“Much as I love it when you speak acronym, a Be On The Lookout is going to be a drain on resources when Maloney either had a car waiting or hopped a subway down at Union Square.”
“With this guy’s history of paranoia and stalking, I think you should be a little more mindful of your own words at roll call today. Safety and communication.” Rook’s point was one Heat was already mulling over herself. True, Maloney had slid down her roster of potential killers, but he was still short-listed. And now Nikki had what she believed was her second sighting of him in as many nights—stalking via a restaurant window, no less—the same MO Maloney had used when he crashed Lon King’s dinner with Sampson Stallings at that Vietnamese place.
“Maybe I will,” she said. “Soon as we get to my place where it’s dry.”
In the elevator to her floor, Rook said, “You know what? This weekend we should just bite the bullet and haul all of your stuff to my loft. Some things here and some things there is kind of scattered.”
“Or I should just buy a spare charger to keep there.” This trip to her place was initiated by the hacking attack, which had transformed her department-issue BlackBerry into a designer paperweight. With her iPhone now her primary handheld, she needed to pick up her power cord. As Nikki unlocked her front door, she needled him. “If you’re feeling too scattered, maybe we should just spend the night here tonight. I’ve got cold wine, you’ve got clean clothes, I’ve got dirty thoughts.”
“Captain Heat, you’re trying to seduce me. Aren’t you?”
“Is that what you want, Jameson?” She let him in and they kissed in the foyer. Heat pushed her door closed with her back as he pressed against her. When they parted she whispered in his ear, “I guess you do want that.”
“I didn’t answer.”
She tugged at the front of his jeans. “You didn’t have to.”
Nikki flipped on the lights in her kitchen and started to uncork a bottle of Gavi she wanted to try. From the living room, Rook said, “Now I know the real reason you wanted to bring me here tonight.”
“Not sure what you mean.”
“What did you get me? Let me guess.” He appeared at the counter carrying a Godiva gift box with a stick-on bow. “Chocolates?”
“I didn’t get you anything.” A flood of adrenaline released in her. “Rook, don’t open that!” Heat dropped the wine bottle, which shattered on the floor, and raced around to him where he stood frozen in place. Speaking more calmly, even though her hands were quaking, she said, “Slowly, carefully, set the box down.”
He squinted, bracing for something terrible, eased the box onto the countertop, then gradually drew his hands out and away.
This time Heat didn’t hesitate to grab her walkie-talkie. She used it to call the bomb squad.
The Emergency Services Unit had evacuated the tenants from Heat’s building and the apartments flanking it to a safety zone around the corner on the west side of Gramercy Park. The mist had let up, but everyone was still milling around in front of mid-1800s Mayor James Harper’s landmark brownstone with bodies hunched and arms gathered close to their chests as if it were still drizzling. No doubt those folks, many of whom had pajama bottoms protruding from their coats, were not only feeling the chill of the evening but also of anxiety. Nikki certainly felt a deep shiver of her own.