Deadly Heat

“Clever.”


He raised his glass. “Here’s to ‘Bringing Heat.’ ” The title of the article

brought her a sudden gut twist. But she smiled, rang her glass on his, and sipped

the Cristal.

While they ate takeout from SushiSamba, Rook went on about the huge number of hits

his article had already gotten on the Web site. He asked her about the pizza murder,

and Nikki gave him the bullet points but quickly moved off that topic to vent her

frustration at trying to reach Fariq Kuzbari.

“Wanna bet that he actually is out of the country?” Rook said. “My correspondent

pals in Egypt and Tunisia tell me things are restless. Kuzbari’s probably been

called back to Syria because a security pit bull like him has a big to-do list. So

many tortures, so little time.”

She put down her chopsticks and napkinned her mouth. “Forget Kuzbari. That still

leaves two other persons of interest my mother spied on that I haven’t been able to

follow up with. One has been out of state competing with his show dogs and the other

has stonewalled me through his attorney. God, talk about pit bulls.”

“Want to hear a win-win idea? Send that lawyer off to trade places with Kuzbari.

While she kicks ass in Syria, you’ll have two of your POIs available.”

“Glad you think this is funny, Rook.” Heat shoved her plate away. “I am merely

trying to catch the man who ordered my mother’s execution, OK?” He dropped his

grin and began to speak, but she rolled over him. “And clearly, since Tyler Wynn

also tried to have me killed in that subway tunnel, that old fucker is either still

hiding something damaging from the past, or something bad is going on right now. So

if you want to treat this like it’s all some sort of fodder to amuse you after

I’ve opened my life for your precious article, keep it to yourself.”

She left him looking pale at the dining room table and hoped the slam of her bedroom

door gave him a coronary. When he came to her ten minutes later, he didn’t switch

on the light and she didn’t bring her face from her pillow. He sat beside her on

the bed and spoke softly in the darkness. “Nikki, if I believed for one second that

Tyler Wynn was a threat to you, I would drop everything and move heaven and earth to

protect you. And find him. But the fact is, Tyler Wynn got everything he wanted in

that subway Ghost Station when he got his hands on that pouch you found. Trust me,

Wynn’s big concern is to disappear and become a ghost himself. Surfacing to do you

harm would only expose him to risk. Besides, DHS, the FBI, Interpol, they’re are

all on this. Let them carry the weight, they’re the experts. But I apologize for

shooting my mouth off. I don’t think this is a joke at all, and I never, ever want

to hurt you.”

A silent moment passed. She sat up, and in the dim light spilling from the living

room, she could see a glistening under one eye. Nikki gently thumbed his tear away

and held him. They embraced each other long enough that time evaporated.

At last, when the silence had done its healing, he spoke. “You said fucker. You

did. You called Tyler Wynn an old fucker.”

“I was upset.”

“You never swear. Well, hardly ever.”