Nikki indulged herself by sleeping in the next morning—though indulgence for her meant one extra hour and getting up at a slovenly six-thirty. Rook had been tossing most of the night with shoulder pain and bagged the notion of sleep altogether at about 4:00 A.M. to get up and keep pushing words forward in his article.
“Is making coffee going to bother you?” she asked after they kissed at the counter where he had set up shop.
“Only if you don’t give me any.” He finished the sentence he was typing and said, “BTW. Saw it online. Hack attack’s over.”
“Yeah, I got my first clue when my BlackBerry was vibrating across the nightstand, and I had a gazillion e-mails and memos.”
“Most of which you haven’t needed in a week, and bet you don’t need now.”
“True. I won’t call it preferable,” she said, pouring water from the Brita into the kettle. “But it does make you wonder how much tech we need.”
“Personally, there’s a certain drone I could have done without.”
“With you there.” She scrolled through her messages. “Surprise, surprise, an email from Zachary Hamner.”
“I picture that guy wearing an opera cape and sleeping in a coffin. And rising each day to breakfast on the hearts of young idealists who never heard his wings flapping.”
“Not so fast, babe. Get this.” Nikki then read the message aloud for him. “‘Captain Heat, it is my pleasure to relay congratulations from the chief of detectives on resolving your homicides. Your role in ending the cyber attack is also greatly appreciated and duly noted up the chain.’” She laughed as she read the rest. “‘Nonetheless your less-than-stellar performance as a precinct commander will be subject of an in-service review by your district supervisor. Also be mindful your CompStat numbers will still be expected next week along with your required presence at the One PP meeting. Warmly, Z.’” Heat laughed again. “‘Warmly?’”
“Must have just eaten a freshly beating heart. Bet he munches them like apples.”
“Here’s one from Special Agent Delaney. ‘Your FBI thanks you for TS. Almost makes up for losing GG.’”
Rook closed the lid of his laptop. “Want to know the worst part of busting Tangier Swift? Brace yourself for the onslaught of tabloid headlines: ‘Swift Justice. That’s SwiftRageous!’ Or when they show him in his orange jumpsuit, ‘Tailored Swift.’”
“Confessions of a Blown Whistle is starting to sound better and better.”
“I’ll stop.”
“Do.”
Heat drove Rook to his doc’s for a check of his bullet wound. While they were there, he gave a twofer, re-dressing Nikki’s forehead with a smaller bandage and pronouncing her stitch work pristine. If she slathered on the SPF, she might get away with minimal evidence of the scar.
“Good,” said Rook, “because we’re getting hitched, and when I lift that veil, I don’t want to be looking at Freddy Krueger.” When Heat and the doctor gawked at him, he said, “I, um, should probably cut back on the painkillers.”
The squad applauded when they came into the homicide bull pen. But each did it by clapping one hand on a thigh because they all had their other arms in slings. “I told myself I wouldn’t cry,” said Rook. “And I won’t.”
Ochoa took his sling off. “Breaking news.”
Heat said, “I know. Cyber attack’s over. Thank your partner.”
“Yeah, that, too. But I’m talking about something bizarre. Ready?” He inclined his head toward Raley, who took the handoff. They were just like the old Roach again.
“Lon King’s files turned up.”
Nikki felt a witch’s finger scratch her gut again. “Where?”
“At Wilton Backhouse’s apartment. Forensics has them.”
She turned to Rhymer and Aguinaldo. “I thought you searched there.”
“We did,” said Inez. “They just showed up. A bunch of banker’s boxes on his kitchen table.”
“Strange,” said Rook. “Almost covert.”
“Yeah,” Heat said. And excused herself to go to her office.