watched him as he sat in the chair opposite her desk. She leaned back in her chair and stared at him expectantly. “What’s on your mind, Nick?”
“My new partner.”
“What about her?”
Nick leaned forward and raked a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure if I can work with her. She’s completely closed off, and it’s obvious she doesn’t trust me at all.”
Victoria’s eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s been less than two days. Figure it out, Nick. We’ve just been handed a high profile, very public case, and I need everyone to work together as a unit. We don’t have time for this. I assigned Lara as your partner, and that isn’t going to change. You’re a smart man, Nick. Make it work.”
Nick stood, feeling slightly foolish that he’d even voiced any concerns. He should have given it more time. The last thing he wanted was for Victoria to believe he was a shit-stirrer. This wasn’t the first time in his life that he knew the best course of action was to keep his head down and deal with whatever. He tightened his jaw as inner demons attempted to raise their heads.
“Consider that this conversation never happened,” he said.
“I’ve already forgotten it,” Victoria replied and focused her attention back to her computer screen.
He left the office and returned to his cubicle, irritated with himself. Partnerships took time to build, and he’d only known Lara for a little over a day. Be a professional. Make it work, he told himself.
He thought of earlier that morning when she’d rubbed her arm as if it had ached. She’d been tattooed by the syndicate, claimed as one of their own and then had to endure the painful process of getting that tattoo removed. At least he could admire the inner strength she had to possess, a strength that had probably gotten her through the kind of horrors he couldn’t imagine. He had been in on major drug and gun deals, but human trafficking, especially children, took it to a whole other level.
He leaned over toward her. “Lara, can you give me a time line as to when you might stop being mad at me?”
She grabbed his wrist and turned it so that she could look at his watch. “Give me another five minutes or so, and we should be good.” She dropped his wrist and returned to her computer work.
“Got it,” he replied and returned to his own computer where he was typing in a report from the morning activities. His report would be added to Lara’s and go into an official file of the murder of Lara Bowman.
Nick had been to a lot of murder scenes in his career, but there had been something particularly tragic about a pretty young woman with her chest covered with blood and the morning sun shimmering off her blond hair and delicate features.
Was it possible that somehow Moretti was orchestrating death and destruction from his jail cell? Had Lara Bowman been a hit to shake up his partner? That’s exactly what he hadn’t wanted in her head as they had processed the scene.
Now he couldn’t get it out of his head. What connection could Dunst have had with Lara Bowman? On the surface they lived in totally different worlds. Who’d had Dunst under their control? Who was giving the orders and who had killed the man with a single shot between the eyes?
Had that same person killed Lara Bowman, and was it really possible she’d been killed only because she had the misfortune of spelling her name the same as his partner?
The team had their work cut out for them. But that’s why they’d all been chosen, to work the difficult cases. With his own personal dark family history he needed this job to work out, and once again he regretted his impulse to speak to Victoria about Lara. It had been a stupid move, and Nick didn’t consider himself a stupid man.
Hopefully Mei and Ty could get some answers when they went to the federal maximum security prison located in Selden, Long Island.
Moretti and his crew had been in prison for well over a year now. Maybe one of the low-level creeps would be willing to trade a little information about what was going on for a bit more time in the yard or extra phone time or whatever. There was always a snitch somewhere in the crowd; it was just a matter of finding them and offering the right price to get them to talk.
If any of them had information...if Moretti was really behind these latest crimes, then hopefully they could tap into a rat to find out what they needed. There was no question that Dunst hadn’t been acting on his own. The sniper bullet between his eyes said otherwise.
The murder of an innocent young girl, a sniper shot to the forehead of a low-level drug dealer and a stabbing of a beautiful young woman on a jogging trail...how were they possibly connected?
His stomach growled, reminding him that it was well past lunchtime, and he hadn’t had a chance to eat breakfast that morning. He glanced at his watch. Seven minutes had passed since he’d last spoken to Lara.
He pushed his chair away from his desk and leaned toward her once again. “I have an idea.”
“That’s novel.” She didn’t bother to look at him.
“Very funny. I was thinking maybe we’d grab something to eat and then head back over to the hotel where Dunst died.”
“And why would we do that?” She turned in her chair, and her green eyes stared at him without emotion.
“Because I’m starving and I’ve been reading over the initial reports that NYPD sent us when Dunst was killed, and I can’t find any interview with the doorman. And how did Dunst afford to stay in a place with a doorman? He used cash, but from where? The police interviewed the manager who was on duty at the time and several hotel patrons and other staff, but not the doorman.”
“And doormen usually know more about people than anyone else in a building.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Okay, we can grab a hot dog off the street truck at the corner and then head back over to the hotel and see if any information was missed.”
“You eat dirty water dogs off street trucks?” He looked at her incredulously.
“You don’t?” she countered.
“I never have before,” he admitted.
Lara pushed back from her cubicle and stood. “Then I’m about to rock your taste buds.”
Minutes later they stood in front of one of the many food trucks that dotted the streets in all parts of the city. It sported a bright red-and-yellow awning, and the older Hispanic man working it greeted Lara with a smile.
“I’ll have the House Special,” she said to him.
“Give me what she’s having,” Nick said. He was just glad that Lara seemed to be over being angry with him.
The scents wafting from the cart caused Nick’s stomach to growl again. He’d always steered clear of the food carts and trucks, afraid of getting salmonella or some other dreaded disease. He’d just never thought it was right to eat food that came on wheels unless you were a senior citizen and the food was being delivered to your door.
The man handed them each a hot dog with mustard and ketchup, smothered in chili and topped with cheese. Lara grabbed a handful of napkins and passed several to Nick.
They stood next to the truck to eat. Lara ate in small, concise bites, managing not to spill a single drop, while Nick finished his dog in four big bites, wiped a spot of chili from the front of his leather coat and then ordered a second one.
“Okay, I’ll admit it; those were the best hot dogs I’ve ever eaten. But if I come down with Ebola or some other deadly disease, it’s totally on you.”
For the first time since he’d met her, she smiled. It was a real, genuine smile that momentarily lit up the darkness in her eyes and transformed her sharply defined features into something softer, something utterly appealing. “We haven’t been partners long enough yet for me to be ready to be rid of you, although you might not realize how close you came to death at my hands