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.”“You want me to ask around about him? I know some guys in the borough precincts where he worked street crime task forces.”“Could you?”Quinn nodded.“I can make a few calls.”“There’s also another man, James Young.He lives in the apartment that Alf was spying on the night he was murdered.Franco says Young had nothing significant to add to the investigation, but maybe the man didn’t want to talk to the cops.Maybe, if he has something to say, he’ll talk to me.”“Good lead, Cosi.But guess what.” By now, Mike’s deep voice had thickened as beautifully as my white sauce.His lips were so close to my ear, his low, gravelly buzz felt downright ticklish.“I don’t want to talk about this anymore—”“You don’t?”“No,” he whispered.“But I’ll make you a deal.”“What kind of deal?”“We can talk all you want tomorrow.”Quinn’s nearness, his fingers, his lips were all getting to me, but I was reluctant to drop the subject.“What are we supposed to talk about tonight, then?”“Anything else.”“I don’t understand.”“I just want you to let go for a little while, Cosi.Give your head a rest.”“You think I can’t handle the stress of an investigation?”“It’s not you.It’s the job.Everyone has to learn to let go.Some guys lift weights.Some guys lift a bottle.” He tilted his head toward the Riesling.“You think I have a problem?”“No.I think you’re still new at this and you should take my advice.Let go.Give it a rest.”“Let go?”“Yeah, and guess what?” he whispered into my ear.“I’m going to help you right now.Close your eyes.”“Mike—”“Close ’em.”I did.“Now forget about anything related to evidence or procedure or even criminal mischief—”Quinn’s little teasing kisses were moving as he talked: from my earlobe to the back of my neck to the hollow of my throat.Finally, he reached for the belt of my short terrycloth robe, and his mouth continued its downward path.Oh, God, Mike.A few minutes later, I realized why Mike Quinn didn’t need free weights, a Nautilus machine, or a bottle to forget his stresses and give his brain a rest.His chosen method of distraction wasn’t exactly something one could do in public, but it wasn’t exactly torture, either, so I went with it; and for the next few hours, anyway, the Lieutenant and I had a deal.FOURTEEN“GOOD morning,” I whispered on a yawn.Quinn kissed my head.“Get enough sleep?”“I got what I needed.”The night had been a blur of sweet vino, creamy clam sauced linguine, 24/7 Christmas tuneage, and Quinn’s intense lovemaking.A dead-to-the-world sleep followed, and when I awoke the next morning, I was sure the light of leprechaun gold had found a shining path through the cracks in my curtains.Quinn’s mood, however, wasn’t even close to that good.He was still next to me on the mattress, wide awake, cradling me in the crook of his arm, but his gaze was far away—and not on the other side of the proverbial rainbow.“What’s wrong?” I asked when his good-morning smile faded too quickly.“You having second thoughts about being annoyed with my arrest?”“No.Nothing like it.”“What then?”“I didn’t want to bring it up last night.I needed to let things go for a little while, too, you know?”“Let go of what? What’s the matter?”“I’ve got a cold case heating up.”Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I sat up.“I’ll make coffee.”TEN minutes later, we were back at the kitchen table, but on opposite sides of it this time.With a freshly pressed mug of my Breakfast Blend in hand, Quinn started talking about his job—something he’d been doing with me for years now, first as a barista, then as a friend, finally as a lover.“You remember Thanksgiving night, when I was called in?” he began.“Sure,” I said.“I finally got some bonding time with your kids.”Molly Quinn was nine; Jeremy had just turned eleven.Typically, Mike would spend time alone with his daughter and son.He explained why, of course.After Mike’s wife left him for a slightly younger, much wealthier Wall Street whiz, she moved their children from their Brooklyn home to her fiancé’s Long Island estate.With new schools, a new home, and the new man in their mom’s life, Mike wanted his kids to get comfortable with visiting his new apartment in the city before introducing another new person into their already drastically changed world.I respected that.I also suspected, given Mike’s years of marital problems, that he wanted to make sure he and I were on solid ground before he started complicating our relationship.Well, the day before Thanksgiving, Mike’s ex-wife did that for us.Leila decided to accompany her super-rich fiancé to Connecticut for a Thanksgiving Day social gathering with some even wealthier people who suggested their guests leave the kiddies with the nannies.Leila had a housekeeper who also looked after the kids, but the woman had the week off, so Leila ended up dumping the pair with Mike.As for my Thanksgiving Day plans, I’d already accepted Madame’s invitation to attend a party at Tavern on the Green.Mike was supposed to be my dinner date—until his ex changed plans on him.So I changed my plans, too.I bowed out of Madame’s dinner, went to Mike’s place instead, and cooked a turkey with all the trimmings.Mike offered to treat us to a restaurant, but I knew a homemade Thanksgiving dinner would help make his new apartment feel more like a home to him, Molly, and Jeremy.The kids couldn’t have been sweeter.We even bundled them up that morning to see the Macy’s parade.The dinner turned out to be a huge success.Like their dad, the kids practically swooned over my cooking.And when Mike was called out on a case that night, I sat with the pair.We stayed up till the wee hours, watching a Disney movie, playing cards and Scene It?, and eating slices of my pumpkin praline tart until Daddy came home again.“The kids are still talking about your food, you know.”“Good thing.” I laughed.“Because I’m lousy at cards.They beat the pants off me at Crazy Eights.”Quinn nodded, but his smile was fading fast.“So, anyway,” I said, trying to help him along [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]