“What? No ‘Honey, I’m home’?”
“Never,” she said as she went over to stand behind his chair and lace her arms around his neck.
“I knew if I came here I wouldn’t get any work done.” And then he tilted his face to hers and they kissed.
She moved into the kitchen and called out to him while she fished two beers out of the fridge. “You could always go back to your loft and draw your inspiration from writing at an actual crime scene.”
“No, thanks. I’ll go back there after the hazmat cleanup tomorrow.” He took one of the bottles from her and they clinked. “A double killing is going to wreak havoc on my resale value. I wonder if I have to declare.”
“Like you’ll ever sell that place,” she said.
“Listen, sorry about you and Petar.”
She finished a sip of beer and shrugged. “It happens. Sadly, but it happens,” she said, keeping it half-full, as ever. “I was hoping we could be friends.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Liar.”
Rook reflected on what he had unearthed about Petar’s smuggling and his jail time, but instead he looked at her and smiled. “I dunno. Seemed like an OK guy.”
“Pants on fire,” she said as she moved into the living room.
“Hey, where are you going? I was just about to make my move.”
She settled onto the couch and said, “You make your move onto that keyboard. Let’s hear some clicking over there, Mr. Rook. I want all the Nikki Heats off the newsstands now.”
He typed a bit and then said, “You don’t feel neglected?”
“No, you go on, I’ll just be reading.”
“Anything good?”
“Hm,” she said, “it’s all right, I suppose. Something called Her Endless Knight.” Rook was already up and out of his chair on his way to her before she could add, “By Victoria St. Clair.”
“What do you mean ‘It’s all right’? That’s quality fiction, professionally written.”
He sat beside her and she opened to a page, reciting, “ ‘Her need for him was met in the sanctuary of his long arms and broad shoulders as he enveloped her in the coach.’ ” She set the book on her lap. “Not terrible.”
“I can do better on the next one,” Rook said. “All I need is a little inspiration.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Heat put the book on the floor and drew him on top of her, letting herself fall backward onto the couch. Rook kissed her and she rose to him. They tasted each other passionately and deeply. As he began to explore her with his hands, Nikki gave him a simmering look and said, “Go ahead. Rip my bodice.”
Acknowledgments
As a writer, I can think of no greater terror than confronting a blank page, except perhaps the terror of being shot at. This past year I’ve faced both. Fortunately, I didn’t have to face either circumstance alone. When bullets are flying, whether literal or metaphoric, it’s good to have trusted friends watching your back.
First and foremost, I’d like to thank the dedicated members of the NYPD’s 12th precinct for allowing me access to their world. Many of the details in this book are a direct result of my experiences watching New York’s finest in action. Special thanks are due to Detectives Kate Beckett, Javier Esposito, Kevin Ryan and Captain Roy Montgomery for not simply putting up with me, but including me in their professional family.
I’d also like to thank Dr. Lanie Parish and her staff at New York’s Office of Chief Medical Examiner for their infinite patience in the face of my endless and no doubt occasionally stupid questions like, “If he’s dead, why is he still moving?”
A debt is owed to my associates on the third floor Clune. You guys never cease to amaze me with your imagination and insight. I wouldn’t be half the writer I am without your support. Actually, I would be half the writer I am, which would make me too short to ride the rides at Disneyland. Hence my gratitude.