“But you didn’t tell me all of it. You didn’t tell me who Cassidy was going to expose. But you knew, didn’t you? You knew because it wasn’t the publisher who told you, it was your mentor. Cassidy Towne told you, didn’t she? Maybe not all of it but parts, am I right?” He looked away. “And you told Soleil Gray about it. That’s what made her go after the editor to get the manuscript. How else would she know? Tell me it isn’t so.”
Other customers were coming in, so he leaned forward over the table to lower his voice, which was shaky and hoarse. “After what happened to Cassidy, I thought I should tell Soleil. To warn her.”
“Maybe. But you were also star kissing. I’m sure you didn’t know what she was going to do, but you couldn’t resist working the favor bank. That’s how it goes, isn’t it? And then you pump me a little, and then details about me showing Soleil autopsy photos at Later On end up in print.” She paused. “Please tell me you aren’t The Stinger.”
“Me? No.”
“But you know her.”
“Him. Yeah.”
Heat made sure she had his full attention before she said, “Petar, I don’t know what happened to you, maybe it was there in you all along and that’s why we split.”
“I’m just trying to do the job, Nikki, I’m not a bad person.”
Nikki studied him and said, “No, I don’t believe you are. I just find you to be a bit morally vague.”
Heat put money on the table for her drink and left.
As she crossed to the door, she flashed back to almost ten years ago, the last time she’d walked out on Petar. That time it was on a winter night in a coffeehouse in the West Village and a Bob Dylan song was playing on some rafter speakers. The song came back to her now, echoing her sentiments just as it did then. “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right.”
Still steeped in Dylan’s blameless melancholy about relationships, Nikki paused on the top step outside Lalo to button her brown leather jacket for the short walk to work. In front of a diner up the street, she saw her friend Lauren Parry getting out of a taxi. Heat was about to call out to her but stopped when she spotted Detective Ochoa getting out of the cab behind her and rushing ahead to get the front door for her. With an exaggerated flourish, he swept his arm, gesturing Lauren inside, and the couple entered laughing for their breakfast date. Or perhaps, thought Nikki, their morning-after brunch. The sight of the two made her forget Dylan for the moment. She breathed in the crisp autumn air and thought—or at least hoped—that maybe once in a while it was better than just all right.
When she stepped down to the sidewalk, Heat paused again, recalling how this was the exact spot where she had encountered the coyote days before. Nikki let her eyes roam the street, running that slide show in her mind.
Then she saw it.
The coyote wasn’t where it had been before. This time it was at a distance, sniffing the sidewalk up at the corner of Broadway where the trash had just been collected. She watched it lower its head to the concrete and lick a patch. She continued to watch it silently, and yet part of her wanted to call out a “Hey” or perhaps whistle just to get a reaction. Or to make the connection.
As she was having these thoughts, the animal raised its head. And looked right at her.
The two of them stood there watching each other from a block away. Its narrow face was too far off to make out detail, but in its matted coat and chunky fur Heat could read the story of the week it had had, pursued by copters and cameras. Its head rose a little higher to stare at her, and in that moment she stood naked to its eyes. Then it folded its ears back, and from that gesture Heat felt a sense of what she could only describe as the kinship between two beings that had endured a week out of their element.
She raised her hand tentatively to wave. As she brought it up, a car drove down the street, passing the animal, blocking it for a second from her view.
When the car passed, the coyote was gone.
Nikki lowered her hand and started off back to the precinct. At the corner of Amsterdam, waiting to cross, she looked back the other way just to check, but it was still gone. She understood why. They both knew the need to find cover.
That night Nikki let herself into her apartment, where Rook sat at the dining table with his work spread out. “How’s the article coming?”