“What do you think?” he said. “Why do you want to know all this?”
Once again, Heat held her panic cards close. She didn’t acknowledge his question but instead asked a key one of her own. “And to do all this, could your run-of-the-mill hacker do it, or would it have to be someone who had a strong, sophisticated background in this?”
“Either. But those higher functions would point me to the latter. Is this about Swift?”
Heat said, “Just gathering facts.”
“Pure research, it’s called. A study without thoughts of an end goal.”
“Sounds good.”
“But I don’t believe you,” said the professor.
After Heat had shared Backhouse’s information with the squad, Ochoa said, “This guy knows his stuff. And all this expertise about cars came right off the top of his head?”
“It is a rather brilliant head,” Rook observed.
“Geek power!” said Heat. Even as she laughed along with them, Nikki found herself fixating on a tiny speck of grit in the back of her brain. Just for the sake of covering all possible scenarios, however unlikely, she turned to Detective Rhymer. “Opie, would you discreetly find out during what hours Professor Backhouse had his lab at Hudson University today? And if he was present for it?”
“You want to alibi him for the car hacking?”
“I want to be thorough, that’s all.”
“And after you do that,” said Feller, “find out if he can help me rig some sick subwoofers in my Bel Air for Cruise Night in East Rockaway.”
At the end of the day, with nothing solved but everything being done that could be, Heat rested a hand on Rook’s shoulder and said, “You look like hell.”
“Thank you. Words I dreamed of hearing during the dark and wretched hours of my captivity.”
“I’m serious. Gold star in your crown for extra effort, but let’s get you out of here.” He didn’t object, so she shut off her office lights and grabbed her walkie-talkie, Nikki’s bulky new accessory since the cyber attack had instantly turned her department-issue BlackBerry into a sleek dust catcher. Out of habit, she also reached for her car keys, then scoffed and tossed them back on her desk.
“Motor pool’s going to issue you a loyalty reward card if you keep this up,” said Rook, hauling himself out of the guest chair with an audible “Oof.” On their way out, they passed the bulletin board, and she noticed that a picture of KITT, the artificially intelligent Trans Am from Knight Rider had been added to the lampooners’ collage along with the cover someone had cut off a paperback copy of Stephen King’s Christine.
Rook had used his Hitch! app to summon a car service to Tribeca, and the black town car with the ridiculous 3-D thumb on its roof was waiting when they stepped out. “At least it doesn’t light up,” she said.
“Give them time. This town will be crazy with luminous thumbs.”
They were starving, but with both of them longing simply to shut the world out and fold into each other for the night, they did what all good New Yorkers do—ordered delivery without a second thought. Nikki called Hamachi from the backseat, but when she turned to ask Rook what he wanted, he was already dozing against her shoulder, so she ordered for him.
Wordlessly, Heat and Rook drew themselves into each other’s arms in his foyer as soon as he had latched the door behind them—a spontaneous magnetic event fueled by their aching need to affirm something as basic and celebrated as their togetherness. They stood there a long time in the dark, silent, clinging, adhering. Chests rising and falling against each other, bodies feeling warmth and pressing closer to get more. It felt like there would never be enough, not after the past two days.
It took the delivery man’s ringing the buzzer to break them apart, which they only did because they liked ordering from that restaurant and didn’t want to get on its flake list by ignoring the poor guy. “What did you get me?” Rook asked as Nikki unpacked the bag and he uncorked the wine.