“Hey,” said the detective. “Or should I say, bonjour? I was just going to call you. How’s your jet lag?”
“I have been living my life jet lagged. I can no longer tell. Why were you going to call?” Heat got out her notepad, hopeful something would be worth writing down.
“I’ll give you the good news first. Forensics called and said they confirmed gunpowder residue on that glove Ochoa found. Also paint particles that may match your front door. The pigment’s right, but they won’t know for certain until this afternoon.”
Nikki covered the mouthpiece and relayed the information to Rook, then said, “OK, Rales, let’s hear the bad news.”
“Hang on.” After some rustling and the sound of a door opening and closing, he continued, accompanied by reverb, which made her picture him seeking privacy in the back hall off the bull pen. “It’s Irons. Now that the glove looks like it might bust a lead, he’s pulled Team Roach off Forensics watch.”
“Please, not Hinesburg.”
“Not that bad, but close. Captain’s taking it over himself. Lab’s still working on finding fingerprints on it, but if they do, the Iron Man is poised for glory.”
Inside, Nikki fumed, but kept a light touch with her detective. “I can’t leave town for one day, can I?” His laugh echoed in the hall, and she said, “Look, it is what it is. Thanks for the update, and keep me posted.”
The waiter had been standing by until she hung up, and when he arrived, Rook gestured to Nikki and said, “Want me to handle this?”
“No, I’ll blunder through.” She turned to the waiter and said flawlessly, “Bonjour, monsieur. Je voudrais deux petits plats, s’il vous plait. La salade de frisee, et apres, les pommes de terre a l’huile avec les harengs marine.”
Rook composed himself, muttered “Deux,” and handed the menus back. “Wow, I had no idea.”
“Once again,” she said.
“Full of surprises.”
“I have always loved the language. They even let me skip French Four in high school. But there’s no substitute for immersing yourself and speaking it with the locals.”
“When did you do that?”
“On my college semester abroad. I had been in Venice most of the time, but Petar and I came here for a month before I went back to Northeastern.”
“Ah, Petar. Shall we set a place for him?”
“God, drop the shoe, Sparky. So you know? Jealousy? Totally unattractive.”
“I’m not a jealous guy, you know.”
“Oh, right. Let’s run down your list of hot buttons: Petar? Don? Randall Feller?”
“OK, now, he’s different. That guy’s name says it all. Randy Feller? I’m just sayin’.”
“I think you’re ‘just sayin” a lot.”
He brooded, fumbling with his silverware, playing one-handed leapfrog with his forks, then finally said, “You named three. Is that about it?”
“Rook, are you seriously asking me my number? Because if you are, that’s going to open up a ginormous subject. That’s defining for a relationship. It’s going to mean talk. Lots and lots of talk. And even if you’re willing to go there right now and put in that work, I’d ask myself one thing, first: How many surprises can you handle in forty-eight hours?”
He saw the waiter coming and said, “You know what I think we should do? Let’s just relax and enjoy whatever the hell it was you ordered.”