“Exactly what he got today,” said Ochoa. “Bigfoot comes to call.”
Heat stepped up to the Murder Board. While she printed Congressman Duer’s name in her neat block letters, she said, “Well, whether we buy national security or not, we have to keep it open until we can get better information.”
Behind her, Rook said, “I might be able to help with that.”
Nikki, who hadn’t seen him since she had left for her meeting at The Greenwich, continued her writing and asked, “Let me guess. One of your sources from Area Fifty-one?” She turned to the room with a playful smile that froze when she saw who Rook was standing a little too close to in the doorway.
“I’m not sure,” he said, turning to the woman in the business suit. “Which black ops agency are you with now? CIA, NSA, NRO, GDIP?”
“Let’s go with Area Fifty-one,” said Yardley Bell, holding a shush finger up over her perfect grin. Then Rook’s old girlfriend stepped forward with a manicured hand extended to shake. “Hi, Nikki, great to see you again. Jamie says you made captain. Yay!”
“And look, your own office,” said Agent Bell after Heat had ushered Rook and his ex out of the too-public bull pen. Yardley had what Nikki referred to as a realtor’s smile. Could be genuine, could be for show, could be masking a thousand unkind thoughts or beaming as many points of light. When they had crossed paths on a case a few years before, Nikki had seen the dark side of that cheer and knew there was plenty of toughness and severity accessible at the flip of a switch. Ultimately, the two women had forged a sort of peace after a bumpy initial experience. They exchanged kinder words, had a lunch once (or was it brunch?), and made promises to stay in touch, vows that represented a fusion of vacant insincerity and politeness. The last time they had spoken was over the phone just after Hurricane Sandy, when Yardley had done Nikki a favor, helping her leverage a case-breaking confession out of a foreign mercenary.
As she sat across the desk from Heat, blowing ripples across the Americano Rook had made for her, Nikki tried not to be too obvious in her appraisal of the only other woman with whom her fiancé had had a serious relationship. Her hair had changed from brunette to a tasteful light caramel with tawny lowlights. Her slender build seemed fit as before, perhaps from some yoga mixed in with the strength training, to judge from her dancer’s posture—unless that was just to show off her chest for Rook. There was always that possibility.
Yardley crossed her legs and rested the coffee cup on her knee. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Nikki said. “Thank you…You’ll come—we hope.”
“Sure thing. When’s the big day?”
“August—”
“Something,” finished Rook. “Mark the date. August-something.”
“We’re still working it out,” Nikki added quickly. Bell just stared at her, taking her measure. Yardley’s eyes were arresting—model gorgeous. But they took everything in, and gave so little back. Heat wondered if Rook had seen something more in them. And under what circumstances. But then Heat let go of that line of thinking. Therein lay self-torture and madness. She advanced the topic to less perilous ground. “So five minutes into a conversation about national security, you materialize. You spies are better than I thought.”
“A little credit here?” said Rook. “I reached out to Agent Bell this morning.”
A small gnawing took hold under Nikki’s sternum. “You reached out?”
“That’s correct. Shined my Batman signal on a cloud.”
“And here I am.” Bell laughed and held out a fist to bump with Rook. He obliged. The impact of the bump registered in Heat’s stomach.
“At our briefing this morning, when we learned Timothy Maloney had been stationed at a drone base, I thought I could cut through the process by asking Yards to access his military records.”