“You’re pissed because he said you should stick to magazines.”
“I don’t think it’s ignoble that I found his judgment harsh.”
Nikki didn’t hear that. She’d slumped in her chair and raised her face to the sky conducting some secret dialogue with herself.
“Heat, I know it’s not good news. It blows the mistress theory right out of the sky — meaning no disrespect to the late Mr. Beauvais.” He leaned forward and put his hand on her knee. “Hey?” She lowered her chin and stared at him. “Can we just put this whole business on hold and enjoy the rest of our night?”
Nikki shivered, wishing she’d brought up a sweater. Or maybe never come up. “You mean like talk more about our day?”
“You want something to eat?” He started to reach out with a fork. “The smoked salmon is from Citarella.”
“Maybe talk about how my case is unraveling before my eyes?” He put the fork down and gave her his attention. “Or how my squad is whispering and giving me the buffalo eye when I walk in the room? Or how about the meat grinder I walked into with One Police Plaza?”
“They’ll get over it. Zach Hamner has no feelings. He isn’t even human. Probably hangs his suit of human skin over the shower rod at night.” When she didn’t crack a smile he said, “Are you worried he’ll kill your shot at the task force?”
There it was again. The elephant had joined them on her Gramercy Park rooftop. In a small voice she spoke her reality. “I think I can kiss off my chances with that task force.”
He shrugged. “Could be a blessing in disguise.”
A fuse lit deep in the back of her skull. “Rook. Are you saying that blowing a promotion is a good thing? Or good for you?”
“No, for us. —Hey, I’m not saying I want that.” He raised his brows in thought. “Although…”
“What.”
“That job would mean gi-lossal lifestyle challenges. But all open to discussion, right?” Trying to keep it casual, he poured her a shot. “Think I got your last one.”
Nikki didn’t want another drink. Adrenaline and bile had made her suddenly sober. “This doesn’t feel like it’s about lifestyle challenges, not anymore.”
“I know what you’re going to say. Fair’s fair, and that I travel, too.”
“Fuck logistics.”
“Huh.
Heat smacked her palm down on the table. “Will you stop? Just stop being cute for once and deal with me?” He corked the bottle. She had his attention. “Tell me how this is all open to discussion? It never got there. You’ve seen to that.”
There. It was out. Nikki had held it down for days. Denied it. Avoided it. Ate it. At last she’d given voice to the beast, and there was no reining it in.
“You’re going to have to explain that to me.”
“Rook, please. The moment you found out about my offer to be on that task force you started picking away at my evidence.”
“I did not.”
“What do you call it?”
“Investigative journalism. Kinda what I do.”
“Know what I call it? Sabotaging my case. Either because you’re pissed that I didn’t tell you about the promotion—”
“—That’s ridiculous—”
“—Or so you could keep me from getting it. Or both.”
“You know, Nikki that is so not me.”
“What else can I conclude? That’s when it started. You didn’t just get contrary. Contrary, I can deal with. You dug in. You got destructive.”
“By looking at other possibilities in the case?”
“By undermining me. First by cozying up to Gilbert’s aide; then you poach my limited resources — Raley and Ochoa, even Rhymer — to act as your personal research assistants. Which planted doubts with them, and now look. You heard Roach. They’re pulling the opposite way now because of you.” Nikki had lost all restraint. She knew she should count to three or walk it off, but the fuse sizzled and burned toward the powder keg. “Even tonight, you can’t stop. You have to keep grinding with the restraining order against his mistress.”
“I’m sharing my discovery. I’m collaborating.”
“What did you call my case, a burning pyre?”
“I’m sharing evidence. Which you choose to ignore. Like the airplane Roach called about.”
“Do you expect me to believe some crop duster flew into Manhattan and dropped Beauvais over the Upper West Side without showing up on radar?”
Rook said, “Radar isn’t perfect.”
“I want to believe in perfect radar.”
“Just for argument’s sake, let’s rule out Sliney’s brother and his plane. How then did Keith Gilbert manage to drop the Haitian from the sky without detection?”
Nikki’s beast fed off anger; Rook’s from sarcasm. “Oh, I know. Gilbert is sailing pals with Sir Richard Branson. Maybe he asked Richie to cruise Fabian Beauvais up to the Kármán Line on his Virgin Galactic spacecraft and launch him from under a wing.”
Heat’s hand found the shot glass in front of her and flung the tequila in his face. “Go.”
Liquor dripped off his nose and chin and onto his shirt. He made no move to wipe it. Rook stared at her, speechless, astonished, hurt. Nikki already felt a tide of shame begin to rise, but her anger remained stronger. Before the balance could shift, she repeated more quietly but still firmly, “Go.”