxious about where it would likely go once she started. Instead, she looked over at the red stain on the entry rug where Don’s head had landed and he’d bled out—and she said nothing. Rook’s patience gave. “OK, look. You’ve got your keys to my place, right? Best thing to do now is to let Raley and Ochoa take you over there for a shower and some sleep.”
“You’re not coming?”
He didn’t have a cop switch, so he hid in logistics. “I’ll hang out here to make sure the place gets locked up when all this is finished.”
She repeated, “You’re not coming?”
“I’ll call your super. Jerzy should be able to cover that hole in the door.”
“Thanks,” she said but laced it with edge and sarcasm. “Comforting.”
“What do you want, Nikki?” Wading one step deeper into dangerous waters, he said, “I don’t know what the hell to do just now. You’re giving me nothing, and frankly, all I’m doing is getting more pissed off.”
“So this is all about you? After the night I just had?”