He nodded to himself and said, “We just had a Dr. Phil thing there, didn’t we?”
She laughed. “Sorta, yeah.”
“Because it felt sort of like one of those Dr. Phil things.”
They smiled and looked into each other a long time. Nikki was starting to wonder, What now? This connection they had just made was unexpected, and she wasn’t prepared for what it might mean. So she did what she always did. Decided to not decide. Just to be in the moment.
He may have been in the same place, because in some unspoken ballet of synchronization, the two leaned forward at the same instant, drawn to each other for a tender kiss. When they parted, they smiled again and then just held each other, jaws resting on opposing shoulders, their chests slowly rising and falling as one.
“And so you know, Rook, I’m sorry, too. About this afternoon in the car, being so rough on you.”
A full minute passed and he said, “And so you know? I’m good with rough.”
Nikki drew back from him and gave him a sly look. “Oh, are you?” She reached down and took him in her hand. “How rough?”
He cupped a palm behind her head, lacing his long fingers through her hair. “Wanna find out?”
She gave him a squeeze that made him gasp and said, “You’re on.”
And then she gasped as he gathered her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. Halfway down the hall, she bit his ear and whispered, “My safe word is ‘pineapples.’ ”
Nikki wanted them to arrive at the Two-Oh separately the next morning. She got up early and, as she left, asked Rook to cab home to change and to take his sweet time before he came to the precinct. She had enough gossip swirling around her without the two of them showing up for work together looking like the poster for Date Night.
Heat rolled into the bull pen at five of six and was surprised to find Detectives Raley and Ochoa already there. Raley was on his phone listening to someone and gave her a howdy nod, then resumed his note taking. “Hey, Detective,” said Ochoa.
“Gents.” She usually got a smile whenever she spoke to one member of the pair as the rep for both. This time, nothing. Ochoa’s phone rang, and as he reached for it, she said, “You boys got something against sleep?” Neither one answered her. Ochoa took his call. Raley finished his and passed by on the way to the whiteboard. Nikki had a feeling she knew what these two were up to, and sure enough, when she tailed Raley to the board, she discovered that he and Ochoa had started a new section labeled “The Lone Stranger” in red marking pen.
Rales referred to his notes to update the status report they had begun under the taped-up police sketch of the Texan. As his dry-erase marker squeaked out block capitals on the bright white surface, Heat read over his shoulder: No overnight ER visits with gunshots or broken collarbones from anyone matching his description in Manhattan or the boroughs. Calls pending in Jersey. Checks of all CVSs and Duane Reades south of Canal Street and west of St. James Place came up neg for first-aid shoppers matching Tex. Digital copies of his sketch were blasted out in e-mails to private urgent-care storefronts in case he sought treatment at one of the local doc-in-the-boxes.
Under a section headed “Patrols/Quality of Life” she saw that these two had already contacted all relevant precincts with no hits on any complaints, arrests, or homeless pickups matching her man.
Nikki Heat was standing witness to how cops had one another’s back. A sister detective got assaulted, and Roach’s stoic response was to come in to the precinct under a setting moon to start turning over all the stones. It wasn’t just a code. It was life itself. Because in their city, you just didn’t pull that shit and walk.