Nikki stopped on her way home and picked up lasagna and a big salad from their favorite Italian restaurant. In the old days, she would have stayed and tag-teamed the suspect with Kovac. She would have sat and watched the monitor while he tried all his tricks to get Gordon Krauss to talk. If anyone could get anything out of a suspect, it was Sam. But when she left the office, they were still at an impasse.
She had no obligation to stay. At this point, all she could ask Krauss was whether he was actually Jeremy Nilsen—which he probably wasn’t—and if not, did he know where Jeremy Nilsen was. But he wasn’t going to speak to her any more than he had spoken to Sam, and Sam had dibs on him anyway.
Still, there was a residual low level of anxiety humming inside her as she drove home. There was that rising sense of anticipation that momentum was building, in her case and in Kovac’s, and that something big would happen soon.
But not tonight. Tonight she would have a nice family Friday evening with the boys. They would have lasagna and watch movies with insane car crashes, or watch professional wrestling, or whatever they wanted to do. They would all hang out in their pajamas on the big couch in the family room and fall asleep bundled up in afghans and blankets with sport team logos.
That was an infinitely preferable plan to sitting in a hard chair watching Sam have a stare-down with a silent suspect. Her mood lifted the closer she came to home, right up until she pulled onto her block and saw Speed’s black Jeep Wrangler in her driveway.
Automatically annoyed, she parked at the curb and hustled up the sidewalk in the spitting drizzle, lugging what felt like forty-two pounds of Italian food. The front door flew open as she came up the steps, and the boys tumbled out onto the porch talking and laughing.
“Hey, Mom!” R.J. said in that overly excited tone he always got when his father had wound him up. “Guess what? Dad scored tickets to the WWE! Ringside seats!”
“Wow!” Nikki said, looking at her ex. “Two appearances in one week. If I had known, I would have worn a red dress for the occasion.”
“I just got the tickets this afternoon,” Speed said. “I tried to call you.”
“You did not.”
“Mom! Jeez,” Kyle complained. “Do you have to start a fight?”
“No,” she said. “No, I don’t.”
“Hey,” Speed said. “You’re the one who’s always complaining that I’m not around enough.”
“And it’s not even a school night!” R.J. said.
“No, that’s great,” Nikki said, trying to muster a show of enthusiasm. “I brought home lasagna. Come in and have supper before you go.”
“No time, babe,” Speed said. “These are VIP tix. We get a meet-and-greet with John Cena. Gotta go! Don’t wait up. They’re staying with me.”
“Yeah, gotta go!” R.J. called, jumping off the porch. “See ya, babe! Don’t wait up!”
And just like that, the three of them were bolting across the lawn and scrambling into the Jeep, where a perky-looking blonde waited in the front passenger’s seat.
Nikki stood on the porch, struggling with her temper, hoping she didn’t look as worn out and old and pissed off as she suddenly felt as she watched them back out of the driveway. Speed was free to have his overgrown juvenile existence. He had always had a blonde waiting for him somewhere. None of that was news. She had just been looking forward to quality time with her sons, that was all. Now she might as well be sitting downtown watching Kovac watch Gordon Krauss.
She put the food away, took a shower, put on yoga pants and a loose sweater, and set about adjusting her attitude. With the boys gone, she could spread out her work on the kitchen island. She could turn on the television and watch a show without a single exploding car. She could take a long hot bath and go to bed early.
All great ideas she couldn’t get very excited about because the house was too quiet. Then it occurred to her that this would be what all her Friday nights would be like once the boys were graduated and gone. Those few years would go by in the blink of an eye.
“Oh my God, stop it!” she snapped at herself.
Needing to busy herself, she spread her work out on the kitchen island, then poured herself a glass of wine. She ate some salad and a square of lasagna, and put her mind to work, going over her notes about Evi Burke.
Her instincts were dead on. Angie Jeager/Evi Burke was the key to this case. If she hadn’t been certain before, she was after their conversation that morning. She could hear it—not so much in what Evi had had to say, but in the heavy silences between. Evi knew what happened to Ted Duffy, and she knew why. And all these years later, she still felt that the burden of that truth was something she had to carry. Why?